The Credit Draper Episode 1

Glasgow, 1911. The crowd moved again and Avram let it take him, trundling him along among the damp shawls, the overcoats, the parcels, the pots, the battered cases, the rolled-up blankets.

He strained to see something of the city, but from within the clutch of passengers all he could make out were the shadowy outlines of warehouses and cranes charcoaled into the early-morning fog.

Underfoot, the cargo ship swayed in its moorings with a gentle thud, thud, thud against the timbers of the pier.

He felt so tiny. A thimbleful of soul lost in a vast adult universe.

A seagull swooped to perch on a line of rope stretching just above his head. Its feathers were streaked in grime, its beak snapped emptily ahead of tiny black eyes.

The bird reminded Avram of the story of Noah, the message brought with the arrival of the dove. And then he warmed to the memory of his mother telling him the tale.

Still and silent

Her two fingers marching across his body until he wriggled and giggled as she found refuge for her animals in his armpits, along his thighs or under his chin.

He wrapped his arms tighter around his chest. But for a few murmurs, the stamping of feet against the cold, the sob of a younger boy, the crowd was still and silent. Then came a surge and he felt Dmitry’s hands guide him, stealing an inch here and there over the others.

The seaman’s lips moved close to his ear. “I have to help with the cargo.”

Avram struggled to twist back his head but Dmitry’s firm grip at the base of his neck kept him facing forward. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.” Dmitry leaned in again. Avram felt the man’s stubble graze his cheek.

“I’ve kept my part,” the seaman hissed. “But... but my mother paid you.” “Bah! A few roubles to keep you company.”

Avram fingered the coins sewn into his jacket. The crowd shuffled forward, pushing him with it. He turned round but Dmitry had disappeared. A tightness forced its way through his chest and into his throat. He tried to gulp it down. “Are you all right?”

He wiped his eyes. A fair-haired girl was staring at him, clutching a cloth doll to her chest.

“I’m fine,” he said, quickly pulling himself up straight.

“Where’s your family?” she asked. “I’m alone.”

“But I saw you with a man.”

“He works on the ship.”

The girl tilted her head to one side, then the other. “You’re very brave,” she said. “Coming by yourself.”

“It wasn’t hard.”

“I couldn’t do it,” she said, more to her doll than to him. “Where are you going?” “I’m staying here.”

“We’re off to America,” she said. “On a bigger ship than this.”

She held the doll even tighter. “America, America, America,” she chanted, then squeezed herself between the two adults in front of her.

“Shah, girl,” one of them said.

Golden cobblestones

Avram knew of this America. With its buildings so high they blocked out the sun, where people walked on golden cobblestones, where the land stretched free and forever.

The crowd moved again and he was swept forward in the crush, edging ever closer towards the head of the gangplank.

He saw the girl’s fair hair bob ahead of him. One time she turned, caught his stare, waved back at him, mouthing the words: “America, America.”

Once off the boat, Avram perched himself on top of a capstan, his small case grasped tight in his lap. He was totally on his own now.

He knew he had to do something, to make adult decisions about reaching his destination.

But instead he distracted himself with his view of the dockside chaos as drivers forced their wagons through the melee of porters and passengers.

A blinkered horse whinnied then reared up to the lash of a whip.

Those closest pulled back from the flailing hooves until a porter grabbed the reins, calmed the snorting beast.

Avram spotted some of the crew off his ship working on regardless of the incident, retrieving crates from inside the tangle of nets.

“Where’s Dmitry?” he shouted, failing to disguise the desperate shrill in his voice. “Where’s Dmitry?”

The men ignored him except for one who swore, lifted his eyes to the upper decks, mimed the smoking of a cigarette.

Then a hansom drew up and Avram watched the fair-haired girl scramble inside.

She dropped her doll, and only her scream caused the cab to halt so she could step back out to retrieve it.

He thought about following her to America but instead he forced himself to move away from the ship.

He approached a group of leering spectators who had appeared out of the fog.

Curious

His hand trembled as he held out the letter his mother had given him. Curious fingers plucked the envelope from his grasp, smoothed out the paper, while heads drew closer to peer at the lettering.

The address was passed around as he tried to grab back the envelope, anxious that the precious lifeline of ink-strokes should not be smudged or torn.

These strangers, their faces like hideous puppets, smiled back at him over broken teeth, breathed alcohol on to his cheeks, patted his curls, pointed the way along dark tenement-lined streets.

He picked up the case containing his few clothes, the one bottle of schnapps for his hosts, and started to walk into the thick mist.

“There’s a tram to take ye where ye want to go,” a voice trailed after him. “If ye’ve got a farthin’.”

He shrugged at the incomprehensible words and ploughed on.

Once off the boat, Avram perched on top of a capstan, his small case grasped tight in his lap. He was totally on his own now

More tomorrow.

The Credit Draper is the first in a trilogy by J David Simons. He has written five novels and is published by Saraband. His work can be purchased at saraband.net