Old news

From 12/05/04:
Today, I read. I finished God Knows by Joseph Heller, then re-read the books of Samuel (and the first portion of Kings). By 6:30 PM I had finished, and was famished. My apartment by now was frigid, though the heat had just turned on - just as the dawn is the coldest hour of the day, so the hour the heat kicks in is typically the coldest hour in my apartment. I decided to head into Berkeley to forage for food.

On the way to the BART, I picked up the New York Review of Books, reading it at the station and upon the train - slogging through a tedious review of portraiture by John Updike (they say he once had talent). Why is every portrait of an ugly man assumed to be the target of a portraitist's cunning scorn?

Anyhow, a blind man was also on the train. As the train left Ashby, I arose from my seat and went to stand in front of the door. The blind man also got up and spoke to nobody in particular just as the train was sliding into the station:

"Is this Berkeley? What stop's coming up?"

I was nearest, so I leaned in to him and said, "This is Berkeley. We've reached the Berkeley station."

The doors were open. He turned to me and asked, "Can you help me find my way out of the station?"

"Sure, I'd be happy to do that."

I folded my paper beneath my left arm, and took his left hand and folded it into the crook of my right arm. In his other arm he carried his cane and a shopping bag with some items in it. I led him to the stairs and informed him we'd reached it. I warned him again when he hit the last step. He asked me to escort him to the emergency exit which was some distance beyond the fare gates. I did as he requested, though I forgot to tell him which way the gate was. He asked me if I could meet him on the other side to help him find his way to the surface. I told him I would return after I'd paid my way at the fare gate. I got through before him, on account it took a passing bicyclist to help him find his way to and through the gate.

As I started to lead the way, he asked if I knew where the Walgreen's was. I said that I did, and asked was he going there?

"No, actually I'm trying to reach the E-Z Stop Deli. I've got a splitting headache and I need to get some Tylenol."

"In that case, we should use the back entrance of the station. It'll bring us out closer to where we're going."

And so, arm-in-arm again, we walked through the station and up to the street and down to the deli.

"So, do you live here in Berkeley?" I asked, hoping that the answer would be he did and that somehow this disoriented blind man would be able to figure out on his own how to get where he was going.

"I'm staying at a shelter here. They close at seven but I'm hoping they'll let me in. Is it after seven?"

"I'm pretty sure it is. It was 6:47 when I got on the train, so it has to be right around seven now."

"I'm originally from The City."

"Do you mean San Francisco?"

"Yeah. But I love it here in Berkeley. You used to be able to buy a cold one in the city for a buck fifty, now you can hardly find one for less than five. How about you, are you a student here?"

If he wasn't blind, the question would have been flattering.

"No, I live in Oakland."

"It's a good town Oakland. There's something kind of crazy about the people who live there. I've never seen folks get so attached to a town like they do in Oakland."

"I know what you're talking about. I'm in love with the city myself."

"I used to live up on the East Side, but things were always hairy in that neighborhood. I couldn't stand it."

"I used to live in the MacArthur, myself. It was a good neighborhood for me... but there was always shit going down. Now I live downtown."

"That's a good part, downtown, around the lake. They keep things under control down there."

"I know. That's one thing I like about it."

"Say, where are you going anyhow?"

"I'm just looking for something to eat. Have you ever heard of Bongo Burger?"

"Never heard of it. Where is that?"

"Down along Center."

"You're going to Center? Can you help me find my way back? The shelter's on the corner of Center and Milvia."

To be perfectly honest, I wanted to say no. I hadn't exactly signed on for an evening of milling about Berkeley with a blind bum for company. But I knew I wasn't really going anywhere in a hurry (especially since I was pretty certain Bongo Burger would be closed on Sunday anyhow), so I agreed.

At the deli, I went and found a can of coke for him, which he used to wash down the Tylenol he purchased from behind the counter. The woman didn't seem to know him. Her English was poor and his was black, so they had a lot of trouble communicating. He asked after a guy named Jack, and called out to him over the counter when he realized she couldn't understand what he was saying. For a second I thought maybe the guy slicing cold cuts was "Jack," but if so he didn't give any evidence of it. Never even looked over his shoulder.

On the way to the center, he asked my name. I told him, and found out he was called "Ralph" - though he preferred his given name, "Raphael." I called him Raphael.

"What do you do for a living, Geoff?"

"I'm a secretary."

"Really? Where at?"

I told him.

"That must pay pretty well, doesn't it?"

"Not really. Well enough to support a single person. But not much better than that."

"Do you think you could spare a couple of bucks?"

"No."

At this point, we were kind of running out of topics. I was kind of curious about his blindness - I've often wondered what it's like to be blind. But I do know it's not considered tactful to ask folks about their maladies. I also kind of figure that tact is really just prejudice's pretense of virtue, so I figured I'd settle for a compromise question:

"So, how long have you been blind? Did it happen to you or were you born this way?"

"I had glaucoma as a young man, and my eyesight was never very good. But I knew how to use it, 'cuz it was all I had. But back in '73 they told me they could cure it with surgery. I knew it wasn't going to get any better, so I figured I'd go for it. I was 19. When it was over, they said I'd be able to see better. But I told them jackasses that I couldn't see at all. My eyesight may have been bad, but I know the difference between bad and blind. I think they cut the retinal nerve - for all I know my corneas could be as good as yours, but there's nothing coming in to tell me what I see."

We reached the center. It closed its doors at seven, so we couldn't go in through the front. Fortunately, a young man was sitting on the steps. I asked him how we could get in, and he sent me around to the back. When we got there, Raphael though he knew the way. He pulled out his cane and started leading me, but as we drew up to a pile of vines clinging to the wall, I realized he was still hopelessly lost. I turned him around and we headed to the nearest door I could see. It proved to be the door to a stairwell - I could see that through the glass which Raphael assured me wasn't part of the door we were looking for. Then, I saw through a basement window a room full of people eating. I figured that must be the shelter. I banged on the window, and a guy who saw me started making a strange circling gesture with his hands. I didn't know what the fuck he was saying, but each time I shrugged and said "WHAT?" he just made the same damn meaningless gesture.

"I think he wants us to go around to the other side of the building." I said. "But before we do, let's just head down the rest of this wall, and see if there isn't another door."

There was a door, at the top of a short staircase, but Raphael said the door would be DOWN some stairs, not UP and the door did appear to be boarded shut. Then I saw another little door at the bottom of a short stairwell at the very corner of the building, nearly obscured behind the metal of a fire ladder. We went to that door and banged on it. Nobody came. We banged some more. Nothing. Finally, Raphael said, "there should be a buzzer."

And lo, finally I could see! There was a buzzer, just as he'd predicted. Honestly, I don't know how I missed it. I pressed the buzzer and a voice came back:
"Who's there?"

"It's me, Ralph."

"The shelter closes at seven, Ralph. You know that."

"I was still hoping maybe it's not too late to make a bid for a bed."

"One second."

The guy who finally opened the door was angry. He didn't even acknowledge my presence.

"You know this place, Ralph. You know the door closes at seven. You have to get here on time, or you don't get a place."

"I'm sorry. Is there room tonight? I tried to make it by seven."

"Get in."

And that was that.

The whole experience had left me kind of grumpy. In my younger days, I probably would have felt proud of myself for helping someone in need. But it seemed to me that I'd only given him some time I wasn't really putting a premium on anyhow - and if it didn't matter to me, what the fuck was there to be smug about in giving it away? I wanted to get mad at our society... that usually works for me. Why the hell do we allow the blind to walk the streets alone in search of shelter on the coldest nights of the year? Why did doctors carve this man up, then toss him away when they failed him? He was a nice enough guy, seemed pretty smart. Was it his fault he couldn't see? Was he to blame that he wasn't resourceful enough to take care of himself? Was it just that he had to choose between the humiliation of a lecture or a night spent shivering in the gutter?

But, being in a Biblical frame of mind, it was sort of hard to work myself up about it. Didn't Jesus say we'd always have the poor with us? (Whitmanesque, that character is.) Doesn't this bear his theory out? Is it the world's fault that it's no better nor worse than its making? That some are deprived and grateful, others endowed and heedless? At least this guy had a healthy sense of perspective. He hadn't once been self-pitying. What place had I to pity him?

Better to just acknowledge that it was time enjoyed which left me depressed and move on.

I decided to take dinner at the Viet Nam Village in the Berkeley food court.

Once I had been trapped in the city of Berkeley - my summer lease having expired with the start of the UC school year, but having a month left to kill before the start of my own. While I waited for one of my brothers to drive up from Orange County and give me a ride home, I'd couch-surfed around the town, gradually using up the last of my dollars. Three days before I could leave, I'd come to my last five bucks. After spending them on cigarettes, I got involved in some bizarre barter arrangement that put me back at five dollars again. So I went to Viet Nam Village to buy myself some food.

I had ordered the Vietnamese Fried Chicken ($4.50). I ate until I was stuffed (no mean amount) and found I had barely diminished the food in the container. The next day I reheated it and ate my fill again. There was still more than I could finish. The third day, I finally finished it. Maybe if I'd been born in a more credulous age, I'd have figured that was a miracle. Instead, I simply found it an implausible convenience.

But, it seemed a decent time to re-enact the meal. The price had risen to $4.75, and this time I could afford a Coke to wash it down. I finished the plate.

I'm already hungry again and it can't be more than three hours later.

Ah, well... can't step in the same stream twice...