The Broken Chariot by Alan Sillitoe Read Free Book Online Page A

fought my way up, if you can call it that. Anyway, the best thing you can do is take my advice, and never blame your parents for anything. Whatever you think they did, it wasn’t their fault. And whatever they did do can’t be altered now.’
    â€˜Really?’ Herbert hoped his attempt to resist an outright sneer would be obvious to the most imperceptive, or so Isaac surmised. The silly kid’s trying to seem more adult by blaming his deficiencies and troubles on his parents.
    Two half-pints, and the ever biting famishment, not to mention tiredness, made him grip the brass rail to stay upright, while trying to show interest in whatever other rubbish the little man had to say.
    â€˜I was a printer for much of my life. Now I’m retired, and live on my own. Why? Well, I like it that way, that’s why. I’ve got a couple of beehive rooms up one of those narrow streets across the square, and as I can see you’re in a fix you’re welcome to come back and sleep on the floor. I won’t be the perfect host and offer my bed, because I’m sixty and need it myself.’
    Herbert knew he should say no, thank you very much, it’s awfully kind, I must be getting on, but he put himself into the hands of this stranger because he was too much starving and done for to know what to do or where to go next.
    Stars spun over the sky; he looked at pavements and tarmac to get his equilibrium settled. ‘It’s not good to drink on an empty stomach,’ Isaac said. ‘Certainly not Nottingham ale.’ He led the way up the stairs of a damp-smelling decrepit building of offices and store rooms, turning from the landing to say: ‘I’ve told you my full name. What’s yours? And I don’t want an alias, either.’
    The question signified a Rubicon that would have to be crossed sooner or later, a turbulent river for Herbert after his determination to follow the Caged Birds code of concealment, but he had blabbed plenty in the pub so he decided that a little more truth wouldn’t get him turned over to the law. Trust was laziness, a deadly sin, but even so he answered: ‘Herbert Thurgarton-Strang.’
    â€˜One of them?’ Isaac worked his keys at the lock. ‘We’ll have to find you a shorter monicker, otherwise the blokes in the factory will make your life a misery.’
    â€˜I’m not going to have anything to do with a factory.’
    â€˜You’ll want a job won’t you?’
    Herbert followed him into the small room. The old man’s brain must have been working overtime. ‘Well, yes, I suppose I do. Or I well might.’
    â€˜You’ve got problems, and I’m wondering what to do with you. Anyway, Thurgarton-Strang, in the meantime, I’ll cook us some chips.’ He took off his hat, overcoat and scarf. ‘I’ve got spuds, fat, and a loaf of bread, so you won’t go to sleep on an empty stomach, which it looks like you’ve got with that bony face. There’s tea and milk as well but, alas, no sugar.’
    â€˜That’s awfully kind of you.’ His speech sounded clumsy even to himself, as if he had landed in a foreign country with an obsolete phrasebook. ‘Very kind I must say.’
    â€˜Kind is a word you don’t have any cause to use,’ Isaac said with a wry smile. The smell of paraffin, soap and dampness pricked Herbert’s nostrils. The old cove was helpful, but as domineering as a teacher, especially when he went on: ‘Maybe I succumbed in a weak moment in asking you to come back here, though I always respond to an attempt at generosity. Unless it was a subtle ruse of yours to treat a stranger to a drink out of your last few bob.’ He looked at Herbert, as if holding a new penny up to the light. ‘But I hardly think so, if I’m any judge of character.’
    The walls were mainly bookshelves, with a table close up, and two chairs of the sort used in canteens.