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

A second room through an archway, little more than an alcove, contained a bed and a chest of drawers. ‘It wasn’t a ruse,’ Herbert said, ‘I can tell you.’
    â€˜Sit down, then, and don’t be offended – while I get to work.’ He filled a kettle and saucepan at a tap on the landing, and Herbert drew out a book to find that half was in a script he hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t Greek or Hindustani, but whatever it was suggested that Isaac, though only a printer, might be something of a scholar, and not so lowly and simple as he had thought at first. A smaller curtain in a corner covered his larder, and in a few minutes the room was pungent with the smell of frying. He must be lonely though, to do what he was doing so well, cutting spuds into chips for someone he had just met. ‘I’ve even got a pat of butter for our bread. It’s a lucky night. Every man should be able to cook, otherwise he’s no man.’
    Herbert sat down to the most welcome meal of his life. ‘It’s marvellous,’ starvation diminishing with every mouthful.
    Isaac ate daintily for a man in such accommodation, and Herbert saw the skullcap on his bald head as something to keep off the chill. ‘Which you are too young to feel with your black thatch,’ Isaac said, when Herbert politely mentioned it. ‘It may well be marvellous grub, but I’ll burn in hell, if there is such a place, for eating a mixture like this. However, necessity knows no bounds, with which I’m sure the sagest rabbis would agree.’
    â€˜Why shouldn’t they?’
    â€˜Well, my son, I’m Jewish, and this fat is not what they would call kosher, though I get it when I have to.’
    â€˜Kosher?’
    â€˜Ritually clean, to you.’
    Herbert guided a piece of bread around the plate with his fork to mop up the fat. ‘Why shouldn’t you eat it?’
    â€˜That – is a very long story. Very long indeed. You’ll have to bury yourself in Leviticus to find out.’
    Herbert felt himself to be what people meant by intoxicated, and that the beer was responsible. He was also drunk with freedom and food, for on standing up the room seemed to be without walls, and he hoped he wasn’t going to faint. After being locked in all his life he belonged nowhere at the moment, no rules or walls surrounding him. Every nerve tingled with a mixture of relief and trepidation, but on the whole it was good, even better than he would ever have thought good to be. Acting out of his own will, Fate had led him to this funny old chap who for one night anyway had given him a place to sleep. What more did he need? He’d never had the chance to bump into such a person before, and all he had heard from his father about his sort was a slighting comment on one who had kept a store in Simla. How strange and wonderful life was! He sat down and said, as if to flatter him for his generosity: ‘I’ll bet you have lots of interesting stories to tell.’
    Isaac laid the plates in a washing up bowl and set it by the door, in place of a steel helmet which he put on to a pile of books. ‘I used to look a sight in that when I did my firewatching. Yes, I’ve plenty of stories, and I might tell you one sometime. I won’t go into any now though, because as soon as I’ve done with this cigarette it’ll be time for bed.’
    They sat as if silence was part of the ritual until Herbert, confident that Isaac was to be trusted, said he found it hard to believe he had left his bloody awful school only that morning.
    â€˜In that case you won’t mind sleeping rough.’ He took a blanket from a cupboard. ‘Though I’ve slept rougher in my time, let me tell you. Spread this over you when you get your head down.’
    Herbert unpacked his spare trousers, jacket, shirt, underwear, socks and handkerchiefs, complimenting himself on the forethought of bringing so much.