O Captain! My Captain!
As I was popping out to get a pint of milk yesterday I saw our local drunk sitting on a doorstep at the far end of the street.
Last summer, he used to sit on a doorstep right next to our building. His 10am cigar smoke would drift in through our open windows as the morning was warming up, which was not unpleasant at all. He disappeared during the winter, but now that the sun is out again, he's back on the scene. I think he just likes to see what's going on, which is why he's swapped last summer's preferred doorstep for this new one near the corner with Danziger - a building on the opposite side of the street is being smartened-up and is covered in scaffolding. There's a crane in attendance and lots of people clambering around. Why wouldn't you want to sit opposite that, nursing a beer and shouting incomprehensible greetings at passers-by?
We christened him "The Captain" because last year's outfit made him vaguely resemble a disgraced seafarer. Perhaps he'd allowed his office to be wrested from him by a band of swarthy mutineers who made off with loot that had been destined for the state's coffers. He has a full, white-grey beard and moustache. He wears a hat. You can more or less tell the time of day by the colour of his skin - if it's a bit waxy, it's early. Crimson, and it's early afternoon.
Anyway, I was faced with the prospect of walking past him to get to the shop on the corner. Our relationship's a bit awkward, because my German's not good enough to understand his heavily-accented roaring. Other folks seem to understand him fine. So, I always raise my hand to my temple in a casual salute, and usually greet him with a "Hallo" or a "'Tag!" but he always seems to want more. This time, he saw me coming and was bellowing at me before I was within ten metres, which meant that I'd already used up my salute and laconic greeting before I was past him. He was still saying stuff, so I had to either ignore him, or stop. I decided to stop. He squinted up at me and grunted the same collection of syllables that he'd already uttered a few times during my approach. I spread my hands and began apologising for my poor German when I realised what he was saying: "wieder einkoooofen?" He was asking me if I was going shopping again! I told him that I was. And then - I saw an opportunity to cement a place in his affections. I asked him if he wanted anything. He said he wanted a beer. I asked him what kind. He tried to focus on the half-empty bottle that he had in his hand already. It was (naturally) a Sternburg Export. I said I'd be back - but I don't think he really believed me.
I went to the shop and bought him a beer. On my way back down the street, he started gargling furiously at me and bouncing up and down in anticipation. I drew the beer from the bag and handed it to him with a "bitte schoen, mein Freund". There was an expression of wonder on his face which rapidly turned to bemusement and frustration. I was already walking away - that first expression had been thanks enough - when I realised that I hadn't asked the shopkeeper to open the bottle for him. He began shouting after me. I turned and gave him a jaunty wave.
Last summer, he used to sit on a doorstep right next to our building. His 10am cigar smoke would drift in through our open windows as the morning was warming up, which was not unpleasant at all. He disappeared during the winter, but now that the sun is out again, he's back on the scene. I think he just likes to see what's going on, which is why he's swapped last summer's preferred doorstep for this new one near the corner with Danziger - a building on the opposite side of the street is being smartened-up and is covered in scaffolding. There's a crane in attendance and lots of people clambering around. Why wouldn't you want to sit opposite that, nursing a beer and shouting incomprehensible greetings at passers-by?
We christened him "The Captain" because last year's outfit made him vaguely resemble a disgraced seafarer. Perhaps he'd allowed his office to be wrested from him by a band of swarthy mutineers who made off with loot that had been destined for the state's coffers. He has a full, white-grey beard and moustache. He wears a hat. You can more or less tell the time of day by the colour of his skin - if it's a bit waxy, it's early. Crimson, and it's early afternoon.
Anyway, I was faced with the prospect of walking past him to get to the shop on the corner. Our relationship's a bit awkward, because my German's not good enough to understand his heavily-accented roaring. Other folks seem to understand him fine. So, I always raise my hand to my temple in a casual salute, and usually greet him with a "Hallo" or a "'Tag!" but he always seems to want more. This time, he saw me coming and was bellowing at me before I was within ten metres, which meant that I'd already used up my salute and laconic greeting before I was past him. He was still saying stuff, so I had to either ignore him, or stop. I decided to stop. He squinted up at me and grunted the same collection of syllables that he'd already uttered a few times during my approach. I spread my hands and began apologising for my poor German when I realised what he was saying: "wieder einkoooofen?" He was asking me if I was going shopping again! I told him that I was. And then - I saw an opportunity to cement a place in his affections. I asked him if he wanted anything. He said he wanted a beer. I asked him what kind. He tried to focus on the half-empty bottle that he had in his hand already. It was (naturally) a Sternburg Export. I said I'd be back - but I don't think he really believed me.
I went to the shop and bought him a beer. On my way back down the street, he started gargling furiously at me and bouncing up and down in anticipation. I drew the beer from the bag and handed it to him with a "bitte schoen, mein Freund". There was an expression of wonder on his face which rapidly turned to bemusement and frustration. I was already walking away - that first expression had been thanks enough - when I realised that I hadn't asked the shopkeeper to open the bottle for him. He began shouting after me. I turned and gave him a jaunty wave.