Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: STEAM (12/03/15)
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TITLE: The Clock | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
12/10/15 -
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“Four hundred and thirteen,” Simpson O’Reilly blurted out from his perch on the curio shop steps less than six feet away. The steam from his coffee drifted up slowly while the latte cooled. “I think we’re in for a record today.”
Dempsey stood to his feet, examined the seagulls and crows bobbing about looking for handouts, waggled his neck back and forth, then sat down again. “How long have you been counting tourists?”
O’Reilly ran the thick stained digits of two massive hands through the thin white wisps running like fenders above his ears. “Back in seventy-five I was sleeping on the street here at Water and Cambie.” He scratched the massive white beard somewhere in the vicinity of his chin. “Hurt my back on the docks and lost my job. Used to be a massive old grate letting the heat from under the city flow out into the air.” He nodded toward the steam clock. “City covered up that old steam grate with this steam clock to get rid of us street folks. Been counting ever since.”
“My ancestors used to sit near here counting the deer heading for Stanley Park,” Littlefoot responded. “We hunted here. The Musqueam and Squamish used to race their dugouts past the point out there.”
O’Reilly looked down the street between the two red brick buildings and examined the massive freighters sitting at anchor in the harbour. “My folks came to this country on a ship a third of that size,” he said. “Irish potato famine pretty much emptied the emerald isle.”
The muscular First Nation’s warrior turned back to the clock. His black braided pony tail adorned with a single feather flipped over his shoulder and settled like an exclamation mark on his 2010 Olympics T-shirt. “It’s about to blow for three o’clock. How long do you sit here counting?”
O’Reilly looked at the quarter a Sikh man in a business suit had dropped into his New York Rangers’ cap. He let it snuggle against the loonie coin already there and called out “God bless you anyway.” He turned back to his questioner. “I count until they’re done or until I get enough for a good supper.”
“The Mission serves a pretty good dinner,” Littlefoot observed. “I don’t stress myself with what I don’t need to worry about.”
“What’s with the art work?” the Irishman asked as a Chinese family stopped, pointed and commented in Cantonese about what they saw against the wall near Littlefoot’s chair.
“Until last summer, I’ve been up in Haida Gwai carving totem poles and doing my art,” Littlefoot spoke up. “Things got tough.” He nodded toward his largest piece featuring a raven and a bear. “Family crests. People seem to like this style.”
O’Reilly got up and stood in the place of the Chinese family who had moved on when he moved in their direction. “Do you ever sell enough to look after yourself?”
Littlefoot laughed. “I might if you didn’t keep chasing off the customers. The object is not to worry about today. The Creator knows how to take care of his children.”
O’Reilly turned back toward the clock as it gave us three sharp whistles and a tune while emitting the steam which fascinated the tourists. “Did you know that there’s only six of these clocks in the world?” He took three steps toward the now quiet clock and then turned. “I learned about the Creator in Sunday School. Used to spend a lot of time looking at the mountains and wondering if he knew I was still here.”
The artist pointed toward the raven he had created. “Our people have a legend about how the Raven created all of us. Long ago people used to laugh at our traditions and stories. Now, they listen and try to understand.”
The Irishman crouched down and examined the art. “It looks like you have steam coming up underneath the raven and the bear.”
Littlefoot picked up the piece. “What do you know. It seems that steam has been part of both our time from the start.”
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WEll done.
God bless~