Harry and Dante
Chapter 3
By
Lazlo Zalezac
Copyright (C) Lazlo Zalezac, 2006

Happy Harry stood outside the section of sewer pipe and looked at 
the feet hanging out the end. Using his shepherd’s staff, he nudged 
the man on his side. The man rolled over and sat up with the result 
that he hit his head. Dante swore, “Damn! That hurts.”

“Got to be careful in there,” Harry said with a grin. 

Dante rubbed his head where he had hit it. He groaned and asked, 
“What time is it?”

“Sunrise. Breakfast will be in ten minutes. We’ll leave after 
breakfast.”

“How do I get out of here?”

Harry shook his head while wondering what kind of problem 
William had given him. There had been no hints about the need to 
learn respect for the homeless or social responsibility. William had 
said nothing, but it was clear the guy was going to be a problem. 
Until he knew more, he’d let it ride. He answered, “You’ll figure it 
out.”

Feeling like a worm, Dante inched his way down the length of the 
pipe. When his legs hung over the edge, he rolled over on his 
stomach and inched back more until he could lower his feet to the 
ground. When he straightened out, he hit the back of his head on 
the edge of the pipe. He swore and said, “That hurts.”

Looking around, he didn’t find Harry. Other men were climbing 
out their beds. They handled the exit with much greater ease than 
he had. None of them had hit their heads. He folded the blanket to 
return it to Boy Scout since he was leaving after breakfast.

He wandered in the general direction of the food shack. A number 
of men were already standing around drinking coffee and waiting 
for the food to become available. A couple of men were walking 
off with trash sacks. He wondered what they were doing. His 
curiosity was satisfied when he heard Boy Scout tell another man, 
“You know the rules. Earn the food first and then you can get the 
food. Take this sack and fill it with trash.”

He went over to get a sack figuring that he had to earn his 
breakfast. Boy Scout looked at him and asked, “What do you 
want?”

“Aren’t I supposed to pick up trash to get breakfast?” Dante asked.

“You earned it yesterday peeling those potatoes. Don’t you 
remember that?”

“Oh. I’m still waking up,” Dante said in a lame attempt to hide his 
ignorance. “Here’s my blanket.”

Boy Scout looked at him for a good ten seconds and then said, “I 
don’t want your dirty blanket back. For all I know, you pissed on it 
in your sleep. It’s yours to keep.”

“Oh. So what am I supposed to do until breakfast?”

Pointing to a coffee urn, Boy Scout said, “There’s coffee over 
there.”

Dante went over and got a cup of coffee. He stood in front of the 
urn and took a sip of out of the cup. He was savoring the rush of 
caffeine when Jewels growled, “Move out of the way, Hungry 
Man.”

Dante stepped over to the side. “Sorry.”

Harry walked over to Dante and stood with crossed arms staring at 
him with a frown on his face. Boy Scout had told him a strange 
tale about an artist who was going to create a statue of him. He 
exhaled loudly through his nose. It was close to a snort, but it was 
not quite short enough to qualify as one. He said, “Hungry Man, 
William put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“He hired me to do this,” Dante answered realizing that Happy 
Harry had not known he was there to create a statue of the man.

“He hired you?”

“Oh yes. He’s paying me a lot of money to make a statue of you,” 
Dante said. He wondered if that information would free him from 
having to work around the Homeless Hotel for dinner.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Harry said while turning away. He 
started fishing through his pockets trying to find his cell phone. He 
had just pulled it out when it rang. Surprised he looked at the caller 
id and answered it, “What are you trying to pull?”

“Hi Harry,” William said. The young man’s voice was entirely too 
cheerful for the time of day.

“Don’t hi Harry me. What’s this about a statue?” Happy Harry 
asked. 

“Eight hundred castings of a statue and two castings of a bust,” 
William corrected.

“I’ll bust you.”

“I’m sure you will. Have a good breakfast,” William said just 
before hanging up. Harry could hear the young man’s laughter 
before the call cut off. 

Thirty minutes after breakfast, Dante climbed into the Roach 
Coach and closed the door. He’d just finished the most miserable 
shower of his life. He wondered what kind of person would have 
designed the Homeless Hotel with unheated outdoor showers. His 
balls had tried to climb into his body. He was sure that his scream 
of shock was loud enough to wake the dead.

Harry climbed into the wagon and said, “Only thirty minutes late 
and we’re about to shuffle off to Buffalo. Hang on because this 
here beast has more sway in it than a tree in a hurricane.”

The rocking motion started as soon as Harry pulled out of the 
Homeless Hotel. Looking out the window, Dante could see the 
ground rise up towards him. Panicked, Dante shouted, “We’re 
going to fall over!”

“Bosh! It just has a little sway to it. That’s all.”

“It should be sent to a junk yard!”

Ignoring the comment about his wagon, Harry said, “Now tell me 
about this statue you’re supposed to do of me. Did William tell you 
why he wanted it?”

Dante shook his head and said, “Nope. He just said that castings 
were going to be placed in Fusion Foundation sites.”

“Did he say locations supported by the Fusion Foundation or 
Fusion Foundation Buildings?”

“Locations supported by the Fusion Foundation,” Dante answered 
trying to recall William’s words exactly. He thought they meant 
the same thing.

“That sneaky brat,” Harry said when he realized what William was 
doing. Looking over at Dante, he said, “William wants to 
immortalize me by turning this fine figure of a man into a 
repository for bird shit.”

“That’s disgusting. A statue is not a repository for bird shit. It’s 
art.”

Nothing would be worse than having ugly statues of himself 
scattered around the country. Harry asked, “So are you any good?”

Dante pretended not to hear the question and looked out the 
window as the city of Cleveland rolled past. He didn’t know how 
to answer that question. Three years ago he would have answered 
in the affirmative. Sitting in the Roach Coach and watching run 
down buildings pass by, he didn’t know. 

Harry repeated his question in a louder voice. Dante answered, 
“William paid a lot of money for it. Figure it out for yourself.”

Although Dante didn’t realize it at the time, Happy Harry figured it 
out before Dante had even finished speaking. The old man didn’t 
even glance over at his passenger. There was time enough to deal 
with him later. For now, he was traveling and it was time to 
appreciate the movement. He started singing the song about being 
a born under a wandering star from the movie, Paint Your Wagon. 
It was his favorite song to sing while driving across the country. 

Dante looked out the window, but didn’t see the landscape pass by. 
His thoughts were turned inward. Harry’s questions had 
reawakened all of his self-doubts. He was on the verge of quitting 
the commission when he fell asleep. Harry didn’t wake him until 
they had reached a restaurant for lunch.

It was a typical roadside family dining place that was part of a 
national chain. Dante sat across from Harry and studied the menu. 
He had just decided that he’d get the Chef Salad when Harry 
asked, “What are you getting?”

“Chef Salad.”

Harry frowned and said, “You might want to get something with a 
little more fat in it. You’re going to need it since the nights are still 
cold. Once the temperature starts dropping below forty, you need 
every calorie you can burn.”

“Why don’t we sleep in a regular hotel?”

“Hungry Man, you are going to become one with the environment. 
Air conditioning and heating is part of a false world that isolates 
you from the change of seasons. You are going to find out what it 
means to be alive in the physical world,” Harry said. He also 
thought to himself that he was about to rediscover what it meant to 
live in the world of men and women.

“There’s a reason air conditioning and heating was invented,” 
Dante countered feeling a little intimidated by the fact that Harry 
was a Druid. Despite that, he felt a need to argue and Harry was 
the only one available to satisfy that need.

“That’s true. It doesn’t change the fact that people lost something 
as a result of it,” Harry agreed amiably. 

Wanting to make a point, Dante said, “I’m still going to get a 
Chef’s Salad.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

A tense half hour passed during which the order was taken and the 
food delivered. Harry enjoyed his meal, waxing poetic about the 
fine qualities of Chicken Fried Steak. Dante ate his salad quietly. 
About the time Dante was halfway through his salad, Harry said, 
“Hungry Man, my people named you correctly. You are a starving 
artist. The problem is that what you are hungry for doesn’t fill the 
stomach. That’s not a good thing in an artist.”

Dante looked up from his salad and stared at Harry. The old man 
looked him directly in the eye with an unwavering gaze. He 
wondered what it was that the Druid saw in him. A shiver went 
through Dante and he bent down to finish his lunch. His appetite 
was gone.

Harry and Dante stayed for three days in Buffalo. Dante had 
become accustomed to the flow of life in a Homeless Hotel. 
Although the bed had never become comfortable, he had become 
used to sleeping on the hard surface. The meals were nutritious, 
but not always tasty. The nights were cold and he found that he 
was loosing weight since his body was trying to accommodate the 
changes in weather.

Dante hadn’t tried to fit in with the men and women in the 
Homeless Hotel. Most of the time was spent sitting on a railroad 
tie thinking about his commission, but he didn’t do anything about 
it. The only time he wasn’t on the railroad tie was when he was 
doing some odd job around the Homeless Hotel to earn his food for 
the day. Not once did he pick up his sketch book to draw Harry. He 
didn’t even consider attempting to draw Harry.

Even worse than not doing anything, Dante had ignored everyone 
around him. In the entire three days, he hadn’t said one word more 
than was necessary to get food. He ignored the conversations that 
took place around him even when those conversations concerned 
him. When someone said something really outrageous, all he did 
was look in their direction for a moment and then look away.

On the morning of the fourth day, Harry found Dante standing by 
the coffee urn drinking a cup of coffee. Harry said, “We leave in 
half an hour. You’ll need to take a shower before we go. You stink 
and I don’t want to smell you all the way to New York City.”

Dante stared at the Druid angered by his blunt talk. Wanting to get 
back at the Druid, he said, “You’re a mean bastard. If you’re so 
good, aren’t you supposed to be nice?”

“What’s being nice got to do with being good?” Harry asked with a 
twinkle in his eye. 

“You know what I mean; helping people by giving them a kind 
word and all of that.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. The only way to help 
people is to tell them the truth. The truth is a harsh mistress,” 
Harry said with a sad shake of his head. He felt that anyone who 
didn’t believe that truth was harsh should spend a day with Ed 
Biggers.

Being told that he stank was bad, but the comment about him 
saying something stupid offended him. His offense wasn’t great 
enough to argue, though. He rose and went over to the shower. The 
blast of cold water barely registered. It was not sufficient to break 
through his depressed mental state.

They hadn’t even left Buffalo before Harry pulled in front of a 
house in a poor part of town. Dante watched Harry get out and go 
into the house wondering why they were stopping there. Five 
minutes later, Harry came out and opened the door on Dante’s 
side. Grinning, Harry said, “There’s a bunch of toxins in your 
body. It’s time to get rid of them.”

“Leave me alone,” Dante said.

“I’m not going to join your private pity party, asshole. You need to 
get your pipes cleaned. Now get out of this crate and get inside that 
house. Ask for Maggie.”

Moving like a condemned man, Dante made his way to the front 
door. He knocked. After a few seconds an attractive woman 
opened the door and invited him into the house. Once there, he 
said, “Harry said that I was to ask for Maggie.”

The request caused her to raise both eyebrows in surprise. 
Recovering, she said, “I’ll get Maggie for you.”

Dante watched dully as the woman disappeared down a hallway. A 
minute later she led a woman in her early twenties into the room. 
The woman was a brunette with an attractive face. She was 
wearing a short thin robe that ended well above her knees. The legs 
shown off were very shapely. Smiling at him, she said, “Come 
with me.”

Realizing that Harry had set him up with a prostitute, Dante 
followed behind her watching her movements. She was pretty 
enough and his body wanted it, but his spirit was stunted. She 
reached a room and opened the door. Gesturing inside, she said, 
“Get undressed and lie down on the massage table. I’ll be back in a 
minute.”

Dante stumbled into the room and turned in time to see the door 
close behind him. The room was dimly lit and it took a minute for 
his eyes to adjust to the lower light level. A standard massage table 
occupied the center of the room. There was a small dresser against 
one wall with a variety of creams, powders, and oils randomly 
placed around it. A drawer was partially opened and he could see 
folded towels within it. 

Next to the table was a chair. He started undressing and put his 
clothes on the chair. Even as he disrobed, he felt embarrassed by 
the disregard he had been showing them over the past few days. 
Once he was naked, he climbed on the table and covered himself 
with the neatly folded towel that had been on the center of the 
table.

There was a hole at the head of the table and he adjusted his 
position so that his face was supported through the hole. He heard 
the door open behind him and the sounds of Maggie slipping into 
the room. The door closed with a slam that made him jump. She 
said, “Sorry about that. The door sticks and I have to slam it to get 
it to close.”

Dante didn’t answer, but settled himself back onto the table. His 
movement was suddenly arrested when she pulled the towel off 
him. He rose and turned to look at her. She had dropped the robe 
and was standing next to the table naked except for a pair of 
French cut panties. She smiled and said, “Lie down. You’ll have 
plenty of opportunity to look all you want when I’m done 
massaging your back.”

Swallowing, Dante returned to his position. After a short time, she 
poured some oil on his back and started to massage the muscles. 
After a minute she said, “You’re so tense. Do you want to tell me 
about it?”

“No,” Dante answered, “you see, my girlfriend and my best friend 
left me three years ago. Since then, I haven’t been with a woman.”

“Sounds like you were really hurt by their leaving,” Maggie said 
while kneading a tight muscle in his neck.

For the next hour, all of the miseries and doubts that had been 
bottled up inside Dante spilled forth. He was brutally honest about 
the events leading up to their leaving and his behavior since that 
time. All of his fears and concerns boiled forth without control. At 
some point, he realized that he was on his back with his head 
resting in her lap. Her arms were holding him as she stared down at 
him with concern filled eyes. 

At the same time that he ran out of things to say there was a knock 
on the door. Maggie looked down at him and said, “Your time is 
up.”

“Sorry to dump all that on you,” Dante said feeling embarrassed by 
his behavior.

She kissed his forehead and said, “Don’t be sorry. I’m glad that I 
was able to help.”

Dante sat up and she climbed off the table. While putting her robe 
on, she said, “Get dressed. Harry’s waiting outside.”

Knowing that he owed her a debt that was far more than what 
money could pay, Dante asked, “What do I owe you?”

Grinning, she said, “Don’t worry about it. Harry’s taking care of 
it.”

After she slipped out of the room, Dante climbed off the table and 
dressed. He slipped out of the room and returned to the living 
room. The attractive woman asked, “Did you enjoy your session?”

Surprised at how well he felt, Dante answered, “Very much. It was 
very therapeutic.”

“I hope you’ll return some time,” she said with a smile. When 
Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet, she said, 
“Don’t ruin it. Harry’s waiting outside.”

Disappointed at not being able to do something to thank Maggie, 
he said, “Let her know how much I appreciated what she did.”

The woman smiled and said, “She knows.”

Confused by the reply, Dante left the house. Stepping outdoors he 
was struck by the colors. The sky was a bright blue that was almost 
painful to the eyes. Bright white fluffy clouds broke up the expanse 
of blue. He walked to the Roach Coach with a spring to his step 
that had been absent for years.

Harry watched Dante approach with a smile. When the man 
climbed into the wagon, Harry said, “Get in the back. We have a 
passenger.”

Not seeing anyone else in the Roach Coach, Dante moved into the 
back wondering who the mystery passenger was. There wasn’t any 
place to sit, so he sat on the floor. He was shocked when Maggie 
climbed into the passenger seat and kissed Harry on the cheek. In a 
happy tone of voice, she said, “Thanks Harry. I’m ready to move 
on now.”

“Maggie,” Dante said. The word had slipped past his control.

“Hello Hungry Man. How are you feeling?”

“Shocked. What are you doing here?” Dante asked.

“Harry’s taking me to the Fallen Angels. You were my last and I’ll 
remember you forever. It was special. Thank you,” she answered.

When the Roach Coach lurched forward, Harry announced, “Hold 
on, folks. When this wagon is moving, it has more swinging going 
on than a playground during recess.”

Dante chuckled at the comment. He grinned when Maggie cried 
out, “We’re going to fall over.”

After ten minutes of riding in the front, Maggie decided that she 
had enough and made her way to the back of the wagon. Sitting on 
the floor next to Dante, she said, “This crate should be hauled off 
to a junk yard.”

Dante said, “I’ve suggested that more than once. He seems to like 
the way it moves.”

“That’s Harry for you. He likes to go places that most of us would 
rather leave behind,” she said.

“So what’s with this Fallen Angels thing?”

Surprised that Dante didn’t know about it, she said, “It is an 
organization that helps whores get out of the business.”

“So why are you going there?”

Maggie stared at him for a minute and then burst out laughing. 
Lightly, she said, “If you didn’t notice, that was a whore house that 
you just left.”

“But you’re too nice to be a whore,” Dante protested forgetting 
that she had had been nearly naked when she had given him the 
massage. He hadn’t had a doubt that she was a prostitute when she 
had led him to the room.

“You’re so sweet,” Maggie said. 

For the rest of the trip, she told Dante about her life. It was an all 
too common tale of a step-father who was a sexual predator and a 
young girl who left only to find that she had walked into a world 
filled with sexual predators. 

As she told her story, Dante held her in his arms and allowed her to 
release the toxins that an aborted childhood had instilled in her. His 
throat was tight when she told about how horrible and cheap she 
felt when she turned her first trick to make enough to sleep warm 
at night on a full stomach. Listening, he came to appreciate her 
strength and her will to survive. Despite the things that she had 
suffered, he saw that she still retained a good soul. Despite three 
years of selling her body, she wanted to love and be loved as a 
woman and not as a whore. 

She described how Harry had gotten her off of the street where it 
was dangerous and into the house where she was better protected. 
Dante frowned when he learned that Happy Harry had helped the 
owner set up the house. He asked, “Why would Harry do that?”

“Some of us aren’t ready to leave the business right away. The 
money is too attractive, we’re too screwed up to work, or we don’t 
think we’re good enough to rejoin society. Nancy, who runs that 
house, takes us to a therapist, helps us get our GED, and works 
with us in learning how to manage our lives. When we’re ready to 
leave, Harry comes by and takes us to the Fallen Angels.”

“It sounds to me like this Nancy is using you,” Dante said finding 
the idea repugnant. He didn’t like the idea that Harry was involved 
in something so illegal.

Looking at Dante, she said, “Of course she is. She might call 
herself a madam, but she’s nothing more than a pimp. She makes a 
lot of money off of the girls in the house. However, she does give 
back more than any other pimp that I’ve ever dealt with.”

“So what are you going to do when you get to the Fallen Angles?”

Maggie shrugged her shoulders and answered, “I’m thinking of 
going to college and major in social work. Maybe I can help a few 
kids before they have the life I’ve lived.”

“Nice.”

Dante was sad when they dropped Maggie off at a small building 
that had a sign in the window that simply said, ‘Fallen Angels.” 
Just before she had gotten out of the Roach Coach, Harry had 
given her a little statue of an angel. Dante had given her a hug and 
told her that she’d be in his thoughts. He moved into the passenger 
seat and watched the building as it receded into the distance.  

Grinning, Harry could see that an emotional bond had developed 
between the two. Leering obscenely, he said, “Did you enjoy 
getting your pipes cleaned by Maggie?”

Offended by the coarse talk, Dante said, “We didn’t have sex!”

“I never thought you did for a minute,” Harry said with a laugh. He 
turned a corner which started the Roach Coach to swaying. 
Winking at Dante, he said, “You did get a lot of that emotional 
plumbing of yours straightened out. I bet that toilet you call a brain 
can flush now without flooding the bathroom.”

Suspicious, Dante stared at Harry wondering if he was telling the 
truth. He asked, “You didn’t think we did anything?”

“As bound up as you were in your own world of misery, I’d have 
been surprised if you’d been able to get a hard-on. Of course, 
you’re still a long way from being an artist again.”