Others had seen what happened and soon the police and an ambulance were there. The attendants carefully rolled the wino out of Harrys coat. He was charred, but alive. They placed him in the ambulance and then asked Harry if he was alright. Any burns? Harry shook his head. Why dont you take a ride with us and we’ll check you out at the hospital. Harry shook his head, holding his coat close to him and staring at the ambulance. The attendant shrugged, You saved his life… for now anyway. Dont know if it’ll do much good though.
The ambulance left and the police questioned Harry briefly. Harry clutched his coat to him, still in a state of shock. A couple of people told the police that they could describe the kids who did it, Probably the same kids whove been doin it to all the others.
Yeah, they think its some kind of game.
They call it burn a bum.
Harry managed to work himself into the coat and stumble away from the small knot of people to the liquor store. It was when he shoved the bottle in his pocket that he noticed how much his hands had been burned. The sudden pain snapped him out of his shock and he became more alert as he went to his corner nest in the abandoned building. He looked at his coat and though it had a few black spots there was no real damage done. He hugged it to his breast as his body unfolded in the corner and almost cried with relief as he leaned against the wall. He continued to hug and kiss his coat, overwhelmed by the fact that it was alright, realizing that the flames could have destroyed his coat when he wrapped it around the wino. His relief was so great that he spent many, many minutes hugging and kissing his coat, telling it he was sorry if it got hurt but he had to do it, he couldnt just let the guy burn, and his coat reassured him that it was alright, it understood and agreed that Harry had done the right thing…
Eventually the shock was completely drained from him and Harry put his coat on and wrapped it snuggly around him, but even the fact that his coat was safe could not stop the feeling of sadness that flowed through him. Harry took a drink and once more looked at his burned hands. They werent too bad. A little red with a couple of blisters. They were starting to hurt now. He took another long drink. Soon the wine would take away the pain. In the meantime he would hold a few cold stones in his hands to keep them cool…
but the cold stones, and even the wine, couldnt seem to stop that terrible sadness that was taking control of his body and mind. He took another long drink trying to drown out the screams of the winos agony, but when they finally faded he could still hear the peoples voices, its some kindda game… its some kindda game, its some kindda game….
He suddenly groaned and tears burst forth from his eyes and he folded his arms around his head as he sobbed from the depth of his being, O God… O God… he squeezed his arms tighter around his head hoping the pressure might in some miraculous way ease the sickness flowing through his body and the pain of his mind and soul… O God… why is life so fragile???? Why???? Why???? There was still a faint glow in the sky as he walked along the street, his hands deep in his pockets, talking softly to his coat, telling it how much he loved it and appreciated how warm it was keeping him and how he never had to be afraid of the winters because of it; and sometimes he would whistle for a few minutes, or even hum, and then continue talking to his coat and tell it how theyd get a bottle of muscatel and go back to that nice warm place they had fixed up last night and just drink and sleep, no worries no cares, ju—A couple of bums suddenly shoved him in a doorway and he knew they were after his coat. He swung out and screamed HELP!!!! HELP!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH-H H H H H H H H!!!!—Shut up ya son of a bitch—Harry continued flailing his arms, screaming, AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH-HHHHHHHH!!!!—Fa krists sake grabim—What the fuck ya think Im tryin to do—Hitim fa krists sake—and Harry continued to swing his arms and fight to get out the door, still screaming, hoping someone would come to help him, AAAAAAAAAAA-HHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!—and the three of them continued to fall over each other and bounce off the walls in the cramped hallway, Harry flailing and screaming as he lunged for the door, the bums trying to grab him and hit him with a piece of pipe one of them was holding, and Harry finally crashed through the thin door—AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH -just as the guy hit him on the head with the pipe and Harry staggered forward onto the street and the guy hit him again and Harry fell to his knees, his arms wrapped around himself so they couldnt get the coat off, and he was hit again and knocked flat on his face and was kicked, but still he kept his arms wrapped around himself in his semi-conscious state, muttering, no, no, no, as they tried to yank the coat off, and people passing by glanced at first and then looked and soon a few asked what the hell was going on and the guys looked around at the people, still tugging on the coat, and then a prowl car turned the corner and they let go of the coat and ran…
The cops got out of the car and walked over to where Harry was lying on the sidewalk, blood seeping from his head, his arms wrapped around his body protecting his coat in a death grip. The cops looked down at him for a moment… Seems to be alive.
Yeah… Guess we’d better put in a call.
The other cop nodded and strolled back to the car and called an ambulance.
A dozen or so people milled around Harry, asking what had happened, shaking their heads or relating what they had seen or surmised; some passersby stopped to join them or to look for a moment then move on, others slowing slightly and seeing it was just a bum hurried on their way.
The doctors did what they could for him but Harry was not expected to live through the night, and at 4 a.m. his heart actually stopped beating, but an alert nurse pounded his chest, his heart responding with a feeble but constant beat. Every function of his body was monitored and checked with amazement, there being no known medical explanation for his still being alive.
The fourth day they started having hope that he would live. Not because there had been any improvement in his condition, everything was still the same, but simply because it somehow seemed inevitable. Then, about 4’30 a.m., his body started to convulse from alcoholic withdrawal. His condition got worse and worse rapidly, yet still he lived, something inside him refusing to give up.
Treating the convulsions was in itself a simple matter but the treatment tended to aggravate his other condition, and so the hospital personnel had to maintain a delicate balance so they would not bring about his death from one condition while treating the other.
Miraculously he survived the convulsions and the treatment, and after being in a coma for a week he regained consciousness for a brief period, his eyes barely focusing, but able to nod his head when asked if he could hear, then mumbled something about his coat before drifting once again into unconsciousness. From that moment on his recovery was slow, sometimes barely discernible, but steady.
A week later he was able to talk and was visited by a clerk from the records office. She smiled and sat down next to the bed and explained that as he was unconscious, and had no identification when he was brought in, she had to ask him a few questions Alright? Do you feel up to it?
He nodded. They didnt get my coat, did they?
What? What coat?
The one I was wearing. They tried to get my coat.