‘’‘In All Toil There is Profit’’

‘’‘In All Toil There is Profit’’

Henry stood outside the alehouse, his hands still deeply buried in the pockets of his decaying coat. Even thought there was a frost in the air he’d hesitated outside, loitering for a moment. He stood there and inspected the derelict building closer as if it was his first time seeing it. It's exterior facade gave away little of its purpose but much of its quality. If the alehouse had a name it wasn’t advertised and the squalid look of the narrow, crooked doorway only served as a rather inadequate warning for the palid interior beyond. Still, for poor slum dwellers such as Henry it was hardly different from the norm.

‘’Keep your wits about you..’’ Henry muttered to himself. He walked over to the door, pushed it half-open before it caught something, and squeezed through the gap.

Considering the cold outside he’d have thought the relative warmth would have been the first thing to hit him. Instead it was something far fouler; the acrid smell of unwashed bodies and sour beer, of slovenly workers straight from 14 hour shifts who only owned the one set of clothes. More than likely Henry would have noticed this assault on the senses in one of his many previous visits, except he’d never been to this place sober.

Truth be told the assault on the senses extended far beyond that of smell alone. The place was a piteous sight on a good day. And this was, by no means, a good day. The alehouse’s high walls were completely hidden behind rows of clutter as the proprietor kept no separate storage area. Instead he stacked everything he owned in smothering heaps against the four bulging walls. Henry was fairly certain no small share of this was by now load-bearing clutter and was in part responsible for holding up the sagging roof. All this made the rectangular space with its low dirt floor appear smaller than it actually was. Inside there was just enough room for 5 decrepit tables placed lengthwise, a barrel from where a meagre looking child pulled cups of thin beer for the battered looking patrons and a corner that was separated by a filthy curtain giving only a modest illusion of privacy. Covering this morose setting was a dirty yellowish glow caused by a total lack of natural light, the whole room instead being dimly lit by sparcely placed lanterns. As Henry looked around the room of thirty or so people his eyes involuntarily and quickly passed over the cordoned off corner, as if by not looking he could will it not to exist.

‘’Henry!’’ called out a great big man, half standing at a table in the back, his massive hand raised. ‘’I’ve saved you a seat! Boy get Henry a cup of ale!’’ he roared at the child next to the barrel, who quickly jumped to his feet.

Henry made his way through the room and even though he did his very best not to acknowledge the secluded corner, the overall gloom of the rooms inhabitants still had an oppressing feel. As he got to the table and sat down next to Red the large man thumped his heavy hand on Henry’s shoulder.

‘’Good to have you here Henry, we weren’t sure if you’d come..’’ Red coughed, was glad to see the boy coming up with a cup, and pressed 2 half-coppers in his filthy hand. ‘’First one’s on me.’’ Red said as he watched the boy deposit one of the coins into a slotted box beside the sequestered area.

Henry focused his eyes on the cup and heard the clatter of the coin into the box. From behind the flimsy barricade, as if it had been some great, big, macabre music box, Henry heard a mournfull howl, followed by a woman’s soft crying and a man’s soothing voice saying ‘’There, there now my love..’’ It chilled him to the bone.

‘’Thanks Red,’’ said Henry ‘’..but you know I quit drinking some months ago.’’

‘’I know, but that’s not why we’re here. I told you, I think it’s different now. I think they’re ready..’’ Red spoke in conspiratorial tones that managed to reach all at the table and caused the men to lean in. ‘’Alfred, how long have we been here, how far along are they?’’

A lanky man with greasy chestnut hair and bags under his eyes sat opposite Red and Henry and leaned in a little closer still. He replied in similar hushed tones, ‘’Not even a quarter-barrel between thirty men these past two hours. We’ve had some comers and goers but most are just nursing their cups.’’

‘’You hear that Henry? We’ve been spreading your ideas and these men are finally listening!’’ As Red spoke another coin fell in the collections box prompting anew the wailing from beyond the ragged barrier. ‘’That box..’’ Red nodded towards the corner ‘’..is never getting full tonight. You hear that sound? There’s barely a thing in it.’’

‘’Look Red..’’ Henry pushed the cup of warm beer between his hands and faced his old friend, ‘’you’ve said this before and I’ve declined before, why do you think now is any different?’’

‘’Because old friend, this is the first time you’ve shown up to a vigil again. I think you can feel it as much as we can. It’s been a year since you and Emmy lost your little Joseph on the factory floor, his tiny body mangled for another man’s greed. A year since you and her sat behind that curtain and money was raised for you and men still accepted that such was the way of things. Look around you now,’’ and Red gestured out into the alehouse.

‘’Old Smiles’ girl only has the one arm now, the burns were too severe. They didn’t even stop production. Finniker lost his boy like you, he even had to pay damages because it cost the factory owner a few coppers. And they are far from the only ones. Alfred here… I’m sure you heard about his Eliza..’’ Red halted then and looked across at Alfred.

‘’Things… are different now..’’ Alfred spoke resolutely and with a sudden vigour that did not match his exhausted face. The other men at the table nodded in agreement, stern faces all round.

Henry looked about the room then. And underneath those scarred, wasted masks and that all-pervading gloom he saw something else. The same thing he saw in Alfred’s otherwise sullen face sitting across from him: defiance.

After a sigh Henry looked hard at his hands and balled his fists in shame. ‘’You could be right Red.. But what makes you think I’m your man? I sat there, in that corner, as Emmy was inconsolable and people drank and donated and you know what I did with that money? I drank it. For nine months straight I drank until the last half-copper like some witless fool, leaving Emmy all alone to battle her grief. Only on days of vigils I'd avoid this place and find somewhere else to drown my misery. What kind of man is that? What makes you think I’m any kind of man to help you know?

Red once again placed his huge hand on Henry’s shoulder, only this time far more gently than one would expect possible from a man his size. ‘’Because you’ve been trough it, you’re a working stiff like them. Because you’ve been to the bottom of the barrel and came out a better man. Not a new man mind you, this was always your dream, even before Joseph.. But a better man for sure. Well that and you know I can’t talk in public to save my life. That’s always been your department, you always had the plans. You’re a leader, I’m more of a man of action.’’ As he said that, Red got up and clambered onto that wreck of a table, the men in the alehouse slowly turning towards them. ‘’What did Emmy tell you before you left the house tonight?’’

Henry took a deep breath. ‘’To keep my wits about me.’’

‘’Heh, she always was the smart one out of you two.. Well come on then!’’ Red roared, holding out his right hand to his old comrade.

With his left hand Henry shoved his cup of untouched ale to the ground as he clasped his right hand in Red’s and was hoisted effortlessly onto the table. Thirty grimy, tired souls looked at Henry on his new makeshift pulpit, filling him with a feeling of purpose he'd long thought lost.

Henry looked around at them for a long moment searching for the right words and spoke, his voice filling every inch of that desolate place: ‘’My dear coworkers, my dear friends.. All of you know me and what I have been through. And like me you have all endured far too much. Therefore I say enough is enough! Enough of slaving on the factory floor while we watch the ones we love die or get maimed for the enrichment of a privileged few. No more will we sacrifice our babes so we can come home with barely enough in our pockets to let our other little ones starve! My friends, enough is enough!’’ Henry spoke loudly, deliberately and with newfound conviction to his audience, waiting to see if his sermonising would buy him any new converts to his rekindled cause.

Just as the subdued murmuring slowly turned to grumbling agreement all heads turned slightly and looked past Henry into the corner. The room went as silent as the grave. Henry followed their eyes and for the first time that evening rested his eyes on that sorrowful edge of the room.

There in that corner, the worn out drapes pulled back, stood a gaunt, pale woman in the tawny glare of a sputtering lantern. With one hand she held aside the divider, in the other she tightly clenched a tattered, ratty looking doll that made the men’s skin prickle on the backs of their necks. It was as if grief had struck her face but had never touched her eyes. Those eyes burned like furnaces stoked bright red, emanating from them an anger such as few in the room had ever felt. ‘’Enough..’’ she snarled in a voice hoarse from crying ‘’..is enough.’’