"Jam," Remus said under his breath. "Marmalade." Behind him, the toast popped to the top of the toaster. "Tea," he whispered as, on cue, the kettle began to whistle. "Black, one spoonful of sugar," Remus whispered, pulling the top off the sugar pot and stirring in his spoonful of sugar with the brittle metal spoon. He sat down to his toast and tea and pulled the morning newspaper toward him. 30 January, 1982. Remus flipped quickly to the want ads. He rose and went to the jacket by the door, reaching into the left pocket and pulling out a pen. But there were no new ads to circle.
"Do up the buttons," Remus muttered as he stood in front of his mirror. The landlady hadn't lied-the bedroom furniture really was decent, considering the rate he was paying for the room. "Smooth collar... make the tie sharp." He stood to attention in front of the mirror, his eyes lingering over the dust that was collecting along it's wooden frame. Something for later.
Remus sat on the front mat to pull on his shoes, licking his finger and rubbing at a mark on his left toe. "I'll be off for the day then," he said, addressing the scruffy novel that sat on the tabletop, exactly where he'd placed in after he finished reading the night before, now waiting patiently for his return that evening. He looked sharply at it. "Good day," he muttered, snatching up his coat and briefcase and latching the door behind him.
Remus stared at his feet while they stepped up the stairs and out the building's front door. He heard the intake of air into his lungs as he stood dazed by the weak sunlight. "Go to the post office," he mumbled. He couldn't feel his lips; he reached up with his fingertips and ran his thumbnail along the bottom one.
"Hello my name is John Longbottom. I came today to apply for the position I saw listed in the paper?"
By one o'clock all of the resumes in his briefcase had been passed out. "A bite to eat," Remus told himself briskly, striding off toward the docks. It wasn't a large enough harbor to warrant much ship activity, but Remus managed to find a fish and chips stand. "Tastes better when it comes from a stand you know," Remus told the man as he handed him the paper bag. He walked until he found a bench that looked over the water. "There now," he said, opening the paper bag on his lap. He repositioned the briefcase so that it sat next to him on the bench. "This is nice," he told the briefcase. Remus looked at the water then, quickly, took out his newspaper and looked at the want ads again.
At four o'clock Remus found the bench in the town square that he'd walked past after he apparated in the previous night. "This is the best bench in the square," Remus whispered softly, placing his briefcase between his feet in front of him. He pressed his knee gently against it's corner. People were scattered about the square, fluttering in and out of the shops, driving by slowly in their automobiles, walking past in business suits. Remus watched a woman step up onto the curb nearest him. He smiled at her, but she was fastening the clasp on her handbag and didn't see. Next he watched a man ambling down the other side of the street, pausing here and there to readjust his grip on the box he was carrying. Remus imagined the man crossing the street and sitting down next to him on the bench, perhaps to take a break from carrying that heavy box. His eye caught next on a flash of yellow hair. "Nonsense, you don't know anybody here," Remus said aloud.
The sky grew dark early this far north, but the glow of street lamps lit up the square well enough. Despite the fact that Christmas was weeks past, lights in the shapes of angels still decorated the lamp posts, their twinkly horns tilted up toward the depths of the sky. Remus consulted his watch. "Still too early," he whispered. He tilted his eyes left and right, but nobody had seen him talking, nobody was giving him any odd look. "A walk around the square again," he said, too faintly to hear himself. A few minutes later he stood in the middle of the round about, watching the curved light of headlights slide fleetingly over the shrubbery and the small plaque that comprised the center of the square. The plaque listed names, each one carved precisely into the grey granite stone. "In memory of the brave men who died defending our country," Remus said, touching the words with his fingers. There was no other writing, only the names. Remus turned his head quickly, his eyes alighting on an older couple as they drifted past the shrub nearest him. "Do you know what war this memorial pertains to?" he asked.
"Eh?" The old woman cupped a hand around her ear.
"Do you know what war this memorial is for?" Remus asked loudly, but the man and the woman both shook their heads. Remus stood amid the shrubbery until a man in a business suit, his tie in his hand, began to walk past.
"Do you know what war this plaque memorializes?" Remus asked.
"Come again?" the man said, pausing in his steps.
"This plaque," Remus said. "Do you know which war these men died in?"
The man leaned over the shrub to look at the place Remus pointed. "No, sorry lad," the man said, resuming his walking. Remus took his briefcase tightly in his hands. His eyes felt blurry, but his feet led him back to his new basement apartment. He pushed roughly against his new front door, digging the key into the lock. He stood for a time, just inside the doorway, still on the mat. "Take off your coat," he whispered. "Take off your coat. Take off your shoes." He hung his coat on the hook, hands shaking as he pulled the sleeves straight. He sat on the mat to take off his shoes, right on the "W" in the "Welcome" that was written on it in curly writing. His eye caught on the novel as it sat on the table. "Make tea," Remus whispered.