A Saturday (go back »)

Today being Saturday I was walking in Hachette Park. I felt nice, thanks to the birds, flowers and sunshine.

No doubt about it. This place was the opposite of the cold, mean-looking blocks of concrete that stood all around. A shame that so many ignored the beauty of daisies and daffodils. A pity that so few enjoyed the feeling of the breeze brushing past skin, and the warmth of the sun…

            A crowd of peeps were standing in the middle of the path. They were looking at the ground, as if there was something of great interest at their feet. I looked over their shoulders and saw what the deal was. It was a man, unconscious, and looking like he just got his ass kicked.

‘Do you know what happened?’ I asked a group of children standing to my left.

They looked at me. One of them, a boy with big front teeth, said, ‘There was a lady walking down the street, and this mister came and talked to her and he was bad and then the woman got really angry.’

‘He was bad?’ I asked.

He nodded, ‘And then the mister was really angry and they started fighting. And then the mister just fell down and he closed his eyes. And the woman looked very happy and kept walking down the street, and now everybody is around the mister.’

I looked at how the fellow was sprawled on the ground. Looked to me like the woman had been more of a man than him! Must have been quite a fight. ‘What do you mean by ‘he was bad’?’

‘He had touched her, but she hadn’t liked it, and then they were moving very quickly, and then he fell on the floor. He was bad!’

‘Where did he touch her?

The child lifted a hand, palm open, and slapped it hard with the other. ‘That’s what he did. On her bum.’

            'Is that so?' I looked at the other children. They were grinning and nodding.

‘Well, that's a shame,’ I said, looking at the man on the floor. 'Guess he slapped the wrong woman, hm?' I turned my head left and right. I smiled at the children and they smiled back. I turned to walk away and felt a pull on my sleeve.

            ‘There is something you must do for me,’ the boy said.

            Last thing I needed was for someone to lay their dirty hands on my shirt. I turned back towards the bastard, ‘Why?’

            ‘I have done something for you, so now you must do something for me.’

            I put a hand to my beard, and had to admit I liked his logic. ‘You want sweets?’ The children’s eyes lit up.

            ‘Yes, lots and lots.’

            ‘And me! And me!’ the children pushed each other to be first, sticking out their hands like I was some sort of candyman.

            I stuck out my hand too, ‘You got the money?’

            The big front teeth went left and right.

I looked at the others, ‘You? You?’

Nope.

‘But you do,’ the boy said, ‘any adult who has nice clothes like you has money too.’

            Smooth talker, isn’t he? Still, I was glad someone had finally noticed. ‘Hmm. Okay, what sweets you want?’

            ‘I don’t care, it’s the gesture that counts.’

            Bullshit. ‘Good, I’ll get you 50p’s worth.’

            The boy frowned, ‘Get me £50’s worth.’

            My eyebrows went very high indeed. I smiled, ‘Going a bit far, aren’t we? Your teeth would die from so many sweets. I don’t want your mum complaining.’

            ‘My mother is dead.’

            'It's her ghost that will complain then,' the kid looked at me.

            'You are mean!'

            I smiled, 'Don't worry about it. How old are you?'

            ‘Seven.’

            ‘And what’s your name?’

            ‘George.’

            ‘Are you alone?’

            ‘Aren’t you supposed to be getting us sweets?’

            He was right. ‘Yes, but not £50’s worth, that’s crazy.’

            ‘Is it because you are a stingy man?’

            It just so happened I was. ‘Yes.’

            ‘Fine, get me 50p’s worth, I’ll be right here,’ and he and his crew walked off, with neither a smile nor a frown. And I noticed the birds weren’t singing anymore, and the breeze was gone, and the clouds were in the way of my precious sunlight.

            I edged the crowd and continued my walk, feeling uneasy, not liking making kids neither smile nor frown. But this £50’s business was madness. Still, the thought stuck with me all the way to the ice cream van standing outside the park. A handful of kiddos and grown-ups waited in line to get their stuff. I put myself behind a fat girl and waited my turn.

            The ice cream man made me want to scream. He looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

            He cleared the phlegm in his throat, 'What would you like?’

            I stood with a hand in my pocket. £50’s worth was madness…

            But if I did it, this kid would remember it forever. I wouldn’t just be another fool buying him 50p’s worth of sweets like a stingy man. I would probably never see him again anyway. And his mother is dead so nobody would come after me. And when I die I could remind God of this one good deed and make my way to the pearly gates.

            ‘Yes?’ the guy repeated through some mad phlegm.

            I let go of the loose change in my pocket. The birds sang again. The clouds gave way to sunlight. The breeze made the leaves rattle like skeletic hands clapping my good deed. That’s right, I’ll give this kid something to remember me by. He’ll have diarrhoea for a year.

            ‘I’ll be back.’ I told him. I was either stupid, ridiculously generous, or both. Regardless I needed a bank. Ever since I had been robbed earlier in the year, I never carried lots. I crossed the roads, walked the pavements, dodged the pedestrians and bikes and got to the bank, which was closed for lunch.

            ‘Shit!’

            I couldn’t believe it. What had started out as a walk in Hachette Park was now a piss-take. So much for a dead mother and the pearly gates.

            Hmm…

Maybe you should just go back to the ice cream van and buy that kid 50p’s worth of sweets?

Maybe. Just getting back there would take me another half hour. It was getting hot. The sun wouldn’t hit any harder or get any higher. I had to keep my head high and not get stressed. I turned the corner, window shopping my way to the end of the road and back. I took a look at the bank, at my watch, and shopped windows again.

The first thing I saw when I got back was a string of peeps standing in the street. A pregnant lady was last, patting her stomach. I followed the queue to its source. I feared the worst. I turned the corner.

‘Shit, shit!’

By the time I had walked back to the pregnant lady, another 15 people stood lined behind her. I had to believe it. As I waited and waited I wanted to push right through them like I used to do in school. The memory of a few broken teeth made me stay put. I queued. The afternoon heat tried to wither away my composure. I had to keep my head high, and not get stressed.

Finally I was at the bank doors. There were too many people and too much sweat. I could see the ATM machines, two of them out of order, and everyone had their eyes on the remaining one, where an old lady was withdrawing her money. She was trembling. She looked like she was about to clutch at her heart with both hands, fall down and die at any moment. The overhead fans were out of order.

‘Fuck’s sake, hurry up!’ a man cried out from the queue.

A few nodded but others turned to him, frowning at his disrespect. The lady seemed at a loss as to which buttons to press.

‘What’s the hold up?’ someone said.

‘Fucking old lady!’

People started shuffling, whining and arguing like children.

‘Have some respect!’ someone said.

The man who’d been swearing turned to look behind him, ‘And who are you?’

The air was thick with stress and body odours. I prayed it would be over soon. God was on vacation.

Now it was my turn. I could feel the eyes burning in my back as I walked to the machine. My hands fumbled in my pockets, fumbled and fumbled, and fumbled.

My debit card was nowhere to be found.

I swore.

Why hadn’t I just walked past that crowd in the park? Then none of this would be happening. Maybe I should go home. Fuck this bastard and his damn sweets. It’s not worth walking half an hour to a closed bank, sweating and queuing up for an hour or two, only to find you have to get all the way home to get your debit card and sweat and queue again for an hour or two. I

I wanted to swear at the old lady but she was not there. A geezer squeezed through the crowd, pushed me none too gently aside and went for the ATM. Immediately half a dozen people rushed forward, and the rest was hell.

 

I closed my house door, readjusting my torn shirt. I found my debit card and looked at my watch. The kid was probably gone.

But he might still be there! Even if I have no sweets, I can’t leave him standing.

Otherwise he would hold a grudge against me for as long as his heart pumped blood round his body. So I had no choice but to quick jog, with breaks to catch breath, all the way back to the bank. I dodged pedestrians. I avoided bicycles. I got to the ice cream van, by which time my feet were finished. The hunchback was still open.

‘Yes?’

‘I want all the sweets you can give me with this,’ I gave him three £20s. That’s right, stuck in an extra £10 coz I been too stingy all my damn life and I knew I would never again take such a big shit. The hunchback's eyes went wide. He looked at the money, looked at me, looked at the money again, and then looked at his sweets. Without saying a word, he looked at me again.

‘What sweets do you want?’

‘Whatever.’

The hunchback started thinking. He thought for so long that when I looked behind me I was surprised at the queue. Children wanting a last taste of sugar before their mums took them home. I turned back to the hunchback.

‘Anything, man.’

‘Oh no, let me think this through,’ he grinned at the queue, ‘You’re my last customer anyway, don’t need those kids’ pennies now that you’ve given me this.' He grinned, 'That’s right, I’m closed!’ he said, looking at the children, ‘FUCK off!’

How could he say that to children? The sun was going down, but I saw their disappointment and hurt in the fading light. It made me cry inside.

‘Wait, wait.’ I called, ‘I’ll buy you something.’ Most came back to me, with a smile so radiant that even after this mad day I'd had, it made me feel damn good.

‘Give me all that,’ I pointed at some little bags of mixed sweets, ‘and that,’ I pointed at some milk chocolate bars. I turned to the children, ‘Anything else?’ I mostly heard ‘ice cream’, ‘milky way’ and ‘dinosaurs’. I turned to the hunchback, ‘Gimme all that.’

I was walking back towards where George said he’d be, a huge bag full of sweets over my shoulder, a smile on my face, sweat on my forehead, the breeze going through my torn shirt, penniless like I had just been robbed. I could still hear the children's thank-you-misters and thanks-sirs, could still see the gap-toothed grins and gay eyes, and knew I would never have children.

The trees and flowers had faded from green to greyish. The birds were resting their windpipes. The sun was far gone to the west. The breeze had calmed.

I stopped walking at last, looking left and right.

George and his crew were nowhere to be found.

In Short Stories and Really Short Stories