I was stepping out of the hotel, when she approached me. The hotel was a frequent visit for men like us who toiled on the harbor. The sound of the ships docking by day would dissolve into the jazz being played every evening at the bar. Men like us would proudly narrate our sea fares, each one of us trying to better the other. On one of those evenings, she approached me with her arms outstretched, trying to beg.Her palms were folded in the typical manner of begging, but they were not the hands of a beggar. As it is the tradition of our society, I dismissed her. However, her presence could not be dismissed. Like with me, she approached others around the hotel, who were reveling in the evening. Equally dismissed and dejected, this beggar walks away from the neon lights. There were the other beggars, nagging till I would part away with a coin. But I didn't budge. She, however, stood solemnly in distance, not pursuing enough for a beggar, not disturbing the rich enough for a beggar.
The dock has been quaint, unlike the rest of the city.
I've often heard of the razzmatazz of the city and how it makes a beggar out of everyone. How you end up begging more for the glimmer and shimmer. The eyes are enslaved, caught in desire for a bigger slice of life that the city offers. Those are the 'eyes of the beggar' they say. Her eyes, though were different. They didn't crave for life neither were they desperate for death.
I was headed to the dockyard, when a sudden commotion is heard. A mob had gathered in front of the hotel, and I followed the crowd to the spot. It is a strange fun to watch someone being humiliated by a large group of people. And it was her, the beggar, being thrashed by the mob.
She held on to what she had stolen from the shop, for what she was being humiliated. After a while, the mob dispersed, having delivered justice. She held on to what she had stolen and dragged herself to a corner. This time, I approached the beggar.
-"Why did you steal", I asked.
-"I didn't see any other way", she replied stoically.
-"You don't look like a beggar. Why don't you work for money, rather than being in this situation", I was trying to understand this beggar.
She continued in her impassive manner, "I'm not a beggar. I don't know how to beg. But, for my child," clenching to what she had stolen, she said, "he loves to have it in the morning. And next morning is far off."
-"Where is his dad?"
-"I didn't want to be tamed by him any longer. So I poisoned him. His body will be washed up ashore next morning," and she looked up.
Before I could react, she showed her steal, "he loves marie biskoot. Nothing makes him more happy than marie biskoot and milk. And I love my child and want to see him happy," her eyes were still.
As I stood there, she walked away from the neon lights, into her darkness.
