Horses – a short story from “Rainbows in Braille” – A collection of short stories – By Elmo Jayawardena
They walked along the rough, broken pavement. A father and a son, ‘shabby’ is too light a word to describe what they wore, could be a little less in value. The little boy is bare-footed and the man wears wasted Bata rubber slippers, both ambling along under the noon day sun, scorched, drenched in sweat, oblivious to much of the world and its cacophony filled street. .
“The buses are too crowded,” aren’t they Thaththe?
The man nods and trudges in silence.
“It is better to walk, we have time,” says the little one, repeating what the father had said before.
For that too the older one nods.
The father takes his steps in silence; his hand hanging low as the little boy’s outstretched fingers struggle to retain a link.
A ramshackle van is parked across the path, selling hoppers and string-hoppers. The father and son have to go around and step onto the road to continue their journey. It is an intrusion. A three-wheeler blares its horn, the driver curses, annoyed; the old man looks and moves the son to the opposite side for protection. Silently he makes his defence.
“The three-wheelers are too dangerous to go in, aren’t they Thaththe?” The boy repeats another of his father’s voiced beliefs.
The old man nods again.
“Sam’s Eatery” says the board. Cakes and pastries fill the showcase. The boy darts his eyes and the woman in a striped apron with a matching brown and white cap gives him a “see through” look. She does not waste her ‘cake-sell” smile, she knows better.
The cheap furniture shop is next to the bakery. Cheap chairs, some cushioned in red, some in blue, tasteless and trashy. A few chairs are outside spilling to the road, warped by the warming sun, for cheaper people.
There are some rocking-horses along with the chairs. Shoddy imitations, multi-coloured gaudy horse faces with big round eyes and two handles jutting out from the ears to hold and rock on. A flimsy backrest is fitted for protection; the bottom concaved to go up and down.
“Can you buy me a horse?” It is a child’s plea for the impossible.
“They cannot walk; they have no legs Mage Puthey.”
Father and son go along, scorched by the sun, drained in sweat, little fingers clutching the older man’s hand, for whatever comfort there is.
Mini Glossary
Thaththe – father
Mage Puthey – my son
