May After Thermidor
There is a buzzing sound, becoming more audible by the minute. If one is to daydream the experience, it almost feels like a swarm of bees is overcrowding the place. The atmosphere is dense, with more and more people arriving from all corners. The whispers condense, coagulate and form a shape that is almost impossible to be seen with the naked eye, or rather, invisible to those who do not see. The line that forms delineates the life of the man who is lying face down in the centre, seen from their judging vision, from the eyes of these strangers. There is grease around where the body is; a bag further down to his left, and papers with inkblots covering the grey pebble stones. From his worn out shoes, one could see the toes peeping through the holes of the socks that splatter all over its darks. There is a hint of gold on his left wrist, underneath the sleeve of a well-worn black coat. But the skin is fair, almost too clean. A street hooligan perhaps, one states. No, he can't be one because he's clean shaven, said another. Others shout, maybe we should call for help! But what if he's a bad guy? Must all hooligans be bad and the clean shavens be good? A fight ensues. There is influx of human bodies, and the buzz turns into an unbearably long shriek. In the midst of the din, one slips away. He makes his way through the volatile crowd, turns left, and disappears into the nearest street corner. It doesn't take long for one to appear eh, said Number 4. He glimpses a slight nod through the smoke screen. The phone rings for the 8th time. Number 7 answers, yes, they're here. Footsteps get nearer. After a slight pause, we hear sharp knocks at the door. He's got the gold watch, the wallet and more of his own, said Number 11, after dropping the package on the floor. By now his gaze has turned from the commotion on the street, back to the room. Keep his stuff, but leave the gold watch and the wallet the bugger stole, dress him up in the usual. Our next stop, Area 8. The clock strikes at nine. A warm glow from the evening sky illuminates the smoke filled attic.
The date is 18th August 1967.
First published in "Red Herring Quarterly", Issue 03, 1967
Republished in Black Baroque Anthology,
Recto Books, Singapore, 2009, p.17