Must Read: BLACK MARIA (A Tale of Two Thieves) - Season 1 - Episode 7

7 years ago

Must Read: BLACK MARIA (A Tale of Two Thieves) - Season 1 - Episode 7

He stood up and returned to the busy street; the street appeared somewhat busier because labourers and professionals were beginning to return home from work. Even the market men and women were already locking up their shops and kiosks, except for the few traders whose goods were sold better only at nights. The little boy walked among the pedestrians; he didn't fit among these respectable and well-dressed people. Unlike Black, these people had their destinations; there were fathers, mothers, children and relatives waiting for them to come home. They had roofs over their heads and warm beds for them to rest the heads. They were nothing like this homeless boy walking among them; the boy who knew not what tomorrow would bring, the boy whose future seemed particularly bleak.

It was now totally dark, but Black didn't stop walking. He walked far, far away from the market square. He had initially thought about sleeping in one of these vacated shops but he couldn't find one not under lock and key, except for the few palm oil kiosks that had been so greased that anyone who lingered therein would be soaked with the oil. He needed a place where he would not have to add more dirt to the filthiness of self. The moon shone brightly in the sky and the stars were blinking like a man with seeds of pepper in his eyes. Cold, once again, was descending; Black began to feel chilly again. He wished he had taken his mother's blanket when he was being evicted from the house. Even though the roof of the house was always a sieve whenever the sky wept, and the walls were cracked with enough openings to accommodate a boxer's knuckle, the house still felt like home to Black. And the ejection from this house was the extremest depravity that could be subjected on his person; an act of wickedness only matched by the demise of his mother.

Then far ahead, Black caught the silhouette of something shaped like a bridge, but he was not entirely sure. It was too dark to be certain of what one saw from that distance until one was close enough to it. As Black walked faster towards what he thought he saw, he prayed it was really a bridge. He had never reached this part of the city in his entire life but he could recall that his father had once driven him and his mother on a bridge. He was still too young then, he could not even recall what had warranted the trip or where they were headed. But he could vividly remember seeing vagrants and beggars sleeping on the sidewalks of the bridge. Black was sure that many of these wretched people had chosen the sides of the express as their homes. Those times when the younger Peter was looking at those impoverished through the glass of his father's car, he never considered the thought that he would one day fall among the class of these poor, pitiful human beings, but here he was today.

He could now see it more clearly; it was truly a bridge. Black sighed inwardly, he was going to pass the night here. But unlike those vagrants he had beheld, he was not going to sleep on the bridge, he would spend the night under the bridge. He walked into the dark abyss of the bridge's underside. This place was less cold. The covering of the strong concrete that made up the bridge provided a considerable protection against the unfavourable weather of the night. It was now so late that everywhere was gradually getting deserted. Soon, the motorists drove their vehicles to their homes, the night hawkers closed for the day, the traders packed their goods and left for their houses; silence finally ruled in the city.

The bright moon above cast its light on the massive bridge, the bridge in turn cast its gloom on the ground beneath; the shadow it created was so enormous that Black wondered if King Kong stationed itself on the edge of the bridge, waiting to devour the homeless boy. Black found a comfortable part of the bridge and lay himself there. He was so tired from walking such a great distance that he slept off as soon as he closed his eyes. He was even oblivious of the swarm of mosquitoes that celebrated his arrival.

He had barely enjoyed a half-hour shut-eye when he woke up again. It wasn't the mosquito bites that woke him, it wasn't a sudden insomnia, and it definitely wasn't the cold. He was woken up by the repeated taps from another man's hand. Black's eyes had adjusted to the darkness of his environment, he woke up and saw three grown-ups staring at him. Two of the three men were muscular, and they were wearing T-shirts. Black noticed that the third man's dressing was somehow silly. The man was without any visible muscles and, in addition, as slim as any human could possibly be, yet, he was wearing a muscle shirt. Didn't you have to possess some muscles to wear a muscle shirt? As Black stared at these three grinning men before him, he knew that they didn't come bearing good tidings. If given a choice, he would rather be at the mercy of Chief Salami's thugs than at these devils smiling at him.

Black noticed that these men had something in common; they were all smoking something that didn't smell like cigarette.

"What is your name, boy?" The toughest-looking one among the thugs asked.

"My name is Black, sir."

The man looked puzzled at hearing the name. The other men were lighting another stick of whatever they were smoking.

"Black? As in colour Black?" The man asked again.

"Yes, sir."

"Is that your real name or nickname?"

"It's my surname, sir."

"Then what is your first name, young lad?" The man's voice was getting thicker. Black could sense the note of irritation in the man's voice.

"My first name is Peter, sir."

"Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Were you trying to play smart with me?"

"No, sir."

"Were you trying to make me angry?"

"No, sir."

"But you've made me angry. I'm really angry now."

"But you're smiling, sir."

"Good observation. I smile when I'm angered. Do you know why I'm angry, Peter?"

"Because I didn't tell you my name, sir?"

The thug shook his head.

"No, it's not that. Well, not only that, actually."

"Why are you angry, sir?"

The man stared at the boy for a moment and said, "Boy, if you fall into a lion's pit, do you know what will happen to you?"

"The lion will eat me, sir."

"Do you know why the lion will eat you?"

"Because it's hungry?"

The man shook his head again, "No, not that."

"Because it's bloodthirsty?"

"No, not that either. The lion will eat you up because you have invaded its territory."

"But in the Bible, the lion didn't eat Daniel."

"Exactly! The lion didn't eat Daniel because his name was Daniel. They would have eaten him up and used his bones to pick their teeth if his name was Peter."

This analogy was too complex for the young boy to comprehend. Black looked at the other men, they were smoking copiously and staring hard at him. The eyes of the slim man scared him most. Those eyes were granite hard and totally emotionless; they were like the eyes of an angry corpse. Black was momentarily more afraid of the slim man than of his muscular compatriots.

The man speaking with Black continued, "Young boy, I have a very bad news for you."

"Bad news, sir?" He wondered what news could possibly be worse than all the misfortunes he had experienced in the last couple of months.

"The bad news is that you are in a lion's pit and we are the lions."

This statement befuddled Black; he was finding it hard to picture the three thugs going down on their fours and transforming into a pack of carnivores with manes.

"You have invaded our privacy." The dead eyes spoke.

Black looked at the three lions and asked, "Are you going to eat me?"

The third thug grimaced, "Aw! Of course not. That's disgusting. Do we look like cannibals to you?"

"I'm sorry for invading your territory, sirs. I'm going to leave now." Black wondered where he would go in this silent night if he vacated this place for the thugs. He wished he also had muscles, he would beat the three men to a pulp if he were powerful. He had seen a movie where a single cowboy beat up five other cowboys. Black wished he was a cowboy and had a horse of his own, and a whip.

He made to rise but was firmly held down by the first man. The man's hand was big and strong, it hurt Black's shoulder.

"Not that fast," The man said, "You have to atone for your sin." He turned to his friends and asked, "Guys, what punishment should we mete out to the sinner?"

The second thug stared at Black with those deathly eyes again and a wicked smile came to his lips. He removed the stick from between his teeth and said, "Let's stone him."