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“Daddy look!” Naidoo shouted with a surprise. A beggar was seated under the public signpost. His unkempt but shaggy hair was wet and spooky. There was something curious about his blue eyes, staring emptily ahead, holding out a milk can for passersby to put in their coin offerings. There was nothing fascinating about him except for the fact that he was a destitute who had slept in his makeshift cardboard tent to shelter himself from the rain and he looked unwashed with a filthy, oversized T-shirt.
Greg shook his head, it wasn’t a new thing to see a beggar but it was unusual to find a beggar at Rasla Street. And the most annoying thing was to spot him about thirty meters away from his own house. “Definitely this is one thing I will not tolerate,” Greg said, half annoyed. He had to slow down at the junction to join the highway. “I mean, I left the city life because of them. I am absolutely sure they will come one after the other to colonize another territory beside my house. I won’t allow anyone to pose a threat to my house and to my family in particular. I must talk to The Govenders and Justin’s wife about this.”
“He isn’t a threat, is he?
“It is strange to find beggars in Rasla Street especially a few meters from my house. They aren’t meant to be here, are they?” Greg retorted. Mariah was thoughtfully silent. “Dear, there shouldn’t be beggars if everyone works hard enough,” Greg assumed.
The strange beggar stood to his feet and walked slowly up to Greg with a dirty, urine-soaked blanket draped around his body. He stretched the can towards him and smiled to expose his set of crooked stained teeth. Greg gave him a sinister look then stepped on the accelerator.
~
Naidoo couldn’t get the beggar off her mind because her mind wasn’t strong enough to cope with certain things. She was a young girl that had been diagnosed with bipolar illness. Two nights had passed, and the beggar was still there by the cardboard shelter. Naidoo had screamed twice in the middle of the night from a nightmare that the strange beggar had come into the house through the back door and had wanted to touch her. Under the same influence Naidoo had sleepwalked into the kitchen, only to start scribbling strange musical notes on the fridge with a sharp knife, and in the process had injured her hand with cuts.
On Thursday evening, Mariah was bothered and greatly disturbed about the incident, which the family doctor had dismissed as mere psychological stress that in some way had aggravated Naidoo’s crisis. “ I told you something must be done to stop this mad man. There was something weird about his look!” Greg uttered angrily while seated at the balcony, staring deep into the late night sky.
“I believe you spoke to Justin’s wife about the madman?” Mariah asked.
“They are out of town.”
“ And the Govenders?” she asked again, this time sitting by Greg.
“Well, they are busy with rehearsals for their concert. They wouldn’t even want to talk much about it.”
“That’s absurd! Why should no one care about an issue that concerns everyone’s safety in Rasla Street?” Mariah retorted in surprise.
“Actually Mrs. Govender does not foresee any serious danger coming from that man.”
“A beggar can be dangerous. You can never tell with them,” Mariah warned.
“Exactly, maybe I will let the police handle this. I won’t allow anything more serious to happen to my daughter.”
Mariah heaved a sigh of relief. “And about the violin sonata?” she inquired looking more serious.
“Oh! I forgot to ask them about that. I actually want them to give me the score sheet. I need to start looking seriously into the symphony the Govender rehearses every morning. I failed it twice in my college days and I am expected to conduct an ensemble with that music,” Greg said and shook his head sadly.
“You know what?” Mariah voiced, a bit soft but sincere. “The masterpiece had a way of tendering a peace offering to my spirit and leading me through the day,” she said, and as she spoke there were tears welling up in her eyes. There was something emotional about her statement.
Greg hugged her passionately and kissed her on the forehead. “Such is the power of music, sweetie. I also profit from it in a way, the spirit of the composition restores my confidence. The piece wasn’t arranged for violin as a solo performance, it was meant for the piano and a full orchestra. Whoever improvised it for the violin must have been a genius.”
“Was that why you kept on failing the course?”
“Perhaps, yes. My ultimate goal was to see the piece played on a violin, just like the Govenders have done. And honestly, I am willing to pay any sum to buy the score sheet from them,” Greg said thoughtfully.
It was getting darker. The couple was seated in the balcony, sipping red wine and staring at the stars as they recounted the day’s events. Naidoo was already asleep on Mariah’s lap, and the Govenders had turned off their light. “ Our little poet will sleep in our room with us,” Mariah whispered, running her hand through the little girl’s hair. She looked pretty and innocent in her sleep.
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Writer Profile
Dan akinlolu
Dan Akinlolu is a Nigerian born South African base writer and producer; a one time prize winning writer with South African Writers’ Circle (SAWC) and Australia’s BLM. He has contributed and published in literary journals both within and outside Africa including the prestigious University of Michigan State journal - The Offbeat (USA), Bruce Cook’s - Author 2008 publication (USA) and BLM’s E-zine (Australia); though Dan published his first poetry with National Poetry of Library, USA, he has a dynamic experience spanning media, literature, public relations and arts. He lives and work in South Africa
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Comments
:) Amanda Hicks | Jul 2nd, 2008
very nice... its funny how sometimes the more touching stories aren't drawn out novels but simple chronicles of someones day
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Hello dear joy | Jan 2nd, 2014
Hello dear
My name is joy (single). I was impressed when i saw your profile today
at and i will like to establish a long lasting relationship with you. In addition,i will like you to reply me through this
my private e-mail box(joysamale197@yahoo.fr)
Thanks
waiting to hear from you soon.
joy
I will send to you my pictures in my next mail through this my mail
box
joysamale197@yahoo.fr
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