change the future

Chapter 2 : The beggar

As I expected two good slaps greeted me in front of the gate of the house.  At this precise moment, my father had the look of a killer and I deduce that he had drunk too much and that he must be drunk.  He is in front of the front door of the house, prostrate so that there is more space to pass.

- Your director called me, he growls, and you want to know what he told me about the sheep I'm sending to school?

- No!

- He told me that you poured acid on your philosophy professor's chair.  He laughs, so what were you planning to do.  What kind of high school student are you!!  Honestly! I'm not sending you to commit crimes at school but rather to become someone in life.

I think I'm dreaming, my father is less placed to talk to me about the future.  Very quickly I understood everything, given that the neighbors came out attracted by the din my father tries to hold responsible speeches << to become someone in life >> just to pass himself off as "the father who makes his  better to educate his disturbed child".  Even the trashiest in my room is more likely to be more successful in life than my father.  Also, he doesn't provide my schooling, so I don't see how I did him wrong.

- Because of you, we're going to have to compensate your philosophy professor to treat the wounds caused by the acid on his posterior.  He continues approaching me: You can be proud of yourself, you always do everything to make me ashamed.

There follows another slap on the left cheek, then a kick that sends me flying out of the garden.
I get up, like an old man who has lost his cane, which provokes a giggle from some elementary school children who were following the scene instead of going home.  I have never been so ashamed in my entire life.  In Africa when there is any commotion, there are always people around.  Like during a Michael Jackson concert or when lovers kiss in the middle of the street.

- Out of my sight!!  I don't want to see you, he mumbles.

- Me neither, I answer.

- So get out!

I turn around then, a little hurt by the turn of the situation.  Frankly who would have imagined that a father could send his son away from home just because of an unfortunate problem.  Problem for which I am not even responsible.
I was sleeping when the philosophy professor started scratching his posterior fiercely.  The whole class agreed to put the blame on me, again while I slept.  The supervisor overwhelmed by the situation preferred to send me to the censor who, also overwhelmed, sent me to the Director.  I pass in front of the neighbours' fences, they are all in their garden, they too have been attracted by the din my father has produced.  Their young daughter called Margaux (second in the room) has seen it all.  I have a feeling this incident will be in the school paper tomorrow morning.  She gives me a quirky smile, to tell me "I pity you" she crosses her two arms and continues to analyze me. I consider her for a second then start to look ahead while walking straight. Above all, never give up  the head, because in my opinion this is a sign of submission.

The walk from home to school really tired me.  Yes "to school", because not knowing where to go I decide to sit for a second under a tree in the park near the school.  I think of my mother, and I know that she will soon worry about my absence.  She works hard from very early morning until late at night.  So she wasn't there when the father had his nervous breakdown.  Frankly, I don't want to worry her, she's the only one to manage the whole house, and without her we'd surely be on the street.

I wake up at 10:34 p.m. after glancing at my wrist watch, dazed with fatigue, and mark about two long minutes to finally remember the situation I'm in.  I unconsciously fell asleep under the tree.

- You slept well ?

I straighten up with a jump, and look around me.  There is nobody.  So the voice I heard is it from the tree?  This is where an old man in rags comes before me.  So I deduce that he was behind the tree against which I fell asleep.  No need to ask "Who are you?"
That would be a bit silly, considering he's in dirty, torn clothes, pale, dehydrated skin, dirty, dust-infested hair.  Protruding gaze accentuated by his red eyes, and finally of a nightmarish thinness.  He inspires me more than disgust, and worse I want to vomit.  Either our guy is crazy or he's a beggar.