Trapped

Chapter 5

When I finally had the time to catch a breath, it was already late afternoon. Business was better than usual, which left me conflicted on the inside. Earning a few coins from some of them always had this effect on me. Despite the obvious lack of the fineries in life, these folks that I developed a soft spot for had a kind and generous heart. My earlier days in Mount Betel in the prepubescent age were peppered with days of going to sleep with a hollow stomach.

I had later learnt to scout the back alley of the marketplace at night for leftover food, which tided me over some of the most trying times, especially during winter. While most shop owners were quick to chase away alley collectors like me, the baker couple along the fourth street had always shown more kindness than I would dare ask for. The beer-bellied baker, with his rotund wife, had always left neat rows of unsold bread at the end of the day in a tray by the back window of their tiny shop.

My first day of alley scouting was met with stares from a handful of haggard-looking collectors, each with a different variation of gaunt and hungry look. I kept to myself, for fear of attracting unwanted attention. I observed the collectors from the shadows I was hiding in, noting which shops I could potentially collect from, which shops I should avoid. I skirted from alley to alley, noting my surroundings and the social norms in alley collecting.

By the third night, I mustered my courage and pocketed a few pieces of bread and some discarded fruits. A few collectors had subsequently come together to pass me some of their better-looking scraps, which I had accepted with wide-eyed gratitude.

At the end of the week, the jovial lady from my favorite bakery was there, leaning against the wooden frame of her backdoor. The night light behind her formed a glowing perimeter around her head. She extended a bag towards me. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted into my nose.

I was beyond words. My heart twisted with a strange sort of bittersweetness. My nose became increasingly blocked as I struggled to hold back tears that were threatening to spill. It was then that I thought – that must be how angels look like. Brimming with pure, unadulterated kindness, shining at the greatest moment of need. Life had been tough. Yet I had been blessed. With guardians from the most unlikely places. I would choose no other life.

I reached out for the broom in her hands, silently offering labor in return. She shook her head, and that was that. It was through the kindness of these life guardians that I managed to endure the trying days of growing up.

This was precisely why collecting fees from my alley guardians and their families had been particularly difficult. Some had worked two to three jobs and were still unable to make ends meet, for various reasons I did not wish to pry. I had, on multiple unsuccessful occasions, refused their coin, and had ended up either charging lower or dispensing more potions, salves or tonic for them instead.

Business with others, however, was just business as usual. Some were folks with minor ailments looking for a cheap and quick relief. Some had purchased amulets for protection, wealth, luck, or simply to ward off evil spirits. Some were individuals keen on love potions and charms to use on the one who had caught their eye. With my non-existent magic, the love potions would work as well as flavored herb-infused water since I had no means to complete the enchantments required of the potion. Its selling power came largely from the dainty, colorful and shiny glass vials that looked too good to resist. These vials that I had travelled a week to acquire last year had proven to be a worthy investment.

I was about to sit down for a quick bite when the bells on my tent flaps rang out again. I guess lunch will have to wait till dinner then.

My non-existent belly caved in at that thought.

Three potential customers emerged, bringing in a draft of the cold autumn breeze. If my tent was small, they made it seem even smaller, to the extent that there was hardly enough room for them to rotate on the spot. I dragged my eyes away from my would-be lunch and swallowed the internal conflict between instant and delayed gratification.