When night fell

16 | to be watched

I understood why Papà had allowed me to take the 'catching bulls' lessons at Mr. Wood's farm after months of complaining. It was child's play. A baby calf, who didn't struggle against much. I was furious when I found out that this was what I would be 'learning' in those lessons. But I had learned to stop fussing about it to Papà. I knew it hurt him, and I knew that these lessons were a big step for him. He came to watch a couple of times, maybe to reassure himself, or to truly see me, but he never mentioned a bad thing about the bull catching again.

But still, it didn't satisfy me.

Mr. Wood could tell. Every time I had one of those lessons with a few other boys and girls, I would make sure to show him that I was bored out of my mind. Deep inside, I truly didn't want to be like that, but it still happened.

It caused Mr. Wood to call me back after one of those lessons were done. I cleared my throat, dug my nails into my palms as I curled them into fists, ready to spit out some words. To go against him when he would tell my behavior off. Ready to tell him how unfair everything was and how much better I was than the other children. I wasn't scared of telling my opinion. But before I could spew out my words, he went an entirely different direction.

"Are you looking for an extra job?"

I had just turned sixteen, and besides selling eggs from Mr. Wood's chickens around the neighborhood since I was thirteen, Papà had wanted me to search for a job where I could work a little more, to earn for my own. I would choose the farm a hundred times over a supermarket. So instantly, I said yes. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Look after the animals, muck out the barns, chores around the farm." Mr. Wood had mentioned, glancing at me as he filled a few buckets with water for the sheep.

"And?" I was waiting for him to tell me that I could fight the real bulls in return.

"And what?" Mr. Wood didn't look at me, kept busying himself with the chores. "You'll get your pay."

"That's it?" I frowned, trying to make eye contact, but it seemed like he didn't return that on purpose.

Mr. Wood finally looked up at me. "That's it? That's what you get when you work, Benjamin. Money."

"Oh, come on!" Was I being rude? Yeah. But my mind told me that Mr. Wood was the closest step to the dream I wanted to fulfill, so I didn't stop. "I don't care about the money, all I want-"

"I know that, Benjamin." Mr. Wood grinned. "Okay, okay. A paycheck and some tips from a former cowboy."

I grinned widely, and couldn't help myself when I ran over to him and wrapped him in a hug.

When I was seventeen, I sometimes helped Salomé with the finances of the refugee house, or with the administrative arrangements for the refugee's visas. I had signed a confidentiality agreement to not speak a word about the finances to anyone else and I had professionally lived up to that.

However, it also gave me an insight in my parents' finances sometimes. Salomé never worried about it so much, but I knew that Papà found it a sensitive matter.

One day, I had to wait for Teddy to send me the in- and outcomes of the month, to which I scrolled a little up and down on the computer. After a few minutes, my eyes fell upon a map on the online banking website called 'widower benefits'. I had frowned at that, and after I had made sure that I was alone, I had pressed on it.

There were only incomes, and it was a lot. For the time period of Mamma's death, until Papà's marriage with Salomé, he had gotten money for being a widower with a child to care for. It had been in that map ever since. He had never taken money out of it. Well, once, for the coffee machine, but on the same day, he had put the same amount of money back into it, from his savings map. Perhaps, he had paid with the wrong money on accident.