The following story, as strange as it might be, is a faithful and true recount of what happened in this city of smoke and dust in the late 1909. I myself as the writer bear witness of the following events, in fact this story happened to nobody else...
The guard came running at the commotion. I could hear the sound of their feet stomping against the stone, and on the wall I could see their shadow grew bigger and smaller against the electric bulb dim light. The sounds of rattling chain followed suit, and in the next second all I saw was the guards pushing and swinging their batons around, disbanding the quarrel with no less violence than the fist fight. The bard pushed me away from the riot and I, too terrified at the event unveiling before us, willingly hide behind him.
What happened next was too fast for my old brain to remember. The officer decided to move some of the prisoners to another cells and then they pulled the Bard away, leading him out of the cell. He looked at me with a terrified, worried eyes, the only fear I ever saw in him.
Whatever happened to him during the time he was not with me remained a mystery as I was not there to witness it myself. Until the day we parted ways he refused to talk about it, insisted that it was nothing neither worth remembering nor telling.
I stood there and waited. Whether it was for Freigen to come back, or for my release from the prison, I didn't know. What I knew was I stood there waiting for hours, trying to catch my breath, trying to make sense of everything happening in that few second. Around me were half of the people who worshipped the minstrel, some of them was talking to themselves, some other looked confused and petrified, just like me.
Then one person approached me. I remember he had a long, grey, and messy hair. Under the yellowish light of the tungsten bulb the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth looked deeper than how I think it should be. His eyes were yellowish, and his eyebags hung like a sack of fat below his eyes.
"Was that fella your friend?" He asked. His voice was hoarse and dry.
I stared at him for a while. Unsure of what to say. One wrong step and either one of us will be in trouble. Yet as much as I want to save myself, I did not want to trouble him either. "He was, kind of," so I said.
"Who is he?" the man asked again.
"Just a travelling busker," I quietly gulped my saliva down.
"Why didn't he wear any shoes?"
"I ..." I just remembered I have never asked him such question, "I don't know, good sir. I did not pay attention to that."
The old man stared at me in suspicion. I stared back at him anxiously.
"Do you think he is God?" the old man asked again, "do you believe he is our saviour?"
Do I? Perhaps at that point I did wish that it was true, that somehow he came to save me, to save my life. If not, he wouldn't have talked to me on that day, in the morning before I became jobless, would he?
"He did say he was no more than a travelling busker," I could hear my own voice shaking. Perhaps it was due the circumstances, or perhaps it was something else I did not know, but I could feel myself crumbling under a mere stare of an old man with yellowish eyeballs. I used to be uncaring, cold, even, as some people said. I used to be bitter and grumpy. Now all I feel so small and insignificant, and all the unhappiness I had before sounded much better than this. I swore if I ever go out of this place I would be thankful for every single thing I get, even for that ugly yellowish light among the dusty sky.
The old man stared at me for a while then nodded. He scratched his chin and went back to his place at the corner. God knows what he was thinking. I had never seen him again after that day.
***
Freigen did not come back for the remainder of the day. Instead an officer came to my cell and brought me out for some other questions. I returned to my cell before the sun set. I spent a night in that dark, damp, and smelly place without a single wink of sleep. I tried, but my mind was to noisy and I was trying to keep myself sane. In the end I gave up trying. I simply sat there staring at the iron bars for hours, thinking about my wife, was she well? I asked myself. Had she heard about me spending the night here? I could not possible meet her again after this, I decided that I would just vanish from her life, yet, I missed her so much. She was perhaps not the perfect wife, not the best nor the prettiest woman in my life, but we have spent more than half our life together that one day without seeing her face left me feeling empty.
Someone rang a bell. The chime echoed across the hall and I guessed it was the sign that morning has come. I saw no difference. There was hardly any window in the cell and even if there was, it was barred by iron bars and the glass was so dirty that hardly any lights can come in.
Few minutes later food was delivered into our cells. Heap of dry tasteless bread and water, no more, no less. Upon seeing the bread I could feel my stomach grumbling, asking for food, but the thought of eating anything made me nauseous. In the end I simply taste the water, then watched several others greedily took their share.
A little while later an officer came to our cell and took me out again. This time I was lead to a room that was similar to the first office I was lead to the first time I came here. As I looked around I saw someone familiar to me sitting and talking to an officer. Chill travelled down my back, at the same time I can feel my face warming up. It was the man whose face I punched, my ex-colleague, The Scum, sitting with his back facing me.
The Scum turned to me with a scowl. I rolled my eyes. What have I done to him that made him this determined to crush my life until the last fragments turn to dust? Was watching me getting kicked out of my job, could not satisfy his greed? How could a hopeless, unhappy old man like me possible be a threat to his already thriving life? I did not remember anything doing anything outrageous that may have triggered such hate, except for punching his nose.
I was left standing near the desk and the scum acted as if I wasn't there. A few minutes later the officer brought Freigen in. We looked at each other. I asked with my eyes, and Freigen simply shrugged his shoulders in reply.
The officers were talking to each other and ignored us for the time being. Freigen looked at me and flashed a mysterious, somewhat devilish smile. It was not the first time I saw that kind of smile plastered on his face, truthfully. He would gave me that smile every single time he was about to do a small mischief. Kids play, I call them, but this time that smile gave me flashes of hot and cold. We had been in enough trouble and right now we were standing in no other place than police station. Yet, I keep quiet. Perhaps this was what he felt when he stayed still on the day I punched The Scum's nose flat.
Freigen threw a look to the officer then quietly lowered himself to whisper a few words into The Scum's ear. I watched his lips parted and moved, and I thought I heard a whisper,
I know what ...
And then before I could decipher anything else I saw The Scum's face turned white, whiter than the marble statues in the cathedral. He turned to the minstrel fast, and like a goldfish, opened and closed his mouth, aghast. Freigen gave him a smile.
The Scum threw me a hateful look. I could see his brows burrowing deep, so deep that I thought the wrinkles between his brows would leave a permanent mark.
The police officer went back to us, first to The Scum. They asked if he was fine and if he needed any water because he was pale. The Scum politely (I was surprised to see him talking in a proper manner) refused. To my surprise he then calmly, after clearing his throat, declared that he would drop all the charges against us. The police looked at each other, us, then him.
"Sir, are you, by any chance, drop the charge under any pressure?" one of them asked.
"No," The Scum straightened his suit and stood, getting ready to leave, "I simply did not wish to pursue the case further."
The officers stared at the leaving man's back and then to us.
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I didn't expect to be able to update so fast, remembering my messed up schedules. Yet here I am! I really only wrote this in between class breaks and before sleep, except for a few edits I made today.
This chapter is more straightforward. Do you like it? Mind voting?
