Bending the Back

Old Chinaman who gloved a couple of left-over eggs from one of the outdoor tables a month ago sweeping stray leaves out in the garden bed outside Toast Box. Narrow slot in the raised border separating the footpath from the garden required a number of swings of the broom in order to force the leaves through the channel. Exemplary diligence pitching toward his eighties, barefoot in plastic clogs. A life-time of carting or bent over a hoe in a vegetable garden has left its mark—about thirty degrees the man lists as he goes along with broom and shovel. Small refuse bucket attached to trolley; larger items go into the street bins either end of the footpath. The leaves are easily dispatched, though they fall regularly in this city without seasons. Like some contemporary trendsetters in the movies and the music scene, the Chinaman had trained a strand or two of one of his thin eyebrows and let it spring from his forehead, erratic unruly prong thrusting like a needle. Morning and night in the mirror this sharp blade received the man's attention in lieu of hair or moustache. Many of the old Chinese here follow the practice inherited from forefathers likely, usually baldies like this man who eschew dyeing. Easy to underestimate the effect achieved by a single twitching spear arrowing from an ancient's forehead. But that wide eyeing as if match-stick levered, seemingly unfocused? happened upon here not infrequently and recalling caricatures from the movies. Made one think of the Japanese invasion. For both genders severely bent backs in the elderly common on the streets, curvatures of ninety degrees unexceptional. Disquiet at the thought of casket fitting.