A number
of months now the young lad at Muthu had been pleading
for a girl. A white guy in a fine hat, professional man of
leisure & means, could manage it if he really tried and if he was a true friend.
With the concentration on the page, ignored this morning at first approach. Lad
stood against the railing opposite, waiting. Once eyes were raised the
fellow had a question ready. Handsome?... You
had to hand it to him—movie star delivery. Shortly after ten; a little
late as usual for his shift. Freshly marked forehead and combed hair, slightly
bleary-eyed after a long weekend shift and unslept. Even young as he was, the
lack showed. The response however stung the boy: raised thumb & forefinger
indicating the smallest measure immediately understood. Seeing the flash of
hurt in his eyes, the laugh could not be suppressed. Fairly burst out… Oh. OK. Enough. OK, enough. Which
was certainly not enough as far as the lad was concerned… Once he had
recovered from his shock he retorted, pointing both hands at his chest. How many people like this?… Ha! First rate again. Well said son, good on you. An unmarried man of a certain
age was a great puzzle. Hardly credible. Girlfriends were one thing, either
before or after marriage, but what about old age without children? What then?
It was impossible for him to judge age outside his own racial group; a number of
times he had enquired, guessing. Not a clue. Some years of toil yet the lad
would need before he could afford marriage himself; once satisfactorily
equipped it would follow immediately. Like for so many of the Indian
lads, a small child at one of the tables brought forth the father-to-be in the admirable young man.
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