Through the morning the death toll at Nice rose ever upward. Earliest reports had at least thirty dead and one hundred injured; by 10:30 the number of the former had more than doubled, with some way further to go. A truck mowing down a crowd on Bastille Day gathered at the water-front watching fireworks. Later reports said the driver had continued on for 2kms scything through the mass.
Men like him were seeing the drone and rocket attacks in Iraq, Syria and elsewhere that needed to be scoured in the media on our side.
Old feisty Mr. Ng downstairs, a thin reed in his late seventies, told yesterday morning of a recent encounter with an American from California. The Chinaman must have startled the ang moh by his remarks on the wars being conducted in the Middle East. Was that a war firing on civilian areas from miles in the sky, with pilotless aircraft controlled from thousands of miles away? With no return fire, the people simply exploded, women and children? That's the way it is, was all that the American could answer.
Mr. Ng lived in landed property behind the Haig blocks.
Another old granddad too who lived somewhere within the towers should be likewise honoured.
This morning as on all previous encounters, the second old man made a point of offering greeting, on this particular occasion firing unnoticed from the void beneath Block 4.
There on those benches this man could often be found mornings and afternoons too, usually facing the inner wall of the block, so that he could not see the passersby along the path behind. And one must confess, it had happened on the odd occasion that that circumstance had been exploited and this chap had been slipped past unnoticed.
This morning that second old granddad had risen to his feet for some reason and turned facing the square of lawn with its garden. Because aunt Josephine the cat-lady at Block 2 was out leaning on the railing on the other side, one had paid no heed to the trench opposite.
Suddenly, Good morning, sir, like a rogue shot following a truce.
— Oh. Oh. Good morning to you too, sir. Howdeedo?
Along the pathways one first of all needed to quickly choose one’s language. Many of the older Chinese could not speak English, even rudimentary level. Ni hao for them. Old scarved Malays needed Pagi; Indians were often Muslim thereabout and the same was satisfactory for them too.
A little tricky. Pleasant and easy for the most part.
On occasion one had one's own preoccupations pacing by and a jack-in-the-box surprised.
Some people didn't give greetings, nor did they seek them. The young needed to be differentiated too. No complaints; the intruder was yourself.
Like Mr. Ng, this second old granddad had entered his late seventies and quite likely pitched beyond. Tall, corpulent, a gleam of dentures; legs beginning to give out. A stick helped and some days a maid pushed a chair.
Never failing in his salutations, morning, noon and night too once or twice. Always respectfully saluting the panama and often apologising for inadequacies. I no speak English. Good morning. Good afternoon, sir. Very well thank you.
One of the yellow slave class had learned such as himself had no call enquiring after the health of his betters, especially gentlemen pacing briskly somewhere where bundles awaited at upper storey desks with secretaries jumping from their chairs.
Should the latter personage grace a man like him with an enquiry after his health, he would be honoured. Even having his greeting returned, he was grateful. Thank you. (Routinely here thanks was given for a communication; for a trivial exchange. For someone having taken a moment for such poor pitiful beings.)
This eternally sunny granddad might have escaped the opium dens, the tin mines and possibly even the cartage at the go-downs. But he had been well brought-up otherwise. Never would he make a trouble of himself for his carers, you could be sure. (Doreen would be quizzed about family. To date the chap has only been sighted with the young Indo girl. On the other warm and smiling old granddad with the transistor on his Void benches, Doreen could not make identification. A matter of varying times she thought.)
Occasionally the tall granddad got his periods confused and once the tongue was too quick correcting.
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