Ready to Rock

A number of months now the young lad at Muthu had been pleading for a girl to be passed him. A white guy in a fine hat, professional man of leisure and means could manage it if he really tried and if he was a friend. With the concentration on the page ignored this morning at first approach. Lad stood against the railing opposite waiting. Once eyes were raised to him 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 and forefinger indicating the smallest measure was immediately understood. Seeing the flash of hurt in his eyes the laugh could not be suppressed and 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. Girl-friends 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 racial group, a number of times he had enquired and guessed. Not a clue. Some more years of work the lad would need before he could afford marriage himself; once satisfactorily equipped it would follow immediately and easily. Like for so many of the Indian lads, a small child at one of the tables brought forth the father-to-be in the fine young man.