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Done Again |
“Sod it! That pack is empty, I must have a smoke now, damn it.” There is somebody with a butt over there at the bus stop. Let’s go!”
“Hey, got a cigarette for me?”
“No, I’m sorry, this was my last and anyway the bus is coming, I must fly. Sorry.” He ground the butt.
“Sure you will be sorry, I will make you feel sorry, you idiot.” He raised his arm and gave him a punch on the nose. He did not need the bus any more, now he had time enough, for the hospital.
How that bloke felt, you wonder? Bashed him up for no reason at all?? No idea what is going on in this noggin. Don’t even know how I am feeling. I don’t feel anything. Somebody having a go at me – I’ll put his face out of joint if he doesn’t watch it, that’s for sure.
He was quick to lash out, just like his old man. His father had landed him one at every opportunity, just down to his whim, using his belt, his fists and feet. Had hit him over the head with the iron. That happened when he was fourteen. He had made a bolt for it and gone to Berlin. The money that he had snaffled was used up soon, but he was clever, he could eke out a living.
He was only sorry because of his mum. She had a heart of gold. She had often slipped him something and she had run her soft hand over his hair. Sometimes he visited her and put down some fresh flowers. He would finish his old man if he bumped into him somewhere in the street today. He wouldn’t stand for anything he did to him. He would kill him at once without saying a word. He would not need any belt and no iron.
He marched with determination through the marquee at the fair. His body ploughed through the crowd, he hardly noticed when he bumped into somebody at his right or left. His training had not been in vain. The crowd made way for him. With a broad grin he joined his gang. They all had beer mugs in their hands, more or less filled. When they were fond of a special song, they chanted the melody, putting some life into the party.
“Hey, you visit your mum again tomorrow? Say hello to her from me, will you!” Their faces turned serious. They knew him well. Only the bloke that had dared to make the remark did not know him. His fist landed a blow, aimed at his head, at his stomach. The man kissed the dust. And he climbed on the bench and jumped down onto the man’s head, with both his feet, with his heavy boots. No word any more. Only wheezes, groaning, whimpering. Then nothing more. He had jumped onto the man’s head three times, down from the bench. Nobody was allowed to sneer at his mother. But certainly not this idiot. Then he went berserk. His reason was not involved. Only his body acted. He seemed totally cool, in no way excited. There was no holding him back. Even a bashed body did not stop him. When the first-aid men came they were accompanied by the police. In this way both of them were looked after.
That’s why he served a stretch now. This was not his first clink. That idiot had fallen from that bench at the first punch, when he had hardly said his last word about her. Not with him! There’s no doubt about that and if it killed him. Not with him! It was that bloke’s own fault when he kept lying on the floor. You couldn’t blame him when that idiot didn’t manage to stand up. That was the reason why they had put him in jail. For a long time.
In jail he also was quick with his fists and his feet. He was given solitary confinement.
So what? That’s nothing to him. Just let them. They can put him in jail a hundred times.
copyright 2006
Ingrid
Rattay |
