The same words every
day, in broken English and a wide, toothless smile. He wore a dirty shirt, too
big for his skinny body, and a ripped pair of pants. His eyes were dark, black.
It was difficult to guess what they had seen and what they were hiding. Always
there, with his outstretched hand and a big smile, -What will you give me
today...?
He wasn't over ten
years old. Dirty hair and chewed down fingernails. But his toothless smile was
always wide. When he was not asking for food he used to sit by the side of the
street between the two large elm trees. He had built his own tiny house. Two
cardboard boxes and two green crates blocked the way to the uninvited guests.
That was his kingdom and he was the king. He kept his treasure there too, a
tattered school bag that he always carried with him. He held it tight in one
hand whenever he ventured outside his "house".
Ahmed, who had the
small shop across the street brought him goodies every day. Before giving them
to him he used to tell him:"Give me your bag and tell me what you keep
inside". The boy would become stubborn and pin his gaze to the ground. He
would not smile anymore. Ahmed found the kid's anger funny, he'd stuff the
kid's hands with chocolates, milk, and fruit and walk away. The boy would go
back "home". He'd sit under the large elm, neatly arrange his ripped
bag by his side, and happily start chewing at whatever the good-natured
shopkeeper had given him.
