One early afternoon, three weeks after the incident in the public market, my landlady showed up with four boys.  She was keen on providing young people with an opportunity to do something constructive. I had been intent at work on my laptop and took the instrument with me to the door- still peering at the screen.

I barely looked up as she announced that, starting today, these four boys will be tending to the lawn. She explained that Geoffrey*, the usual gardener, was feeling under the weather- arthritis and all.  She assured that these four young men would do a superb job. I nodded and retreated before she could detain me longer.  Ten minutes later, I retreat even further into the house when the boys went to work with the various sounds of machines whirring and clacking.

Three hours later, the whirring and clacking came to an abrupt halt. The sound of the doorbell filled the lull. It was my landlady. She had stuck around as overseer for no other reason than these boys were rather young and new to the business. She wanted me to know that she was taking two of the boys into town to get something that was much needed.

I looked over her head and could straightaway tell which of the two boys would be accompanying her. There were terrified looks on the faces of the two who were obviously staying behind. They lowered their eyes when their gaze met mine.  The looks on their face got worse as they turned to watch their other two companions leave them behind.  They turned back around, very slowly, to face me as if I was some executioner.

I was still deciding upon the best occupation for these two little people, when they began sidling away. I called to them to join me on the patio- they did so very hesitantly.  I offered that the sun was hot and they might like something cold to drink. What looked like the younger of the two, and the youngest of bunch, began volunteering for some apple juice when the other nudged him. They were fine thanks. The sun was not so very hot. They were very used to the sun and hard work. My offer for a bite to eat was met with the same: a nudge and assurances that they were fine- quite used to the sun and hard work.

Having not really been around children in so many decades, and now an impromptu baby-sitter, I felt myself becoming just as uncomfortable as they. Struggling for conversation, I asked if they weren’t a bit too young to be operating the machines I had heard whirring and clacking. The younger started to say that he did it just fine at home. The older butted in that only the two older boys- 16 and 17 years old were ever allowed to.

Suddenly, while I was attempting to decide between once again offering them some bit to eat or drink and asking after their family, the younger leant forward.  He pressed a smudged finger into my right cheek: “you’re strange”.  The older looked fit to die.

(V). Damien

* Name has been changed