The green light was on. The people crossed the street, brushing shoulders and taking glances. On one side of the street a traffic enforcer looked up the digital clock as it ran to sixty, and then looked at the passers. The digital clock flicked sixty, the red light was on. The motorists suddenly beeped in deafening succession. The traffic enforcers eyes fell out and he gritted his newly brushed teeth. He rose up a whistle to his shaking lips and blew air that came from the throat. In the middle of the street a man, off the traffic enforcers direction, was swinging his arms in a manner of swimming and he took steps forward in slow motion. As though the street is flooded with invisible water that could have drowned the motorists and their vehicles that were angry waiting for him to get out of the way. His one step took forever to finish and the motorists hung down chins as they shook heads. He was not bothered with the honks and the yells of curses. The traffic enforcer, realizing the failure of his whistle, spat it and it swung down to his chest as it had been tied around his neck. Hey, you! Fool! he hollered, get out of the way. The queer man stopped, his right foot suspended in the air and arms curved, stretched out hanging, and was looking down the concrete cement as if reassuring that it was cleared of shatters that could stung his shoe when it land down. He was now a statue, a scene in a movie paused and the watching crowd, the motorists, were bored and ravenous for it to resume. Fool! The traffic enforcer was now on the street halfway to him. Smiling, the queer man turned his head to him, but still unstirred on his position. The traffic enforcer stopped. Their eyes met. Then the traffic enforcer groped the club at his right side, but his eyes still fastened on his taming smile. Every moving thing stopped, time paused. Two people in the middle of the street had not heard the honks and the shouts of disgrace. They were in a minute of absolute peace of mind. Then the enforcer broke that peacefulness, What are you doing, pal? It was delivered in a comforting tone like a song lulling a baby in a cradle. Im swimming, was the gentle reply of the queer man, and he continued swimming. The traffic enforcer had finally drawn out the club. He hoisted it. The mouths of the motorists hung open. But his hand snatched it down, set it at his side and held like an oar, and began paddling slowly, and took slow steps following the queer man. Hurry up, pal, Im going to catch you. The traffic enforcer laughed like a child satisfied with a chasing game. Look, Ive got a canoe! The street was clogged for a few minutes. No motorist was able to cross. The queer man and the traffic enforcer was chasing down there like cat and mouse in a sea of honks and beeps and curses. In the afternoon, after the initial psychological check up, the head of the Metro Development Authority summoned the traffic enforcers wife to inform her that they would be taking him to an Asylum for further check up of his condition. I dont really know what happen to him, said the wife after she had given a few minutes with him. He never acted like that before. And Im pretty sure his kin does not have any mental disorder. She covered her wet face. Oh, God, she said in sobs, I could not even talk to him. He does not speak. Im sorry, Missus. The corner of his lips moved down with sympathy. We found him this morning in his post with this patient of schizophrenia, who escaped from the City Asylum yesterday. They two were provoking public commotion and causing traffic. The wife wept. The queer man, a fugitive from a mental institution, was back again in the City Asylum, now, with his new friend, the traffic enforcer. In the same ward, they with six other patients of various mental illness, sat in front of the gray-haired psychiatrist. What do you want to do in life? asked the psychiatrist to the very first in the row. The bald patient squinted his eyes as he looked up and touched his point finger to his chin. Then he looked the psychiatrist directly in the eyes. I want a chalk. What will you do with it, Robert? I want a chalk! he shouted and he raised his hands up like the rallyists clamoring for justice on the streets. I want a chalk! I want a chalk! He looked about to the other patient who smiled and nodded rhythmically to his shout. The psychiatrist knew that he would go frenzy if he wont get what he wants. He gestured at the orderly standing like a sentinel by the closed door. The orderly, a tanned and robust built man, moved out frowning. He did not like his job compared to his previous job in a bar as a bouncer. He did not like it more because the pay was lower and he dealt every now and then with crazy people which he thought was not good for him because he might be infected with that mentality they had. With that, he had indulged himself through physically hurting those patients who would go amuck. But of course he did it with an absolute secrecy. He did not like to lose his job as well. When he came back in the ward, there was chaos. The new patient, the traffic enforcer, went berserk, smashing chairs away and hitting some of them. He put down the sticks of chalk to the desk of the psychiatrist who had slyly made himself out of the ward. And he jumped onto the patient and jailed him around muscled arms. Two other orderlies arrived. They dragged the patient to the other room for anti-depressant. He waited for the two orderlies to move out back to the ward after they had tied the patient on the bed. He looked around. You fool! His firm fist sank deep on the patients belly. He anticipated the patient to twist and wrinkle face of pain. But, he smiled. A thoughtful gentle smile. Their eyes met. The abusive orderlys stone heart softened into cotton. Dazed, he slowly turned away and his feet took him back to the ward where the six patients perched on the floor silently like children seriously looking at an artist in front of them. The patient who had asked for a chalk was now drawing a door on the wall painted with light-blue. As soon as he finished it by shading the knob, he turned to face his mentally-ill audience. Who wants to go out of this sick place? They all shouted Me, eagerly. Some did not stop shouting. You can, now! shouted the artist like it was a shout to start a race. They all rose to feet and rushed towards the vertical rectangle masterpiece, yanking down or pushing others out of the way. Once they got near, they tried to catch the knob until it was erased. The orderly stood by the door. Enough! he yelled at them. Fools he murmured. He raised his empty right hand up on the level across his eyes to them. The thumb clipped with the forefinger. And he swung his hand like it was holding a thing that move like a pendulum. Havent you seen I have the key? He laughed hard. They chased him as he ran away with the key to the figure on the wall.
Posted on: Wed, 30 Oct 2013 18:21:17 +0000
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