Stories of the Street - Twenty Six

There is a small man sitting on a stool by the shop door. People have different views on his function or purpose. No one ever hears him talk and he hardly moves and few people ever see him set up his stool nor do they see him leaving it. Occasionally, he might turn and smile at you but even then you are not sure if he is really seeing you. His focus always seems to be beyond you or the shop or street.

In the summer he is always just outside the door in the shade of the awning. In the winter he is either outside and wrapped up for the cold or just inside the door with a small fan heater blowing up at his legs and back.

The children all think he is like some sort of inscrutable security guard and no-one under the age of eleven would ever risk trying to shop lift in his shop. Older children think he is spaced out on some drug as he is often seen chewing something. They would shop lift but as far as they are concerned there is nothing worth stealing in the shop. Furthermore, most of them have been so conditioned not to shoplift there that it is hard to break the mental barrier they face.

Adults vary in opinions which include those of the children and other theories such as the idea that he is the head of household and their culture requires that he oversees the business. Others see it as a simple method of keeping tabs on an ailing relative. The family, everyone assumes, is either middle eastern or from somewhere like Afghanistan.

The truth is that they are a third generation Bangladeshi family and he is the father of the woman who is married to the shop owner. The old man has always been a meddlesome and irritatingly self-opinionated old fool (even when he was a young man, claims his wife) and no-one can stand him in the house or in the shop. He sits there and dreams about his beloved Bangladesh while he mentally undresses almost everyone he sees. It does not matter whether they are male or female, old or young, fat or skinny. He has not enjoyed sex for a number of years and his fantasy life has grown exponentially as his ability to force his sexual interests onto his wife has declined.

“Of course,” agrees, his wife as she discusses the old man with her daughter, “It does help to stir some sedatives into his morning porridge and into his afternoon meal.”