3
It is the day of Aphrodite, so he wants, as always, to buy his mother something beautiful.
The world is contorted in his young eyes: there are no people that can block his way, not this day, so he runs with an unneeded urgency, images spinning and flashing by. His shoes scratch against the pavement as he races to beat the crowds. To anyone else, it seems the idea is ludicrous – thousands line the streets ahead of him; their voices, calls and shouts taunt him. Ferocity grips his face and he digs deep to run faster and get to the doors before anyone else. But his world is contorted. They are bigger than him, and even though he chooses to ignore them, the paths begin to block, the perception is forcibly narrowed.
He slows. Ferocity turns to desperation. His eyes glimmer with tears as he searches for an opening to slip through. After all, he is small and agile, there are gaps that very little other people could find, and he must buy his mother something beautiful.
The coins in his left hand are slippery with cold sweat, but he grips them tighter, unwilling to lose them. Maybe this time, he whispers to himself. Maybe this time the shop will sell something he can afford. Maybe this time he can run home, without disappointment, his prize in his hands instead of his unspent coins, and make his mother happy. She smiles less and less. He notices more and more. He wants her to be happy, for she is all he has in this contorted world of his, the only thing he has to hold on to.
But the people stop him. Someone grabs him by his shirt and yanks him back. They mutter something, but he does not listen, struggles instead through another closing gap and forces himself between legs and feet and hands. He cannot see where the doors are but he hears them: the clicking and the sound of air moving. It cannot be long now, he tells himself, it cannot be long before the coins are gone to be replaced by something even shinier. He knows what he wants. The silver ring with the small cross that rises from it. Somehow he fits. He does not know why, but knows his mother will love it.
At last he passes through the doors, squeezing past one of the big people and into the market, where all the shops flash bright lights and he smiles like the joy is infectious. The plants, the sunlight that creeps through the roof, the glittery floors and walls, he loves it all. Anything that shines he cannot stop looking at. He knows where he is going. He has made the journey so many times he knows all the shortcuts. He sprints along a small alleyway, misses the crowds and the queues along the main walkway, and keeps running. A big man in dark clothing shouts at him to stop running, but he knows he is doing nothing wrong, he is simply enjoying himself, he is a shopper, and only his mother tells him what to do. Only beauty tells him what to do.
The floor is slippery. His feet skid, they don’t scratch, and the ground collapses beneath him. The momentum carries him too far forward, and he is falling, falling, and there are people he is going to hit. He throws his arms up to protect his head.
An arm stops him. “Be more careful,” it says. “You’re gonna hurt yourself and other people. You gonna stop running now?” He looks up and sees the man in black clothing. The man shakes his head over and over again.
His young eyes fill with tears once more, and he gets up and runs. He is never going to stop running, no matter what the man says. Only when he is with his mother can he stop. He looks after her. He must buy his mother something beautiful.
His head swims. It starts to pound, slowly at first, but then with the frequency of a drumbeat, until he is forced to rub it over and over, even as he runs.
But all is forgotten. His smile returns. The shop is in sight. Tucked into the corner, as always, the boy’s smile turns into a huge grin and he speeds up, like a runner with the finishing line in sight. His prize is just past the threshold.
He passes a tall man outside who breathes smoke.
The boy doesn’t like him. He pushes the door open. A man in black he has never seen before is staring at him.
It is the day of Aphrodite. He wants to buy his mother something beautiful. But a chill runs up his back, his head still pounds, and he knows that this day isn’t the same as the others.
