The Wheelchair

In the area, crowded with people, rimmed by the post-office, the large glass-fronted shops and the two banks, sits the grinning man in his wheelchair. He has spotted, wheeling himself with long forward strokes along the pavement at the opposite end of the square, a fellow wheelchair rider. The man looks to be about his own age; he wears a moustache. The grinning man, half out of his wheelchair now, his elbows hard on the arm-rests, leans forward goose-necked and follows with his eyes, through the turbulent crowd, the other who is propelling himself to and fro.

His gaze is met. The two men grin, nod encouragement to one another, and periodically leave off grinning to clench their tongues between their teeth taking it in turns to renew encouragement by these gestures that involve no arm-waving and that therefore imply an intimacy greater than is normally possible between recent strangers. Exercising a nimble turn into the crowd, the wearer of the moustache whizzes himself down upon the other. And it is only then that the grinning man can get a clearer view and can see that his new friend is not, after all, wearing a moustache; that the shadows of the square had played a trick; and more, that he is far far younger than at first thought. 

This new friend comes to a sharp stop before the grinning man (whose grin is levelling off now) nearly bounds in his chair (whether down to insuppressible excitement or momentum is not clear) and addresses the grinning man thus: "Are you married? Ha! I'll bet you are. A showman such as you. I'm not yet, but of course I will be quite soon most likely. By that jacket you're wearing, I can tell you're an outgoing man. I too am outgoing, just like you. I do like that colour of jacket by the way; I've got one like it myself; isn't that a coincidence! Ha! I do think we should get together sometime, you and I, we're sure to get along fine, you know. I'll introduce you to all of my friends; they'll like you, I know they will."

However, the expression the grinning man wears now is a forced one. He realizes that this has already gone further than he wants and, shaking with guilt for he is not as the other imagines him to be and he knows that he is most to blame for the confusion, he decides to make a pantomime of smacking his pockets (what could he have forgotten?) to save time and to release the both of them. With a sigh of regret he playfully punches himself in the temple with one loose fist, and with the other shakes the hand of the younger man and makes his departure, leaving behind him his most profuse apologies.