Being Somebody

The youth had been sitting on the pavement for more than a day before someone payed any attention. Until then, people had tried not to notice him despite his babyish attempts to draw attention - after all, who really cares what music you like? It seems so very important a part of you when you're young (perhaps you really don't have a personality?) but when you're an adult man you are judged by more tricky matters and your musical preferences frankly bore. The youth had been making a nuisance of himself by playing loud music from some device he'd placed on the pavement between his legs, had nodded off to sleep for some of the night hours, and made an inadequate attempt to shoplift a little food which, when he'd been shouted at, he'd quietly paid for.

At length the local constable had been called out and, instantly bored by the youth's stare and silence, had grabbed his collar in one fist, pulled him onto his feet and, cursing absently, pushed him forward. The youth went ahead mildly enough, his face expressionless, but he was continually turning his head round and listening for any orders the constable might give. For his part, the constable made no effort to hide his deep disinterest in the youth, letting him miss a turn several times and seemingly indifferent to whether he scuttled back to catch-up, took his place in front again and resumed the head-turning, or not. Eventually they reached the station.

This police-station took up part of the ground-floor of the constable's own home which lay at the end of a long drive lined with Italian statuary, and was reached by crossing a large hall overlooked by discreet portraits, cooled by a marble fountain, and exited by various disappearing staircases curving up into other reaches. The constable stepped behind a counter, took off his jacket, then put the coffee-pot back on the stove while easing off his braces with the other free hand. The youth muttered something which was ignored, then having nothing better to do, went over and sat on a bench which ran the whole length of one wall. Paperwork engrossed the law-officer until the coffee simmered. His wife clacked down a flight of stairs behind him, lifted the catch and appeared in the room; she glanced at the youth, who was already looking her way, then moved over to her husband and put her hand on his shoulder, massaging it a little with her thumb. She put her head down next to his and gazed at the document he was reading, wordlessly absorbed in her concentration. After a time, she touched his cheek and suggested: "Coffee?"

The youth piped up - "Well, what have I done wrong then .  .  .? Tell me that. No, you can't can you .  .  ." Shortly afterwards, he called out - "You're all divvies, you are. Useless divvies .  .  . " and he followed it with a long sigh whilst raising his face to the ceiling. The constable's wife went across to the youth's jacket which lay on the bench, though nowhere near the youth, and picked out his identity card, which prompted him to warn the constable "I'm not going home .  .  ."  But such was never the issue. The constable replaced the telephone receiver - the boy's mother, fed up with her son's noise and uninteresting melodrama, seemed disinterested in whether he ever returned home or not. The law-officer, for his part, felt no inclination to involve himself in another dull melodrama either, one which would surely follow were he to pass on this information about the mother to the youth - and so he busied himself with his work and throughout the rest of his life, never thought of the youth again. 

For a further couple of days the youth lived on the bench inside the police-station, sometimes sitting with hands on knees which were planted well apart and staring down at the spot where the confiscated music used to be, sometimes curled up in sleep. The two daughters of the constable, one fourteen the other eleven-years-old, had been climbing onto their father's desk and dangling their long brown legs. They had both been holding up junior hand-mirrors to their faces and rouging their lips. They had been in town and quite by chance had overheard the youth's story. Seizing the chance to appear grown-up to her younger sister (and also in a spirit of genuine helpfulness towards her sibling) the older girl walked the younger over to the bench and explained to her patiently and in clear words, that this was the sort of man who would never have anything to offer them. It is doubtful that anyone noticed when the youth disappeared.