But
regardless of whether there is a space problem
or not, you must admit that there seems to be
a kind of apathy among us for the fate of these
poor “harmless” people. Maybe we
are following a tradition, and traditions die
hard. After all, who among us can remember Castries
streets without the “characters”,
who add that little bit of interest, that little
odd twist to the normal day’s activities,
without which things just wouldn’t be
the same?
Maybe we would miss them if they all of a sudden
were not there anymore; and there would go just
one more piece of “the good old days”.
So none of us feels elected to be the one to
say or do anything about the situation.
Or maybe, they’re not as bad as I think.
They may not be certifiable. There may be a
doctor somewhere who sees these people regularly,
gives them the appropriate tests, and then follows
with a stamp of approval.
“Not perfect, but not so bad. This one
can still pass. Back on the streets with you,
and you just make sure that you don’t
attack anyone. See you again in a year.”
Of course, all of this is surmising, on my part,
but as I watched Brabra, or whatever his name
is, this Thursday morning, another thought struck
me:
Family. Where are his relatives? Do they know
where he is or what he is doing? O.K., I know
that some of these people live and sleep on
the streets, and relate to no one as being family.
But I know of a definite few, who I am told,
have mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters,
etc.” Oh that’s so and so’s
brother and he lives with him at….”
So I wonder, what’s a typical morning
like? Does he wake up, have his shower, his
toast and egg, and then proceed to put on his
pants back to front, or whatever, and leave
the house?
Where does the family think he’s going?
“Well, bye y’all. I’m off
to work, have a nice day; I expect to put in
a good one myself. Things have been slow lately,
but I have a feeling that they will pick up
today.”
Do they look at him leave, knowing that he’s
on his way to see how many people he can bug
downtown, or to sit on his favorite corner and
stare blankly into space; maybe he has his beat
where he just directs traffic for his full eight
hours, with time off for lunch; or then again,
perhaps he wanders around, occasionally just
narrowly missing being knocked down by someone
like me, going to work on a Thursday morning
Discuss
Story
|
One
Thursday, driving on my way to the office,
I turned off Brazil Street on to Coral
and found that, because of vehicular parking
on both sides of the street (where it
is legally allowed only on one) I had
to proceed quite slowly along the narrow
lane thus created.
