Jewel - a short story by Berni Albrighton (Manifesto)

 

Mani struggled to keep the plastic bottles from toppling over. He was carrying too many, but he needed to get money from the local ragpicker.

Whenever Mani complained that he had been underpaid, the ragpicker would mock him.

“Oh, Master Mani Festo Sharma, you think you are something. Look at you, digging around in bins and trash heaps for plastic. What a joke. Mani the jewel. Ha you are no more a jewel than that plastic bottle top. Filthy vermin, fuck off back to your whore Mother.”

Mani walked away with four dirty rupees in his hand. This wouldn't enough to buy food.

He was the sole provider for his sick Mother. When his Father died his Mother had given up. Everyday she lay on her rough straw mat and wished for death. 

They hadn't eaten proper food in weeks. Everyone in his slum scavenged the same bins and trash heaps, looking for anything to make into a meal.

They had exhausted the rat population and could no longer steal from local street vendors.The punishment was too severe.

He would have to go into town this evening and earn money. He hated himself for giving in, but the situation was desperate.

Several of his friends bragged about the wealthy men who gave them money in exchange for sex.

Mani had resisted, until now. 

First he had to clean himself up. His only decent clothes were the shirt and trousers that he had worn to his Fathers funeral. He never intended to wear them again, imagining that particles from his fathers dead stinking body clung to the fibres.

He saw his friend Anish who was dressed up and making his way to town.

He needed a spray of cologne, anything that could mask the fetid odour coming from him.

Mani called after him.

“Only the smallest drop. Rub it in your hands and down your trousers. Don't forget Mani Festo Sharma you owe me.”

Anish was okay. He too was his Mothers sole provider and he knew how desperate the situation must be for Mani to agree to go into town.

They walked together. Anish said he would introduce Mani to someone safe. 

“This man, he just wants blow job. Don’t worry. He pays 100 rupees. No problem.”

A couple of hours later as Mani walked home,  feeling ashamed and filthy, he stopped at one of the hawkers and bought rice and dal.

He hurried back so that it would still be warm for his Mother.

Stepping into the house he could see the familiar figure of his Mother lying on the mat.

“Maa. It is me, your son, your jewel. Look, I bought rice and dal.”

Mani knew, without touching her, that today her wish had been granted.

“I am sorry Maa. Forgive me.”

He closed her eyes, covered her face and went outside. 

Looking up at the stars in the dark sky, he cried for his Mother, his Father and for his own pathetic life.