germaine's poor

by chris.

each thursday at two in the afternoon the poor of the city would line
up down pecan street, single file, facing the buildings to the north.
germaine got there at ten til two to make sure everyone got there on
time. he was in front of the line of people leaning up against one
of the building walls with a white gallon bucket filled with gravel at
his feet. the poor tried to stand up straight as best they could.
they had to stand there for an hour if they wanted to be included.
this was one of germaine's rules.

the poor wore dirty t-shirts and pants pieced together from various
pieces of clothing. some of them had cardboard wrapped around their
feet. the others had walked on their bare feet enough to turn them
into black leather. the stench of feces and urine filled the street
soon after two, not helped at all by the hot sun shining down on them.

some of the poor fainted and fell. they were left there in their
puddles of sweat. no one dared to move. if you moved you were not
included. this was another of germaine's rules.

it was half past two. germaine still leaned up against the wall. he
pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. some of the poor
licked their lips. the wind carried the smoke to them and they yearned
for the tobacco. sweat came freely now, and germaine smiled, sucking
again on the cigarette. sweat dripped down into some of the poor's eyes
and they tried to blink it out but they couldn't, so it just accumulated
and made their eyes burn and water. they couldn't wipe the sweat away or
they would not be included.

more of the poor fell onto the dirty street. the line was cut by almost
half now and they had ten more minutes left to go. one of the poor
started weeping softly, then louder. germaine rolled his eyes and walked
over to the dirty weeping man. he took a drag on his cigarette, his
fourth, then flicked it into the man's eye. the man squeezed his eyes shut
and tried not to cry. the pressure sent snot dribbling out of his nose and
down over his lips. some of the lit ash had clung to his pupil and he
could feel it agitating his eye, but he wouldn't move to flick it out.
germaine pushed him onto the ground and finally the man broke his composure
and began screaming, clutching and digging at his eye. he ran down the
street wailing, but none of the other poor looked in his direction.

by the time the crying man could no longer be heard, it was three o'clock.
germaine walked to the beginning of the line with his bucket and set it
down. the first of the poor in the line quivered a little, but still stood
up straight. germaine reached into the bucket pulling out a handful of
gravel and threw it into the faces of the first five or so. two of them
screamed and cowered away, but the other three stood unflinching. the bits
of gravel struck their face and bounced off of their open eyes. they made
sure that they did not blink. this was another of germaine's rules.

when he got to the end of the line only half of the remaining poor still
stood there, faces and eyes bleeding, some blinded, waiting for germaine to
finish. he smiled. "well done," he said. then he reached into his pocket,
pulled out about fifty pennies, and threw them into the air. the remaining
unblinded poor were the first to jump into the air, then to fall to the
ground as the pennies fell, and the blinded poor followed quickly, following
the sounds of grunting and gouging. germaine took his bucket and went back
home.

back to me