I
was fifteen years old. I worked part-time for mister Hackner, grocery
store owner. Others like me worked at the same job. On Saturdays and
Sundays only; the other days were school days. Mister Hackner did not
hire school-age persons on school days. He declared he did not wish
to interfere with one's school education.
We
delivered groceries that had been bought. Sometimes, we delivered by
wheel barrow; sometimes, by heavy hand-carried canvas bags. Usually,
the destinations were so far away, each of us could manage only two
deliveries a day. Mister Hackner paid sixpence a delivery. Most of
the time I made more than sixpence in tips from the grocery
customers.
Every
one of us had scary encounters during our deliveries. These
experiences were the main, if not the only, reason none of us
continued being Hackner's delivery boys for more than a month-or-two
of weekends. In those times, twelvepence (one shilling) a weekend,
was fabulous riches to a teenager; yet not enough to make the risk of
serious injury worth it. Most of the boys left because of injuries
incurred during deliveries.
Like
every other boy, I suffered a few dangerous happenings before I quit.
Here are the last two.
I
had finished my last delivery and was on my way back. The sun had
set. There was still daylight. I was hurrying. It was nearly closing
time. My wheelbarrow was empty. I was running-pushing fast on a
sidewalk. There were houses along both sides of the road. I could
still arrive in time to be paid my sixpence by mister Hackner.
Rain
clouds were beginning to spit. I heard screaming coming from one of
the homes. Sounded like more than one person. Out of one of the
homes ahead a woman burst through the front door and came running
down the paved walkway towards the road. Towards me!
For
a few seconds I thought of turning around and going in the opposite
direction. But, then, I definitely would not get paid by mister
Hackner. I moved off the sidewalk onto the road.
A
man emerged from the side of the home and ran towards the woman. He
grabbed her by the hair. They struggled as they stepped onto the
road. They were ahead of me. I stopped. I hurried to the other
sidewalk. I guessed I still had a chance to get passed them. The
guess proved wrong.
Their
momentum thrust them right into my path. I twisted the barrow to
avoid them. As the barrow turned, it clipped the man's leg from
behind. He screamed as he tumbled into the barrow, having let go of
the woman.
She
took off down the road, running in the direction opposite to the one
I was going. I tilted the barrow. The man tumbled out.
I
backed up the barrow a few steps to get clear of him. I ran with the
barrow. Fear drove me so much faster that I felt I was flying.
The
speed with which I fled that crime scene brought me back to mister
Hackner's seconds in time to collect my pay.
This
next experience was the last straw for me. After it, I never went
back to work for mister Hackner.
The
worst part of the job was attacks by hooligans. Those thugs would not
attack us on our way to the customers. If they had dared, they would
have had to answer to mister Hackner. Everybody knew mister Hackner
was the most violent creature on Earth. Even criminals in their
anonymity, feared him.
On
our way back with our money tips from mister Hackner's customers, we
were fair game for hooligans. Sometimes in our flight from attacking
thugs, we would arrive back at mister Hackner's after closing time.
Mister Hackner did not pay wages after closing time. And so, if we
thought running away from the bandits took us too far out of the way
to arrive at mister Hackner's in time to get paid our sixpence, we
would not bother to return, if we did not have mister Hackner's
wheelbarrows to return.
We
were thankful for the abundance of virgin wild jungle not far from
any main road in the suburb. The hooligans generally broke off their
chase if we scooted into the jungle. Dashing through the undergrowth
always incurred ripped clothes and bloody scratches and gashes. The
hooligans were always well-dressed.
Then,
too, there were wild animals in the jungle; but with wild animals we
were safe if we made a lot of noise. Wild animals fled from noise.
Snakes,
monkeys, jackals. The danger from the small rodents was the holes
they burrowed into the ground. I had accidentally stepped into a few
of those, and fell to the ground. One of my brothers had been bitten
by a snake.
When
there were monkeys in the trees, nobody dared enter the jungle.
In
an area that was being cleared in order to erect a building, a whole
skeleton of an elephant had been uncovered.
In
the section of a forest I used frequently for a shortcut, there was a
giant tree. In its branches was a massive nest of hornets, or wasps.
I knew enough about dangerous wasps and hornets to know they were
easily angered by loud sounds. When I passed that massive tree, I
took extreme care to be silent.
I
remember a band of musicians celebrating in a public park, who had to
stop playing, and run for cover because their beautiful music
incurred the wrath of nearby wasps.
It
was a Sunday morning. The best time for mister Hackner's deliveries.
On Sunday mornings, grocery loads were not as heavy as at other
times. They were heavier even on Sunday afternoons.
I
had completed a hand-delivery, and was hastening back to mister
Hackner to earn a second sixpence. I was approaching my shortcut when
I was shot in the chest with a pellet rifle.
I
was wearing khaki shirts and shorts. Because khaki in those days was
thicker than denim, it provided safer protection than the denim of
dungarees. The rifle pellet did not penetrate my shirt; it stuck in
it. I felt the impact, but there was no pain of injury. I lost my
balance, but saved myself from falling to the ground.
Two
young adult men appeared running at me from behind. I ran a few steps
and dashed into the jungle, expecting that to be the end of their
attack. It was not. They dashed into the jungle after me.
Why?
My tip? It was a bunch of coins I had not yet counted.
I
was terrified, moreso because that was hornet territory. My pursuers
were making a lot of reckless noise crashing through the undergrowth.
And they were shouting, too! To be aggressive with such
determination, they had to be drunk or on drugs.
I
dropped to my hands and knees and clawed my way on the ground
directly towards the hornet tree, silently. I was feeling utterly
hopeless. When I reached the tree, I crawled behind it and crouched
against it, trying to make myself as small as I could, blending in
with the coarse bark.
It
was obvious to me that those thugs did not know about the hornets.
When those hornets attacked, I was as much in danger as the thugs.
They came crashing through. Had they paused to wonder at the tree I
would not have been surprised.
It
was so massive it gave the first impression of being a man-made stone
structure. When Moona and I had first come upon that tree, months and
months ago, when we stood side-by-side and stepped away from each
other until only our fingers touched, we were still on the same side
of the stem.
Had
the thugs paused to wonder, they would have discovered me. I pressed
myself against the stem, as tightly as I could, and held my breath.
And held my eyes tightly shut.
The
jungle undergrowth slowed them down, but they did not quieten down.
They screamed in anger, louder and louder as they moved along, away
from me.
The
hornets struck! I did not see the attack, but from the screams
turning into louder anaphylactic shrieks, it was clear to me what was
happening.
I
immediately crawled back to where I had entered the jungle. When I
heard the sounds of several gunshots among the shrieks in the
distance, I paused. I stood up and paused. I had to exit this jungle
calmly so that anybody seeing me would have no cause to associate me
with those other jungle noises.
By
the time I arrived at mister Hackner's grocery store, I was so calm,
none of my fellow workers took any special notice of me. Mister
Hackner tossed my sixpence to me. I thanked him, and caught it in
mid-air; deftly, from long practice. As would any of the other
workers.
In
the days that followed, I kept a keen ear ready for news about the
hornet attack. I heard nothing; to this day. I recall that thug
attacks did not diminish after that.
I
never took that shortcut ever again. Some years later when we were
about to go live in another suburb, I went back to that tree one last
time, to thank those hornets.
