A Hero for a Day

Written by Moulay Idriss El Maarouf

That had been years ago. He was a sparkling and hardworking student, before he had that accident. A horrifying mishap.  He lost his father, young sister, and… his leg. He feels a weird tow deep inside at the sheer thought of it. He was not particularly nice-looking, in any case not in the traditional sense, but he could have stricken a balance with the good grades he would have surely obtained. At least women would think of him, when they would, as a super student. But now that his leg was gone…

He shivers in the midst of the memory, as he tries to cross the street to the other side of Avenue Mohamed V in Rabat. Whatever this street provokes in him, it was the uncomfortable feeling towards the speed and motion of the hale and hearty striders. That kind of double physical shortage was very perilous to his mental well-being. He felt that none caught glimpse of him. He stops at the reflection and, realizing the awkward gesture in the middle of an elegant flow of legs, he pretends to be window shopping. But in next to no time he becomes conscious he is standing before a huge shoe shop. He adjusts his body on his crutches and nudges his way yet again through the multitude. He senses how rude the shop sounded. Nothing had put him on the defensive before like he is today. He spits.

The crutches hit the platform with violence as he tries to draw away. During his days at the university, sometime after the accident, students, as he saw them, would rush away from the classroom in a flash. Before he could rise, they would all be out of the corridor. He decided to stay at home. Defeated. The bitterness was still sinking in. Also, that he should befriend these ugly sticks has always been disturbing. Extremely disturbing. He feels he is not well-liked by the general gaiety of the lights, of the cheerful… pretenders.

 Besides, he has a brother in prison. Nothing of this and that could instil confidence. And now he shows up here again like a fly with broken wings on the brim of a blazing inferno. He can never serve his time with one leg as could he with a diploma; with the other leg as well. Nor can his time serve him. Recently he can't sleep at night and his eyes have dark circles under them.

Damn, beautiful shapes are flaring up gracefully by, and they are pure venom for a man like him. A recognizable twinge jolts through him whenever his eyes meet a woman's. Women are good but they are very dangerous. His brother killed his best companion because he suspected he wanted his girlfriend.

The back allies of his memory are swarming with traumas…

He swallows hard…

He closes his left eye as a sour lump breeds in his gorge. Anguish was part of it. Loss another. He thought he would have time to get employed, marry and raise children. Not so much time. But enough to live and die in peace of heart, mind and body; as a minimum. Some kids are now jumping with joy out of a car, something he can't even remember doing as a child. He would die to be able to do like that. Only once. How he wants to…
Thief! THIEF!!

A violent scream interrupts his daydream. He retorts. A young girl is pointing a young man running his direction, her knees on the ground. The thief is dashing among the throng with speediness and agility, and is about to pass the missing leg.  This very dynamic shot pauses for a moment before his own eyes. Perhaps two. The woman's screams ceased to be heard, together with everything that everyone could hear. People ceased to move, may be to exist. Everything becomes static, motionless, crippled. A fine fetishized photograph. The only person he can see is the thief. Now the thief has just boldly flied by and, almost instantly, the right wooden support followed, flying with grand precision and velocity to create a wound on the head of the assaulter. The man falls to the ground. Blood is visible on his collar. The only leg almost collapsed under him. Barely holding himself together, he watches in shock as the failing body of the attacker twists and stops moving.

…The police arrived. He was asked a few questions. Not many. The victim, whom he now finds out to be very attractive, especially with her spoilt make up, and grateful half-terrified eyes, suggested she should thank him with a banknote of 200 Dirhams. He also had the sense of hearing someone describing how brave and quick he was. An old man he does not know gave him a hug; some people just stared in admiration; others in recognition.
He had learnt not to smile. But he is smiling now. Perhaps his lips are not translating that, but he feels the smile is ensnared behind his jaws. A smile for all that is, and for all that could have been. This smile is all that he needed. It is so scarce a thing, but one that he could have always had only if…

Well, obviously it is not enough, but it is all he wanted to walk down the boulevard as a hero. Even for a day.
At the far end of the avenue, he turns left.
Another Avenue.
More crowded.
An ending. A beginning.
He is prepared.
 

© Moulay Driss El Maarouf