Jean Goulbourne

It had been a hard night, what with the rain pounding against the window panes of the old car in which they slept. What with the hunger they had felt and the anger that grew inside them as they thought of themselves and the future - if any - that lay ahead of them.

Simeon was not one to give in to despair, but he had given in that night, when the men came to try to rape them, to make them into what they were not, to demand the use of their bodies in return for food, to dehumanise them into animals made only for male studs. Yes, Simeon had felt despair because that day, before the night came, there had been little to gain from the people in the cars and the lawmen had come to attack them, threatening to lock them up if they dared beg. The windshield wipers, as they were known, had been tossed and bullied by the rain and the men and the women in their cars and the lawmen, that day before that terrible night. But they had tried to sleep there, in the belly of the car, at the side of the road close to the dump, and they had survived the night, thanks to a God they had never known but had dared to recognise and acknowledge.

That morning, after the night, the sun had breathed again and the fog had lifted. The trees were clean, as though from a swift cleansing cream on the skin of a beautiful woman. The boys had breathed again as they stretched the cramp from their feet and stood, lifting their arms aloft to face the day. What would it bring?

Two months ago, one of their brothers had taken a bullet in the breast and had been laid in an unmarked grave. It had been one of them, the windshield wipers, a brother in a brotherhood that was tight with mercy for one another. Not by blood were they united but by the trials of life on the street. Here they had lived and survived till, two months ago, one of them had been wiped clean of the life that God had given him and there had not been even a Pastor to conduct the ceremony of passing.

What next? What would the day bring? This day, with its clean smelling leaves and streets washed by yesterday's rain, its sunshine after the storm the night before?

Simeon took the cloth that he used to wipe the windshields and went to the standpipe to wash it. He could not remember when last he had had a proper bath. Was that necessary here on the street? Could his smell offend the men and women in their cars with their air-conditioning and their smug middle-class exteriors? Some were kind. The ones who seemed to try to understand gave what they could, but the brutality of man is not to seen only in the underdog; it is seen also in those who maintain the status quo, those who fuel the fire that burns and maims the underdog.

The brothers stood up and walked to the streets with their rags in their hands. They felt faint with hunger but they dared not show their weakness. Their weakness was for the staff of life, food and clean water; they had not eaten anything since the morning before. Their weakness was not a mansion in the hills or a Lexus motor car. It was simply for food.

Fear lay within them, and even as they walked it walked with them. Any minute now they would be cursed; any minute now they could be shot; and who would cry for the one struck down but the brothers that remained?

Simeon walked towards the stoplight and approached a white Toyota motor car. He tried to clean the windshield, but the man cussed and spat at him, the spittle hitting Simeon on the hand he stretched through the window to beg a coin. The red light changed to green. Simeon breathed hard. He tried again. This one handed him $10. Good.

He tried again; another handed him a $20. Good! The others were gaining, too: five, 10, 20-dollar coins. They would eat this day. Yes, they would buy a tin of corned beef and some crackers, and maybe a bottle of soda to share between them this day. This day they would eat. But what of the morrow? What would it bring? Would they beg all their lives? Would life always be one of pity, allowances and paltry giving? Would they ever be fathers with homes and children of their own? Or would they be beggars till the bullet from some gun cut them down?

Simeon got another $20; $50 now. It was plenty. Simeon saw a car approaching and ran deftly out of the way. The others followed him. They would eat now andtry later for supper.

As Simeon walked, he saw a box in the road. The cars had squashed it thin against the asphalt. He looked at it with narrowed eyes, seeing the futility of the life he was living. 'Milk box empty,' he thought.

- Jean Goulbourne