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A Candy Seller's Misfortune
Gustav slouched in the chair behind his candy cart, chin in hand and eyes blank. The sun was beginning to set and he hadn’t had a single customer the entire day. He had tried Main Street at lunchtime. Nothing. He tried the schoolyard during play time. Still nothing. It was becoming more and more apparent these days that folks had more pressing things to think about than candy. The headline on the newspaper displayed beside him drove the thought home.
JUNE 4. 1944. FRANCE INVADED; ALLIED TROOPS LAUNCH MIGHTY OFFENSIVE.
As if this dry spell wasn’t bad enough, around lunchtime some filthy street kid had snatched a Milka bar right off the front of his cart. Gustav must have chased him down for half an hour, scanning the crowd for the child’s distinctive fiery red hair, but it was no use. The boy was a regular bullet. Of all the things the child could have snatched, the Milka bars were one of the most expensive. Making a profit for the day was already going to be a herculean endeavor, and in one swift motion one greedy child had made it impossible.
Gustav stood up and folded his chair, not knowing what else to do other than call it a day. He looked pleadingly into the face of every passerby he encountered on his way to the building where he rented a small room, but no one paid a second glance to him or the treats he was hoisting through the town square. Once he arrived at his building, Gustav wrestled the cart up the stairs, step by step. Then he arrived at his hall and was stopped in his tracks by a notice taped on his door.
NOTICE; EVICTED FOR NON- PAYMENT.
Placed by the door was a greasy laundry bag, tied closed at the top with a thin piece of rope. Gustav untied the top and found everything he had to his name. His good pair of slacks, the bag of beans he had been living on all week, the framed picture of his parents…
Gustav sank to the floor, searching his mind for any place he could turn to. This late, all the shelters would be filled to the brim, and there were laws about setting up camp in the streets. There isn't a single place on this earth I am welcome, he thought.
He stood up, hoisted the bag onto his cart and somberly made his way out of the building. It was dark now, and he could hear bombs falling somewhere far but not too far, followed by frantic screams. It seemed these days the bombs were getting closer and closer.
“Hey!” A voice yelled from behind.
Gustav spun around and locked eyes with a uniformed officer who had a whistle in hand and a pistol on his belt.
“There’s no vending after dark!” The officer yelled. “You there! Get that cart out of here! Are you listening boy?!”
Gustav turned on his heels and, taking his cart with him, took off in the opposite direction with no destination in mind. He ran and ran until - THUD - something, or someone, hit the front of his cart, bringing him to a halt. Gustav froze solid, too afraid to see who or what he struck. Finally, he shuffled slowly to the front of the cart and found a little head of fiery red hair, bent down and nursing a fresh gash on his forearm.
“You…” Gustav said, almost in a growl.
The child wasted no time before he leapt to his feet and sprinted away, taking another milka bar off the front of Gustav’s cart. Now the two were off to the races. Gustav abandoned everything he owned in the middle of the square and chased the boy through alleyways and markets, nearly nocking inoocent bystanders down in the process. Finally, the child disappeared into the remnants of an old drugstore that had been destroyed months before, and Gustav followed him in. The marble counter was still standing and the floor was littered with newspaper, cigarettes, shoelaces, all kinds of odds and ends. The swinging door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY swung open and shut. Gustav ran over with a grin, sure he had finally caught his thief. Then he stopped short. On the swinging door was a small window looking looking into what was once the drug store’s kitchen, and Gustav could see everything happening inside.
The boy knelt on his knees before a small group of other children, all smaller than himself. He pulled the milka bar from the waist of his fraying trousers, unwrapped it then carefully broke it into tiny pieces. The pieces were then distributed to each member of the group, all of whom devoured the gift without a second’s hesitation. The boy took none for himself. The gash on his arm bleeding freely and fiercely, he instead curled into the ground, closed his eyes and fell rapidly to sleep.
Gustav shuffled out of the drugstore. Feeling utterly foolish, he made his way back to his cart, praying the entire way it hadn’t been stolen or confiscated by the officer. By the grace of god, it was waiting for him right where it had been abandoned. With not a place to turn to, he rolled his cart back to the remnants of the old drugstore. He grabbed the box of Milka chocolates off the front of the cart and left it at the door.
© All Rights Reserved
JUNE 4. 1944. FRANCE INVADED; ALLIED TROOPS LAUNCH MIGHTY OFFENSIVE.
As if this dry spell wasn’t bad enough, around lunchtime some filthy street kid had snatched a Milka bar right off the front of his cart. Gustav must have chased him down for half an hour, scanning the crowd for the child’s distinctive fiery red hair, but it was no use. The boy was a regular bullet. Of all the things the child could have snatched, the Milka bars were one of the most expensive. Making a profit for the day was already going to be a herculean endeavor, and in one swift motion one greedy child had made it impossible.
Gustav stood up and folded his chair, not knowing what else to do other than call it a day. He looked pleadingly into the face of every passerby he encountered on his way to the building where he rented a small room, but no one paid a second glance to him or the treats he was hoisting through the town square. Once he arrived at his building, Gustav wrestled the cart up the stairs, step by step. Then he arrived at his hall and was stopped in his tracks by a notice taped on his door.
NOTICE; EVICTED FOR NON- PAYMENT.
Placed by the door was a greasy laundry bag, tied closed at the top with a thin piece of rope. Gustav untied the top and found everything he had to his name. His good pair of slacks, the bag of beans he had been living on all week, the framed picture of his parents…
Gustav sank to the floor, searching his mind for any place he could turn to. This late, all the shelters would be filled to the brim, and there were laws about setting up camp in the streets. There isn't a single place on this earth I am welcome, he thought.
He stood up, hoisted the bag onto his cart and somberly made his way out of the building. It was dark now, and he could hear bombs falling somewhere far but not too far, followed by frantic screams. It seemed these days the bombs were getting closer and closer.
“Hey!” A voice yelled from behind.
Gustav spun around and locked eyes with a uniformed officer who had a whistle in hand and a pistol on his belt.
“There’s no vending after dark!” The officer yelled. “You there! Get that cart out of here! Are you listening boy?!”
Gustav turned on his heels and, taking his cart with him, took off in the opposite direction with no destination in mind. He ran and ran until - THUD - something, or someone, hit the front of his cart, bringing him to a halt. Gustav froze solid, too afraid to see who or what he struck. Finally, he shuffled slowly to the front of the cart and found a little head of fiery red hair, bent down and nursing a fresh gash on his forearm.
“You…” Gustav said, almost in a growl.
The child wasted no time before he leapt to his feet and sprinted away, taking another milka bar off the front of Gustav’s cart. Now the two were off to the races. Gustav abandoned everything he owned in the middle of the square and chased the boy through alleyways and markets, nearly nocking inoocent bystanders down in the process. Finally, the child disappeared into the remnants of an old drugstore that had been destroyed months before, and Gustav followed him in. The marble counter was still standing and the floor was littered with newspaper, cigarettes, shoelaces, all kinds of odds and ends. The swinging door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY swung open and shut. Gustav ran over with a grin, sure he had finally caught his thief. Then he stopped short. On the swinging door was a small window looking looking into what was once the drug store’s kitchen, and Gustav could see everything happening inside.
The boy knelt on his knees before a small group of other children, all smaller than himself. He pulled the milka bar from the waist of his fraying trousers, unwrapped it then carefully broke it into tiny pieces. The pieces were then distributed to each member of the group, all of whom devoured the gift without a second’s hesitation. The boy took none for himself. The gash on his arm bleeding freely and fiercely, he instead curled into the ground, closed his eyes and fell rapidly to sleep.
Gustav shuffled out of the drugstore. Feeling utterly foolish, he made his way back to his cart, praying the entire way it hadn’t been stolen or confiscated by the officer. By the grace of god, it was waiting for him right where it had been abandoned. With not a place to turn to, he rolled his cart back to the remnants of the old drugstore. He grabbed the box of Milka chocolates off the front of the cart and left it at the door.
© All Rights Reserved
