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REFLECTION IN A FRIGHTENED EYE!
by Lili Hart
It was the evening rush-hour. The tube was crammed to bursting point. Everyone looked tired. Strained eyes turned inwards, impatient to get home, unwind, relax, throw off the shackles of the daily grind. Each one isolated in this weaving sea of humanity, busy with their own thoughts. Yet one pleasant-looking young man courteously offered me his seat, as I tried precariously to strap - hang with my right arm while leaning heavily on my invalid stick with the other. Gratefully surprised by such gallant action in these indifferent times, I sank down and looked around me. From my sitting position in this tightly-packed standing throng, my eyes mainly beheld denim-trousered legs and trainer-shoes, interspersed with mini-skirts and knee-high boots or ankle-length dresses and poncho-capes with large, sack-like bags hanging from shoulder-straps. I had a long way to travel to my local station at the end of the line, and gradually, from stop to stop, the carriage emptied until finally there was only myself left plus three young men sitting opposite, whom I had hitherto hardly noticed. They were leaning close together, their three shoulders touching, but without exchanging a single word between them! My eyes returned to the newspaper in my hands and I became absorbed in one of the articles. All of a sudden, I was uncomfortably aware of being stared at. I glanced up and noticed the eyes of the young man in the centre looking at me fixedly and totally without blinking. I fidgeted slightly in my seat and returned to my evening-paper. Again I stole a furtive glance in his direction - he had not shifted his gaze, and with a stifled shudder I perceived that he still did not blink, in fact not a muscle moved in his pallid face and his stare seemed somewhat glazed. Drunk? I puzzled to myself? No, his body sat too still for that. Drugged to the gills?
Much more likely! My eyes swivelled sideways to the young man’s two companions. Swarthy, unshaven faces, side-boards and moustaches, lanky, shoulder-long, unwashed hair, red-tipped, sniffling noses, sunken eyes, gaunt cheeks. Heroin? cocaine? I wondered. I felt quite defenceless, completely alone with such unsavoury characters in the Tube at night without a guard in sight.
I stole a further glance at the motionless figure in the middle, whose buddies pressed so tightly and silently against him. We were approaching the last two stations. The train pulled to a stop with a jolt and without a word of good-bye, two of the young men hurriedly left the compartment, leaving their pal behind. I watched him sink back against the window and my heart missed a beat. Sweat broke out all over my body. I choked back a cry as I pulled the communication cord. Reflected in the dark and shiny glass, my eyes could clearly see the short knife sticking out of the young man’s shoulder-blade!
A SEASONAL ENOUGH STORY
by Peter Hart
“Mum, Mum, I am a King! “
“A King darling? G R E A T!” Mum exclaimed, looking lovingly at her young son, whom she was fetching from school.
“Where will you be King?” she asked, as she was starting the engine of her little Fiesta.
“In a play at school, called NA-VI-TI-TI, about Jesus.”
How exciting, darling. Which King will you be.”
“The one who follows the Star.”
“But are there not three Kings, sweetheart?”
“Yes, I play the white one, John the black one, as he is already black – that will save money, the teacher says and a little boy from Arabia, in the form below me, is the third. Teacher said it will not matter my being Jewish.”
“No, I am sure not, darling, especially as the story of NATIVITY, is all about a Jewish family.”
“Will you buy me a King’s outfit, Mum?”
“Well, I see what we can do with what we have. Kings don’t buy outfits. They create them from all sorts of odd things they can find. We shall do the same and I am sure you will make a splendid King. Where are the words you have to learn?”
“No words, Mum. We just bring presents. Can we go to Harrods to-morrow?”
“I have an account with Marks&Spencer, we’ll try them first, darling.”
“But the presents are supposed to be expensive, Mum, Gold and pearls and things like that.”
“Well, you know M&S are also called Marks and Sparks, I am sure we shall find the right presents, worthy of my little King.”
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