Short Story - Basket Case

"Ladies and gentlemen, gather round, please. Can you find it in your hearts to help my poor brother?"

The children had already gathered round the trailer containing the amputee, and were staring at him in horrified fascination. The amputee tried not to notice when the children started whispering amongst themselves about what might have happened to him. Whatever they might speculate, he had no voice to correct them.

The children's parents directed their questions at the man in the hat, who had pulled the man in the trailer through to their part of the city, looking for donations.

"Whatever happened to the poor man?" Asked a timid young woman in a scullery maid's cap.

The man in the hat appeared close to tears as he answered. "My brother lost both arms and legs during the Great War," he said. "Blown up by a German land mine. The army doctors never thought he would survive,so it's a miracle that he's here at all. But I have to look after him now, and I would greatly appreciate any small donation that you could give, to pay for his upkeep."

The scullery maid's face fell, but from the pocket of her apron she produced a shilling. "This is all I have," she said, "but your poor, poor brother clearly needs it more than I do. God bless you both."

The man in the hat thanked her kindly, and one by one, the other men and women began to come forward and place coins into the bag he was holding. The amputee said nothing, just looked up from his trailer, ignoring the children and wishing that he could die. This was no kind of life.

That night, after the trailer had been dragged through several more neighbourhoods, the two brother returned home. Their home, such as it was, could be found in the darkest, dingiest part of the city, close to the river where the rats nested and multiplied. The man in the hat dragged his brother through the door, and threw the heavy bag of donations onto the table.

"We made plenty of money today," he said. "Now I suppose you'll want feeding."

The amputee felt the hot soup running over his partial tongue as his brother spoon-fed him clumsily, not really looking what he was doing. "Sometimes I don't know why I even bother with this," the man in the hat muttered. "It's like having to raise a fucking baby."

The amputee felt a surge of anger inside of him, and he spat a mouthful of hot soup into his brother's face.

The man in the hat wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and threw the soup bowl down. "You've obviously had enough," he said.

The amputee could only sit and watch as the man in the hat picked up the bag of money from the table. Tonight, as every night, his brother would come back drunk, and the bag would come back empty.

Just before he went out of the door, the man in the hat turned, and looked his brother in the eye.

"If you ever, ever spit your food at me again," he said, his voice low, "then the next thing I cut off will be your head."


THE END