The Beggar

Chapter 1
Whole Story

Brad liked many things about travelling the developing world. The sights were unparalleled, often free of the crowds and high prices one found in European or American tourist traps. The people lived in a fascinating way that made it a joy just to sit in a café and watch life go by. Whether he was sipping Nescafe in Dakar, eating cockroaches in a Thai village or trying not to flinch while supping on the cuisine of Mumbai he always enjoyed watching the daily bustle of the street.

The women with massive loads on their heads looking perfectly balanced, the kids driving donkey carts down the street, men leading flocks of sheep up urban footpaths between twenty storey buildings, they were all part of the tapestry of life in the Third World. They were why he went to such out of the way and even somewhat dangerous places.

What he didn’t like though was the constant attempts by seemingly everyone to rip him off. He didn’t like the fake kindness from people who pretended to care about him only to get his money. He hated the aggressive beggars around any tourist site and especially the use of little kids to make him pay out of sympathy. After awhile these things went beyond annoying and started to really piss him off.

Brad had learned to ignore them and if they didn’t take the hint than to be aggressive right back at them. As he headed to another ancient ruins site in a far-flung land Brad knew what was likely awaiting him there. Sitting sweating in the back of a taxi as it dodged and weaved its way through lawless uncontrolled streets and intersections he steeled himself for the coming trial.

The cab jostled and bounced its way through the poorly paved back streets past impromptu soccer games played by barefooted kids, swarms of shoppers at open-air markets and various animals left to roam the urban landscape. Brad figured it had to be closing in on 40C but the cab had no AC. The ones with AC always gouged the tourists, so he’d used a local cab and haggled the driver to a good price. He felt a little surge of pride at his cunning. He was no ordinary inexperienced tourist, he wasn’t going to get robbed or scammed.

“We here, we here,” the cab driver yelled in what little English he knew as he screeched the ancient old Peugeot to a jerking halt near the gates of the site.

“Right, thanks,” Brad told the man, slipping him a twenty note from the local currency, and smirking because he knew that was less than a single dollar of real money.

Brad climbed out of the cab and swung his Nikon SLR camera around his neck. Brad checked his pockets to be sure his wallet was nice and deep down. He always kept back up money and a card down his sock just in case, but he only had one licence and he didn’t want to lose that.

As the taxi sputtered away Brad headed for the site gates. Immediately they were on him. A swarm of locals smiling their deceptive smiles and extending hands of false friendship.

“Hello sir, how are you?” asked a couple young men at once.

“Where are you from?” yelled another from beside him.

“You need guide? I’m official guide here!” screamed an especially aggressive man with an official looking ID swung around his neck. It was meant to fool tourists, though Brad knew it meant nothing at all.

When Brad ignored them and continued walking in a straight line the yells changed. “Vous parlez Francais monsieur? Italiano? Espange?” they called after him.

As soon as he was past they left him, looking for the next potential victim. But then came the obstacle he dreaded most, the beggars. Ancient hags were bent over on the dirt with hands extended, blind or horribly deformed men prostrate on the ground, mothers with babies in their arms and scurrying little children in rags.

The kids should have been in school somewhere. Instead the skinny little urchins were stepping in his way with postcards in their hands. “Wanna buy card?!” they yelled, fighting each other to get closest to him.

Brad ignored them and tried to squeeze past without stepping on their little bare toes. They tried to press the cards and trinkets they offered into his hands but her pushed them away. Finally he crossed the gate and they gave up as he went to the ticket window.

Once within the site Brad felt free to turn his camera on and let his guard down a bit. He got several stunning pictures of the monuments and the crumbling ruins. The light was just right as his camera made the satisfying clicking sound that SLRs still made. That sound told everyone he didn’t have some piffling little point and shoot, he had the real deal. It told them he was serious about his travelling. He did feel a bit superior just carrying it around.

As Brad walked through an empty section between to crumbling columns a man stepped out and held up a hand to stop him. The man had an official looking badge but Brad was wary anyway.

“Ticket,” the man demanded, holding out his hand.

Brad shook his head, he knew all about this scam and he wasn’t handing his ticket over.

“Check ticket,” the man repeated.

“No,” Brad stated coolly.

“Security, check ticket,” the man said again, blocking the way.

“If you’re security then take me over to the office and I’ll show you my ticket there. If not, fuck off!”

The man glared at him then stepped aside, muttering angrily in his native language. Brad brushed past him without another word.

**

After a couple hours viewing the ruins Brad was feeling tired and hungry so he headed for the exit. Leaving the gate he was surprised to find there were no taxis waiting around. Usually several drivers were waiting to harass tourists until they got in their cars. Yet here there was no one. After ten minutes of walking around the area he realised that there were simply no cabs around. Brad didn’t relish staying in this area any longer either. This was a perfect place to rob a lost tourist.

Looking down the street Brad noticed there were overhead wires for a tram running on the next cross-street. He headed for it, figuring that had to be better than standing around here like a sitting duck. As he reached the cross-street a tram was just arriving. Brad hurried alongside it, trying not to step in a hole on the bumpy cobble-stoned road. Thank God he had his expensive cross-training sneakers on or he’d have turned an ankle for sure.

The tram slowed to a stop and Brad climbed aboard. It was crowded with locals and he stood out badly in his t-shirt and cargo shorts with that expensive camera in plain view. Brad moved away from the door, looking for a free seat. That would make it harder to pick his pocket. As he moved through the crowded car a man got up from a seat before him and Brad quickly slipped into it. He glanced warily at the woman beside him and felt his wallet again to be sure it was safe.

“We aren’t all thieves you know,” the woman stated in perfect English, looking hurt by his mistrust.

Brad blushed and shook his head. “I meant no disrespect,” he told her.

The woman’s scowl slowly disappeared. She was middle aged with long black hair, dressed in a red gown that went to her ankles. “You are being careful, I know. Relax now, this is a safe place.”

Brad nodded, but felt no more relaxed. The woman pulled something from a box in her lap. “Here, you look hungry,” she said, offering a square sweet covered in powdered sugar.

Brad shook his head, he didn’t want to take food from her.

“Please, have some. It is Turkish delight, very good.”

Normally he wouldn’t have accepted food from any stranger, but the woman spoke such perfect English and he felt bad for offending her already that he knew he had to accept. To refuse would be another insult in her culture.

“Thanks,” he told her with a weak smile, taking the treat and biting into it as she watched.

It was very sweet and it did make him feel better to get something in his stomach. The woman seemed satisfied he’s accepted her peace offering and she went back to her own business, slipping some headphones on and listening to music. Brad took out his guidebook and read up on his next destination while he finished the treat.

As the tram clanked along the road at a snail’s pace Brad found the woman’s music was annoying him a bit. He could just hear it and yet it seemed to be all he could focus on. He tried reading his book but he kept losing his train of thought. He’d finish reading a paragraph and have no idea what he was just reading. In fact he felt pretty weird in general. Everything seemed to be slowing down. His reactions felt sluggish, weird. The woman’s music sounded different, stretched out and echoing. There was definitely something wrong with him.

Brad was starting to feel panicky as he lifted his arms and found they were very heavy and his fingers were slow to open and close. The tram bell dinged as they pulled away from a stop and instantly Brad felt a wave of drowsiness sweep over him. After a moment it went away but Brad was now seriously worried.

It may have been his imagination but now he was certain several people were watching him. The man sitting across the aisle, a woman standing near the door, they both kept stealing glances at them didn’t they? Or was he just being paranoid? He wasn’t sure.

Ding

The trolley bell sounded again and uncontrollable sleepiness swept over him. Brad’s head dropped forward. But his muscles releasing made his body jerk and he recovered as quickly as he’d dropped off. Sitting straight up now Brad could feel his heart pounding from the jerk awake. What was wrong with him? He still felt incredibly sleepy now. It was like he’d been awake more than 24 hours again. Had he been drugged? Were they all waiting for him to pass out so they could steal his wallet and his camera? What had they given him?!

Ding-Ding

The trolley bell rang as they crossed a street and Brad’s vision blurred and darkened. He was so, so sleepy, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. His head fell forward to his chest and his book dropped to the floor as his arms dropped to the seat. He fought so hard to keep his wits about him. He forced his head back up. His eyes half-open he could see that no one had moved, no one seemed concerned by his passing out.

The woman’s music seemed to be all he could hear now. He just listened to it as things moved in slow motion. A hand rested on his back. It was her’s. “You look sleepy dear. Take a nap, it’s okay, I’ll watch your stuff,” she assured him.

Brad tried to shake his head, tried to say no, that he couldn’t sleep. But he didn’t have the energy. It took all he had to stay awake. He couldn’t even tell if he was awake or dreaming right now. He was right on the verge of sleep.

Ding-Ding

Brad’s heavy eyelids weighed a hundred kilos each and they dropped shut immediately. His whole body slumped onto the woman, who held her arms open to catch him. Then there was only peaceful blackness for Brad.

**

He could very vaguely recall getting off the tram at some point. He was being led by someone, he didn’t know who. They walked for a bit, he didn’t recall any details of where they went, what they passed. There was just a long vague period in his memory that felt like a dream.

Brad awoke he knew not how much later to find he was sitting on a dirt floor in a dimly lit room. Looking around he saw that this wasn’t a cell for a kidnapped hostage. It appeared to be someone’s living room though lacking any of the comforts of Western civilisation. There was a foul smell about the place, something wretched but totally foreign to Brad. It was likely a mixture of many bad odours.

To his relief Brad found he wasn’t tied up or gagged. His clothing, however, was missing. All he had on was his simple white briefs. His long bare legs were extended before him and he could feel the cold, damp dirt of the floor on them. They might as well have bound and gagged him, he thought, because now he had no ID and no money. How on Earth could he escape?

As he pondered this, the only door to the room opened, spilling light into the dingy little space. A man stood in the doorway, smoking a cigarette and looking coldly at Brad. And he knew this man instantly. It was the aggressive ticket-checker from the site! The man saw the recognition in Brad’s eyes and he smiled. It was an ugly, malevolent grin. The man was missing several teeth, adding to the vulgarity of this smile. Then he called to someone in his foreign tongue, laughing and closing the door again.

Seconds later the door was opened and a new woman appeared in the light. She wore old ripped clothing and appeared to be in her forties. She regarded Brad carefully, not getting too close.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “Why have you taken me here?!”

The woman mumbled something in her foreign language but nothing more. A second woman then appeared from behind her. And now Brad could have kicked himself for his stupidity. It was the lady from the tram. Why had he accepted the Turkish delight? He was an idiot to take the obviously drugged treat.

The tram lady smiled pleasantly. “I see you are awake dear. That’s good, we can move along quickly then.”

“What’s going on damn it!” Brad screamed at her.

“Relax dear, you want to relax now. Your body is relaxed. You are very relaxed,” she crooned to him.

And despite his fear and rage Brad found himself relaxing. He leaned back against the wall, released a deep breath and found his arms and legs weak and heavy again. “What’ve you done to me?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“You see how these people live my dear?” the lady asked, ignoring his question. “You see the squalor they live in. They just barely survive Brad. Can you even call this living?”

“How do you know my name?” he mumbled.

“Your passport honey,” she replied simply. “But back to the point dear. This family is just surviving. And the only reason they can do that is they make money off the tourists.”

“They scam them,” Brad stated defiantly.

“They do whatever they must. But some tourists don’t help them. Some don’t care that they have the means to help. They guard their every cent. People like you. But that’s about to change. From now on you will be living a very different life my dear. Think of it as a new chance to see how the other half live. From now on you’ll live right here with this family. You’ll help them to make money, since you were unwilling to give them any of yours.”

“How can I do that? They can have my money, just lemme go.”

“No dear. You didn’t want them getting your money and you can breathe easy because they won’t. Instead you’ll help them by doing the only thing they can do, begging.”

“You want me to beg with them?”

“Yes dear.”

Brad was very confused by all this. They weren’t kidnapping him for ransom at all. This was very odd. “But what’s wrong with me?” he asked.

“Honey you saw the beggars, did you see what they had in common?”

“They’re natives?”

“No dear, they’re all children or disabled. They’re all dependents.”

Now Brad felt a surge of fear rush through him. He wanted to get up and run away. But he couldn’t rise, his body remained relaxed and heavy. Were they going to gouge his eyes out? Would they break his legs?!

The woman saw the terror in his eyes. “We aren’t going to do anything physically to you dear. Don’t fear that. I promise there will be no pain whatsoever. You see I am an expert in something else entirely. I cripple the mind, not the body.”

“The mind?”

“Yes dear. People give good money to those with mentally impaired children drooling and babbling to themselves. The same is true with adults. They feel bad for you, so they give more. But because we live in a racist world the tourists will give the most when the afflicted is white. Which is why you can be of such help to this family.”

Brad shook his head, trying to will his legs to work. He couldn’t just sit here passively while she turned him into a dribbling idiot. “You can’t do this! I’m a university graduate! I need my mind. I have money and I’ll pay whatever you want!”

The woman simply shook her head. “No dear it is far too late for that. You’ll be providing a steady source of income for many years to come I promise. And fear not, you won’t be in any pain. This will feel absolutely delightful for you. In a few moments you’ll just be another happy little street urchin. You’ll have the mentality of a two year old. You’ll have a lovely time skipping around the tourist areas handing people pretty little flowers and taking their shiny coins.”

“It won’t work, my friends will look for me. People will spot me, they’ll know I’m not from here. They’ll know this is wrong.”

But the woman grinned again, chuckling. “And how closely do you look at the beggars you pass by? No one looks at the face of a beggar! They see only the dirty clothes, or the lack of clothing, the messy hair, the skinny bodies, and in your case, the empty eyes. Your friends could come here and they will walk right past you dear. They’ll see only another dirty little beggar.”

“No, no, no! I don’t want that! I’ll give you anything!” he pled.

But she ignored his pleas and took his hand, directing him to stand. “You can stand up dear, we need to get you dressed properly.”

With her words Brad found he could move his legs again, the heaviness leaving them. He stood up and wanted to run away now, but decided he should wait until he was dressed. He wouldn’t last long in just his underwear.

The second woman, who’d said nothing the whole time, now left the room briefly and then returned with clothing. Brad let them put it on him, just waiting for his chance. A simple long-sleeved beige shirt with stains and a ripped sleeve was his top. Then came a pair of light pants of the same colour but with one leg missing from below the knee and the other leg had holes ripped in it. The woman dressing him knelt and rolled up that ankle to calf-length.

“There, rags befitting a street boy,” the woman cooed.

“But I’m not a boy, I’m twenty-four,” Brad insisted.

“You’re a skinny young man and I’d say only about five foot six. Dressed in rags and clean-shaven you could easily be thirteen years old.”

“What about shoes?” Brad asked, noticing they’d not brought any and wondering if they were sitting outside. He needed them to make his getaway.

“No dear, your days of wearing shoes are over. Barefoot boys get more money, the tourists pity them. Don’t worry, it will be more comfortable for you anyway. Special little boys love splashing their footsies in the puddles and the mud. It is important you get them nice and dirty. The dirtier the boy, the more money.”

As she stood there smirking Brad knew he’d never have a better chance to escape. He had to do it before she could drug him again and destroy his precious mind. So with a mighty shove he knocked her aside then barrelled past the other woman and bolted out the still open door. He didn’t look back to see if they were alright, or chasing him, he just bolted for it.

Luckily there was no sign of the man and he couldn’t help but think this was too easy. The house had only two rooms and he quickly emerged onto the street. It was a dirt alleyway filled with the daily busy scenes he had previously so enjoyed watching. A boy was whipping the back of a donkey drawing a heavy cart of cauliflowers. Several small kids played a chasing game in the middle of the street. Nobody seemed to notice the young white man in rags.

Brad didn’t know which way to go but he figured any direction away from the house was good. So he hurried down the street. They dirt was very hot and rocky. He could feel blisters forming on his soles as he tried to cope with the intense heat. He smacked a toe on a rock, yelping but hurrying onward. As he passed a café he tried to find someone to help him but no one spoke English and they all gave him strange looks.

Finally as he neared the end of the street he spotted the tram tracks on the main avenue before him. With relief Brad rushed towards the tracks. The main avenue was even busier than the alley, with cars and carts filling the street and people everywhere. A tram was headed up towards him and Brad hoped he could sneak on without paying as he had no money anymore. He just needed to get to a police station.

The tram was upon him now, a big red two-car tram ready to take him to safety.

Ding-Ding

The tram bell rang as it approached the station. Brad stopped walking and tried to collect his thoughts. He felt disoriented and lost, even more than he had moments ago. He knew he was supposed to get on the tram. But why? Where was he going again?

Ding-Ding

As he paused in thought another tram going the opposite direction rang its bell at a donkey cart blocking the way. Brad felt weird, he couldn’t quite recall what he was so frightened of. For a moment he was just awed by the big choo-choo in front of him. It made funny noises and everything.

Ding-Ding-Ding

The tram clanged at the donkey only slowly moving out of the way. Brad smiled, his fear slipping away as he enjoyed the lovely big noises the choo-choo made. He liked choo-choos. Brad curled his toes into the warm dirt, that felt nice. As the choo-choo left he wondered where mummy was. Then he saw that he was wearing funny clothes. Was he playin’ dress-up?

Brad frowned and tried to remember why he was dressed funny and all alone on the street without mummy or daddy. Then he remembered the mean lady and how she made him wear bad clothes. That’s why he was scared! And there was something else, she was trying to make him a dumb baby! He didn’t wanna be dumb. He was a big boy and he didn’t need mummy to cross the street.

Brad crossed the tracks and started down the street, feeling clearer by the second. Why was he thinking of the trams as choo-choos? That was a stupid baby name for them after all. Something was wrong with his head, but he’d escaped before she could hurt his mind hadn’t he?

Brad focused hard and recalled the fuzzy feelings started when the tram came. He needed to be away from the trams. So he turned left and headed down and alley away from the main avenue. He was slowed by his sore feet on the burning dirt. So he didn’t make it very far before a familiar voice called to him.

“You should have stayed on the avenue!”

Brad turned back to see the tram lady standing close behind him. “Get away from me!”

“It would have been much easier that way dear. It’s why I let you out. You would have just gotten on the tram and listened to it making a few more lovely dings and then I could have collected you a couple stops down once you were all smiles. You’d have been happily playing with your toes in no time.”

Brad backed away from the threatening woman. He enjoyed watching the way these people lived but he certainly didn’t want to live this way. He didn’t want to be a street urchin begging for scraps. He was an independent young man, a professional with a career, his own place, the income to travel.

“C’mere honey, I promised your new mummy you’d be ready to go beg with her today. The programming is done. I know you don’t recall but you’ve been with me for almost two days. It’s just time for you to accept it.”

He wanted to run but now his feet seemed stuck to the spot. She came close and held out a black box that appeared to be a tape recorder. She held it up to his head then clicked play. Ding-ding-ding-ding… it played over and over. It was a recording of the tram bells.

“Listen to the choo-choo bell sweetie. Listen to the bell and let it all go. No more work, no more planes or cars. From now on little Brady walks with mummy or rides a donkey. Listen to the bells and let everything go bye-bye.”

Brad couldn’t focus on anything but the clanging bells. The noise seemed to echo through his head, clearing away all other thoughts. He tried to hold on but the choo-choo make it all empty. All those years of learning, all that work just went whoosh, gone. Brady blinked and curled his toes once again into the dirt, a smile forming on his face as he listened to the lovely choo-choo.

**

Dan Hawkins ushered his family through the hordes of touts looking for easy victims at the ruins. He hated the way they preyed on unsuspecting tourists. As he urged his wife and kids ahead they hurried past the beggars. One woman was quite aggressive in stepping right in front of him. “Please, got special boy, little forever, need food, need help,” she begged.

Dan looked to where the woman was gesturing. There a skinny boy who looked about fourteen was squatting on the hard-packed dirt. He was dressed in dirty, ragged clothing, barefoot on what had to be scorching hot ground. His toes were blackened with dirt, toe-nails grimy too. He probably didn’t even own a single pair of shoes, poor thing. His hair was cut very short, probably to keep out lice. The boy was playing idly with his dirty toes, his eyes scanning the sky vacantly. It was obvious his intelligence was well below normal.

The woman gestured to the boy and he seemed to notice Dan. Smiling the boy rose quickly to his feet, carrying a pack of post-cards in his hands. He held them awkwardly, his fingers clumsy like toddler’s. He hurried over, holding out the cards to Dan. “Wanna buy cawd! Pwetty cawd!” the teen urged.

Dan felt awful for the boy. It was clear he was a toddler in a teen body. “Boy got nothing,” the woman told him, gesturing to the teen’s head. “It all empty. Please,” she repeated, holding out a hand.

Dan looked into the kid’s trusting but unfocussed eyes then took out his wallet and gave the woman ten US dollars. “Buy the kid some shoes with that,” he told her.

“Yes, shoes, thank you,” she said.

As the man walked away she turned to the boy and said, “You do good Brady.”

The boy smiled and sat on his bum to resume his toe wiggling game. “Me good boy,” he agreed simply.

**

Brady walked home with mummy after another long day by the ruins. He wasn’t sure why the people went to see the fall-down things. They didn’t look like any fun to him. Mummy counted the colourful papers people gave her. Brady got to hold one of the shiny coins. Mummy always gave him one shiny thing each time they came. He liked holding them. That made him feel big. He ran ahead of mummy and stretched out his arms to feel the warm breeze. His tough feet glided easily over the tough terrain. Brady wondered what it was like to be a big person and go to see fall-down things. He wondered what it was like to live in a big house and ride in the car things. He especially wondered what it was like to wear shoes.

But those were all things little boys like him didn’t do. And that was okay because he had his shinies and his mummy and what else did he really need?

Author’s Note: This story was inspired by my recent travels in some developing nations. I had the idea for it while trying desperately to stay awake on a tram in Istanbul. It sprang into my mind almost fully formed and I had to write it.

 

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