The Verdict - Betty Chatterjee (world best books to read .TXT) 📗

We are the very last passengers in the very last train; there are just the two of us - him and me.

As luck would have it, we occupy window seats facing each other. It is past one o’clock in the morning. I am so weary,but there is no chance that I will let myself fall asleep; the fear of being shunted away when we reach the terminus and the day’s events that swirl in my mind keep me wide awake.

Besides, I feel insecure being so close and alone with this man:
‘ Ridiculous! Completely ridiculous!’
I look down at my newspaper and scan the headlines.
‘Now, that’s going a bit too far! ‘
“Dentist remanded in custody after spanking 7 year old patient.’’

I continue browsing. Once again anarchist trouble makers bent on making life miserable for respectable citizens had disrupted the traffic:
‘Slobs! They are always demonstrating about something that has nothing to do with them. They should mind their own business!’
The next item that catches my attention is the obvious and indelicate truth that:
”Constipation threatens your health”
‘I could have bloody well told them that! Why can’t they write about something cheerful, just once in a while? Violence and misery, that’s all they’re interested in!’
Then I remember yesterday’s headlines:
"Yet another brutal train attack – no witnesses”.
My stomach contracts, I stop reading then I hiss to myself:
“Pull yourself together!”
Then it was as if somebody whispered in my ear:
“He looks like one of them, doesn’t he?"
“One of them?”
“A ne’er-do well, a yob or even worse! Scruffy and down at heel! He’s got a furtive look in his eyes too.”
“Stop it!”
”Go on, have another look at him- he’s not one of our Lord’s best boys is he? Admit it; he looks dodgy, doesn’t he?”
“We’re all innocent until proven guilty!”
“Do you honestly believe that crap?”
“Yes!”
“Liar!’’
‘Yes, I am lying. I’m both judge, jury and executioner!
Surreptitiously I eye him up and down.

As well as being podgy and potbellied he stinks of beer, tobacco and stale sweat! His unshaven face is flabby and red! But what worries me most of all are his blood-shot eyes. What is it they say about our eyes being gateways to our souls? If it’s true, his soul is in a bad, bad way!
‘Stop it you stupid cow, mind your own business and read your paper!"
Then it echoes in my ears again:
Yet another brutal train attack– no witnesses.

It happens so often; either late in the evening or early in the morning. The scene is a car-park, a cycle path, a public convenience, a platform or a deserted railway carriage. The cast is minimal; a psychopathic thug and an old woman – just like me. What’s happened to all those knights in shining armour that used to step in and save the situation? They must have got better things to do these days! I imagine the petrified expression on the old woman’s face, it’s as though I see myself in the mirror.
“Good thing you haven’t got a crystal ball! Chin up! You’ll soon be home, and then you can curl up in your lovely, warm bed. Stop thinking about people like him there! Stop it you silly cow! Look out of the window - soon be there! The train’s beginning to slow down.”

“Yes, let me look out of the window! The train’s stopped – no, no, no we’ve stopped in the middle of nowhere!”

I continue to stare out of the window, and he does too. It’s deathly silent in the train. Ugh, he stinks, and glancing at him I notice that he’s picking his nose: what an oaf! Are we going to be here all night? I begin to sweat and I feel nauseous. And the worst of the worst is that I feel a terrible and urgent need to relieve myself. I must not fart! Please, please do not let me fart! I don’t do things like that!

Then suddenly my companion breaks the silence:
"You look terrible! Feeling a bit under the weather, Missis? The train will start again soon. The signals are playing up. Used to work on the railways, you see, so I know all about it. That’s the way it is. Take it easy, we’ll soon be there! Not much fun for old folks like us travelling home late at night, is it?"
Then leaning forward he whispers discretely:
”Take it easy. Got a bit of belly ache, have you? Have the same trouble myself sometimes. I don’t mind if you let off steam. Better out than in, is what I always say. Know what I mean, Missis?”
Slowly I turn my head and look at him again, but I am unable to utter a sound. Then I realise that the pressure has been released.
Then smiling he says again:
“Good! Feeling a bit better now, Missis? Well, what did I tell you?"

Speechlessly I nod just as the train jerks into motion and we continue towards the end-station.
And then with a mischievous smile he gets to his feet and shuffles towards the door. Before disappearing into the darkness he looks back and shouts:
“Take care Missis, and don’t you talk to no scallywags on your way home! There ain’t so many of us knights in shining armour, so you take care!”
Overcome by shame I remain standing on the platform and thank my lucky stars that nobody has ever endowed me with the powers of judge, jury and executioner.
© Betty Chatterjee 2010. All rights reserved

Publication Date: 01-07-2010

All Rights Reserved