Jarmila Jackson, Contributor

Damian felt a lump in his throat as he walked towards the bougainvilleas. He would rather have them tear him to pieces than have his aunt put her hands on him again. Getting through the hole took strategy; he had to squeeze his tiny frame through an even smaller hole and carefully manoeuvre himself through the barbed wire all the while trying to avoid any further cuts to his arms and legs, and without making a sound. The demons could be anywhere.

When he was safely through, he stood up, took a deep breath, and scoped the place out for the dogs. The spot by the shed was clear. By the old bathtub as well. He figured the only other place they could be was at the front and as long as they were there, they couldn't see him. The tree with the best mangoes was about 30 feet away, so with his heart drumming in his ears, he ran. There was always a burst of adrenalin when he did this; he never ran as fast any other time.

Without stopping, he jumped up into the tree and started picking and throwing the mangoes into the big black bag his aunt had given him. Green ones, yellow ones, red ones, big ones, small ones, he didn't care. He just yanked them off and stuffed them in as quickly as possible, rattling the tree as he did so, rousing the attention of the dogs, one of which came running and barking, nipping at the bottom of the tree.

In sheer fright, Damian jumped out of the tree, bruising his knee as he hit the ground. Some of the mangoes came spilling out of the bag. He managed to pick up a few before jolting towards the hole in the fence. Then suddenly, he heard a loud shriek, then a whimper. He stopped and turned to see the dog being yanked by its chain and flung to the ground.

,b>Lucky escape

Damian fell to the ground, laughing hysterically at the sight. It was a mixture of fear and relief as he looked to see that the others were chained as well. Then, he picked up the spilled mangoes and a couple of others, squeezed back out through the fence and headed home.

"How yu tek so long?" said his aunt as he handed her the bag of mangoes,

"Mek mi si dem," she said as she rolled them on to the piece of cloth she had spread in front of her.

"Den a dem ya sinting yah yuh have mi sidung a wait pon all dis while. Half a di mango dem young an di res a dem squeeze up and soft. Bwoy yuh lucky mi late, so mi going wait till lata fi deal wid you. Si yuh lunch here," she said throwing him one of the squashed mangoes. "Try go look some work till me come back".

With that she lifted the basket with the few provisions she had to her head and was off to the market where she worked.

She could not afford to send him to school, and while his mother used to struggle to do so, his aunt said he did not deserve the privilege. So after errands such as these, when his aunt had left for the market, Damian spent his days roaming the streets of Kingston, looking to do anything that would get him some money, to satisfy the hunger he continually felt to the core of his being.

In the mornings, around this time, he often became envious of his friends as they chatted and laughed with each other on their way to school. Sometimes they were sympathetic towards him because they understood his circumstances, and waved as they walked by. Other times, it was easier just to ignore him.

Feeling ashamed

It was on these days that he felt most ashamed, and today was one of those days. Albert and Paul pretended not to see him; so did Sheila and Melissa. Only Philip had made an attempt at a greeting before he was stopped by his mother, who apparently had told him a number of times "not to talk to that dirty, smelly boy". Damian looked down at himself. He couldn't blame her. His shorts, which were once black, were now grey and torn, and were in dire need of a good wash. His shirt had a number of holes in it and was just as dirty as his shorts, and his arms and legs were dreadful with a mass of cuts and scabs on them. He wore no shoes, just a pair of his aunt's old slippers that he had found in a bin and repaired with some wire. At that moment, he felt a hatred for himself similar to that which he saw on the faces of the passers-by. Despite this, it still hurt for him to hear it.

- Jarmila Jackson

See conclusion next Sunday