Barely Any Daylight

(August '05)

There’s barely any daylight but the rumble in my stomach urges me to get up from this hard floor which I have called my bed for several years now. I splash some cold water on my face and it’s a nice feeling except for the few cuts from last night, which sting a bit. I hear my anklets jingle on the street as I make my way to the various houses where I wash, clean, sweep, and swab everyday. I swing open the gates of the first house, and try to make my way past the lawn quietly, so I don’t catch the attention of the bearded man there, the master of the house, watering one corner of the lawn. Just as I thought I’d make it into the house surreptitiously, he turns, and taking all the time in the world, he looks me up and down, and smiles one of his oily, filthy smiles. I sigh as I realize that the mistress did not come back home last night, again.
I enter the house in haste, and my eyes begin to take on a life of their own. They dart quickly from one table to another, past the tea table, the refrigerator, the little space in front of the book shelf and finally they rest upon the air cooler. I quickly walk towards it and pocket the shiny coins that my eyes just spotted, into my bodice. I smile my first smile of the day and even as I’m savoring the moment I feel a hot, prickly, oily breath on the back of my neck.


There’s barely any daylight but this urge to puke makes me rush up from the floor and run a few steps… just so I won’t have to lay down, back into the puke again. I see my daughter leave the house, the sound of her anklets fading into the distance as she walks down the street. I try not to picture her face but it keeps coming back to my mind. Last night was like any other night; I came back exhausted after a long day of labour, and asked her for the change she pinches everyday from the houses she works at. Push came to shove and before I knew it I was reaching into her bodice to grab those shiny coins, and she was trying to stop her tears from mixing with the blood on her face. But soon I had left all this behind and was in a world of my own, a world where no pain existed, where no tears existed, and most of all no hunger existed.
But there are many hours now before I can break my manacles and reach out for that place. For now I have to carry on to work. I trudge along the dusty road until I see the tall building which my sweat has helped erect. Even as I enter, the familiar smells of cement, and concrete hit me in the face… and without being able to help it I burst out into a fit of cough. I have been at work many hours now and I see the contractor walk lazily into the site. I watch with envy as he settles down in his chair and calls one of the labourer women to go bring him a cool drink from the shop opposite. I walk on past him but a surge of cough takes over my breath. He spots me putting down my cement bag for a few seconds, and I know that I have lost a considerable amount from my day’s wage, to that look on his face. I carry on working, like nothing happened.


There’s barely any daylight, and I’m lying alone on my bed still dealing with the fact that my wife didn’t come home last night. This is not the first morning that has begun this way. And yet the pain doesn’t seem to go away or even reduce. I glimpse into the mirror and all I can see is the scar on my face, the extra pounds around my stomach; an ugly, unwanted man looking at himself. It’s horrible to have to make the first tea of the day yourself, all the time aware that you’ll have to drink it standing alone in the kitchen. The lawn needs some watering, so I pull out the pipe and begin with one corner. The gush of the water is soothing, and I am beginning to feel better. Suddenly, the sound I have been waiting to hear for the past half hour catches my ears… a pair of anklets trying desperately not to make themselves heard. I turn and smile my best smile hoping it will quell her fears. The swiftness with which she enters the house makes me want to throw the pipe away right there and go after her… but I have always known myself to be a responsible man.
When I am finished with her and she gets back to doing her house work, this feeling of filth slowly comes creeping into me. And before I know it I have this uncontrollable urge to have a shower. I can smell her sweaty, unwashed smell all over my body and it’s making me sick. The room also seems to float in her stench, and everywhere I walk it follows me making me feel soiled and impure. By the time I walk out of the bathroom, my impurity has all been scrubbed away and she’s gone. I’m glad I don’t have to see her filthy face until tomorrow morning.
A few hours later, I walk into the construction site, and notice how lax the atmosphere is. These labourers rely completely on our kind-heartedness for their daily bread. Someone has to be made an example of, I think to myself; but first I need something cool to drink. Soon, I’ve sent someone to bring one. What cools me more than the thought of a cool drink is watching this labourer woman walking away with the money for a cool drink in her hand, a sway in her hips, a bounce in her step, and many secrets tucked away carefully inside her clothes. Of course, there will be many opportunities to delve into those later during the day. Even as I watch her dance into the distance, a hard, sandpaper cough sounds nearby, and I dart my eyes to look there. He’s set his cement bag down, and is making it seem like he’s being paid only to cough. I gaze at him and know that I have found my example.