داستان کوتاه انگلیسی The Busker

The Busker – Paul Jennings

‘Can you lend me ten dollars, Dad?’ I asked.

‘No,’ he answered without even looking up.

‘Aw, go on. Just till pocket money day. I’ll pay you back.’

He still didn’t look at me but started spreading butter onto a bread roll. He was acting just as if I wasn’t there. He ate the whole roll without saying one word. It was very annoying but I had to play it cool. If I made him mad I would never get the money.

‘I’ll do some jobs,’ I pleaded. ‘I’ll cut the whole lawn. That’s worth ten dollars.’

This time he looked up. ‘You must be crazy,’ he said, ‘if you think I’ll ever let you near that lawn mower again. The last time you cut the lawn you went straight over about fifteen plants I had just put in. They cost me twenty-five dollars to buy and five hours to plant. You cut every one of them off at the base and now you want me to give you ten dollars.’

I knew straight away I had made a mistake by mentioning the lawn. I had to change the subject. ‘It’s important,’ I told him. ‘I need it to take Tania to the movies on Saturday.’

‘That’s important? Taking Tania to the pictures is important?’

‘It is to me,’ I said. ‘She is the biggest spunk in the whole school. And she’s agreed to go with me on Saturday night if . . .’ Another mistake. I hadn’t meant to tell him that bit.

‘If what?’ he growled.

‘If I take her in a taxi. If I can’t afford a taxi she’s going to go with Brad Bellamy. He’s got pots of money. He gets fifteen dollars a week from his Dad.’

‘Good grief, lad. You’re only fifteen years old and you want to take a girl out in a taxi. What’s the world coming to? When I was your age . . .’

‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Forget it.’ I walked out of the room before he could get started on telling me how he had to walk five miles to school when he was a boy. In bare feet. In the middle of winter. And then walk home again and chop up a tonne of wood with a blunt axe. Every time he told the story it got worse and worse. The first time he told it he had to walk two miles to school. The way it was going it would soon be fifty miles and ten tonnes of wood chopped up with a razor blade.

I walked sadly out into the warm night air. Dad just didn’t understand. This wasn’t just any old date. This was a date with Tania. She was the best-looking girl I had ever seen. She had long blonde hair, pearly teeth and a great figure. And she had class. Real class. There was no way that Tania was going to walk to the movies or go on a bus. She had already told me it was a taxi or nothing. I had to give her my answer by tomorrow morning or she would go with Brad Bellamy. He could afford ten taxis because his Dad was rich.

‘I’m going for a walk down the beach,’ I yelled over my shoulder. There was no answer. I might as well be dead for all Dad cared.

I walked along the beach in bare feet, dragging my toes through the water. I tried to think of some way of getting money. I could buy a Tattslotto ticket. You never knew what could happen. Someone had to win. Why not me? Or maybe I could find the mahogany ship. It was buried along the beach there under the sand but it hadn’t been seen for over a hundred years. What if the sea had swept the sand away and left it uncovered that very night? And I found it? I could claim the reward of one thousand dollars. Boy, would I be popular then. I could hire a gold-plated taxi to take Tania out.

The beach was deserted and the moon was out. I could see quite clearly. I walked on and on, well away from the town and the houses. It was lonely and late at night but I wasn’t scared. I was too busy looking out for the mahogany ship and thinking of how I would spend the reward money. Every now and then I could see something sticking out of the sand and I would run up to it as fast as I could. But each time I was disappointed. All I found were old forty-four-gallon drums and bits of driftwood that had been washed up by the heavy surf. It’s funny, I didn’t really expect to find the mahogany ship. Things like that just don’t happen, but in the back of my mind I kept thinking I might stumble over it and be lucky.

After a while I decided to climb up to the top of the sand dunes that ran along the beach. I knew I could see for miles from up there. I struggled to the top and sat down under a bent and twisted tree. Just at that moment the moon went in and everything was covered in darkness.

‘What are you looking for, boy?’ said a deep voice from the shadows.

I must have jumped at least a metre off the sand. I was terrified. There I was, miles away from any help, on an isolated beach in the middle of the night. And an unseen man was talking to me from the depths of the shadows. I wanted to run but my legs wouldn’t move.

‘What are you looking for, boy?’ the voice asked again. I stared into the darkness under the tree and could just make out a shadowy figure sitting on the sand. I couldn’t see his face but I could tell from the voice that he was very old.

I finally managed to say something. ‘The mahogany ship,’ I answered. ‘I’m looking for the mahogany ship. Who are you?’

He didn’t answer me but asked me another question. ‘Why do you want to find the mahogany ship, boy?’

‘The reward,’ I stammered. ‘There’s a reward of one thousand dollars.’

‘And what would you do with one thousand dollars if you had it?’ the voice asked sadly.

I don’t know why I didn’t turn and run. I was still scared but I felt a little better and thought I could probably run faster than an old man if he tried anything. Also, there was something about him that made me want to stay. He sounded both sad and wise at the same time.

‘A girl,’ I said. ‘There’s this girl called Tania. I need the money to take her out. Not a thousand dollars, only ten. But a thousand dollars would be good.’

The old man didn’t say anything for a long time. I still couldn’t see him properly but I could hear him breathing. Finally he sighed and said, ‘You think that money would make this girl like you? You think that a thousand dollars would make you popular?’

He made it sound silly. I didn’t know what to say.

‘Sit down, boy,’ he commanded. ‘Sit down and listen.’

I nearly ran off and left him. It was all very spooky and strange but I decided to do what he said. He sounded as if he expected to be obeyed, so I sat down on the sand and peered into the darkness, trying to see who he was.

‘I am going to tell you a story, boy. And you are going to listen. When I am finished you can get up and go. But not until I have finished. Understand?’

I nodded at the dark shadow and sat there without moving. This is what he told me.

Many years ago there was a busker who worked in Melbourne. He stood by the railway station and played music to the people who went by. He dressed completely in flags. His trousers, coat and vest were made from flags and his bowler hat was covered with a flag. When he pushed a button a small door would open on his hat and flags would pop out.

He played a number of different musical instruments. With his feet he pushed pedals which banged three drums. He had a mouth organ on a wire near his face and he played a guitar with his hands. His music was terrible but people always stopped to watch and listen because of his small dog. The dog, whose name was Tiny, walked around with a hat in her mouth and took up the money people threw into it. Tiny had a coat made out of the Australian flag. Whenever the hat was empty Tiny would stand up on her hind legs and walk around like a person. Everyone would laugh and then throw money into the hat.

The Busker, for that is what everyone called him, was jealous of the dog. He could see that the people really stopped and gave money because of Tiny and not because of the music. But there was nothing he could do about it because he needed the money.

As the months went by The Busker became more and more miserable. He wanted people to like him and not the dog. He started to treat Tiny badly when nobody was looking. Sometimes he would blame her if the takings were poor. Often he would forget to feed Tiny for days at a time. The little dog grew thinner and thinner until at last she was so weak that she couldn’t hold the hat up for the money. She had to drag it along the ground with her teeth.

Finally a man from the RSPCA came to see The Busker when he was working outside the station. ‘That dog is a disgrace,’ he said. ‘You are not looking after it properly. It is so hungry its bones are sticking out. It is not to work again until it is healthy. I will give you three weeks to fatten it up. If it isn’t healthy by then I will take it away and you will be fined.’

A crowd was standing around listening. ‘Yes, it’s a shame,’ said a man who had been watching. ‘Look at the poor little thing.’ Other people started to call out and boo at The Busker. He went red in the face. Then he packed up his drums and guitar and put them in his car and drove off with Tiny.

It was a long way to The Busker’s house for he lived well out of town. All the way home he thought about what had happened.

‘It’s all the fault of the rotten dog,’ he said to himself. ‘If it wasn’t for her none of this would have happened.’ The further he went, the more angry he became. When he reached home he grabbed Tiny by the scruff of the neck and took her round to the backyard. In the middle of the yard was an empty well. There was no water in the bottom but it was very deep. It was so deep you couldn’t see the bottom.

‘I’ll fix you, Tiny,’ said The Busker. ‘You’re not allowed to work for three weeks. Very well then, you can have a holiday. A very nice holiday.’ He went and fetched a bucket and tied a rope to it. Then he put Tiny into the bucket and lowered her into the well. The poor little dog whimpered and barked but soon she was so far down she could hardly be heard. When the bucket reached the bottom Tiny jumped out of the bucket and sniffed around the bottom of the well. It was damp from water that trickled down the wall but there was nothing to eat. The Busker pulled up the bucket and went inside.

Tiny looked up but all she could see was a small circle of light far above. She walked round and round the bottom of the well always gazing up at the patch of light at the top.

The next day The Busker went to work without Tiny. He had no dog to carry the hat around so he just put it on the ground for people to put their money in. But hardly anyone did. The Busker tried his best. He played every tune he could think of and he cracked jokes. But it was no good. In one day he took only fifty cents. Now he knew for sure that it was Tiny that the people liked and not him.

He went home and threw some meat down the well. He could hear the faint sound of Tiny barking far below. ‘It’s no good, Tiny,’ shouted The Busker. ‘I’m not letting you out for three weeks. That will teach you a lesson.’

Every day The Busker went to work and the same thing happened. He played his music but hardly anyone put money in the hat. ‘No one likes me or my music without Tiny,’ said The Busker to himself. He was angry. He wanted people to like him. It wasn’t the money so much. He just wanted people to like him. Each night when he reached home The Busker threw meat down the well for poor Tiny. ‘Hurry up and get fat, Tiny,’ he said. ‘Because you’re not coming out until you do.’

Tiny walked round and round at the bottom of the well. All day and night she looked up, hoping to be taken out. But no one ever came except The Busker and all he did was throw down meat once a day.

The three weeks went very slowly for The Busker. Each day he stood at the station playing his music to the people who walked by without listening. But the three weeks went much more slowly for the little dog who lay at the bottom of the well, always looking up at the sky for the help that didn’t come.

At last the three weeks was up. The Busker decided to get Tiny out. He lowered the bucket down into the well but the little dog didn’t know what to do. She walked around the bucket but didn’t get into it. The Busker hadn’t counted on this. ‘Get in, you stupid dog,’ he shouted. But it was so far down that Tiny could hardly hear him. In the end he had to go and have a rope ladder made. It cost him a lot of money because it was so long. And it took a long time to make. Tiny was down the well for another week before it was finished.

Then something happened that changed everything. The Busker won Tattslotto. A letter came telling him that he had won over a million dollars. He couldn’t believe his luck. It was wonderful. The first thing he did was to take his drums, flags and guitar and throw them down the tip. He went and bought himself a new car and a stereo. Every day he went to the shops and bought himself anything he wanted. Soon the house filled with every luxury you could think of.

All this time Tiny was still at the bottom of the well, barking and walking around and around, looking up at the world that was out of reach so far above. Each night The Busker came and threw down meat. And each night he told himself that he would get Tiny out in the morning. But when the morning came he forgot and did something else.

The truth is, The Busker was still unhappy. He had no more friends than before. When he bought things, the salesmen were nice to him. They patted him on the back and told him how wise he was to buy this or that. But as soon as he had bought their goods they lost interest and didn’t want to talk to him.

In the end he realised he had only one friend in the world. Tiny. Tiny was the only one who really liked him. And he had put her down a well. He felt bad about what he had done to his little friend and he rushed to the well to get her out. The Busker climbed down the well to get Tiny. He was frightened because it was so deep but he knew that he had to go. There was a terrible smell in the well which got worse as The Busker went deeper. When he reached the bottom he put Tiny inside his jumper and started to climb back up the rope. All the way up Tiny licked The Busker’s face, even though he had put the poor little dog down a well for all that time.

When he reached the top of the well The Busker put Tiny on the ground. What he saw made tears come into his eyes. Tiny’s head was bent back and her eyes stared up at the sky. She couldn’t straighten up her neck. It was so stiff she could only walk around looking upwards. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ cried The Busker. ‘What have I done? Forgive me, Tiny, forgive me.’ Tiny licked The Busker on the face.

From that time on Tiny always walked with her head bent back staring at the sky. No vet and no doctor could do anything about it. She had been down the well too long and her neck was fixed in a bent back position for the rest of her life.

The Busker looked after Tiny well from that time on. He fed her the best food and took her with him everywhere he went. Tiny trotted around after The Busker, wagging her tail, even though her neck was bent back and her head stared up at the sky.

The Busker had all the love of the little dog even though he had treated her so badly. But it still wasn’t enough. He wanted people to like him. ‘What good am I,’ he said to Tiny, ‘when my only friend is a dog?’ He became more and more miserable until one day he hit upon an idea. A great idea. Or so he thought. He put an advertisement in the newspaper which said:

TO GIVE AWAY
FREE MONEY
$1.00 PER PERSON
COME AND GET IT
2 ROSE ST, MELTON
EVERY DAY 9.00 AM

‘Tiny,’ said The Busker, ‘the crowds will like me now. This time I will give them money instead of them giving it to me. I will give away half of all I have. I don’t need a million dollars. Half of that will do. Those who need money can come and get a dollar each whenever they like.’

The next morning The Busker set up a tent in his front yard. Inside he put a table and a chair and a bucket full of one-dollar coins. He hung a notice outside which said:

FREE MONEY
$1.00 EACH

At nine o’clock two scruffy-looking boys came in. ‘Where’s the free money, Pop?’ said one of them. This wasn’t what The Busker had expected. He didn’t really want children. Especially rude ones. But he had to keep his word so he took a one-dollar coin from the bucket under the table and gave it to the boy. The boy looked at it carefully and said to his friend, ‘It’s real.’ Then he turned around and ran out of the tent. The other boy held out his hand, snatched his coin and disappeared out of the tent before The Busker changed his mind.

Soon the tent was filled with more and more children. The word had spread quickly and every child in the neighbourhood was there. ‘Form a line,’ yelled The Busker. ‘And no pushing.’ The children were jostling and shoving and some were trying to push in.

The Busker was upset at the rudeness of the children. The first three simply grabbed the money and ran but the fourth child, a girl with big, brown eyes, said, ‘Gee, thanks. Thanks a lot.’ She turned round to walk out of the tent but The Busker called her back.

‘Here,’ he said, handing her another dollar. ‘You are a very polite little girl. The only one who has said thanks.’

The next girl in the line heard what was said. After The Busker handed her a one dollar coin she said, ‘Thanks a lot, Mister,’ and then stood there without moving.

‘What are you waiting for?’ asked The Busker.

‘My other dollar,’ said the girl. ‘I said thanks too. So I should get two dollars as well.’

The Busker sighed and handed her another dollar. After that all of the children discovered their manners and said, ‘Thanks.’ The Busker had to give all of them two dollars. He smiled to himself. At least they were grateful.

The line grew longer and longer. Soon it reached all the way down the street. After about fifty children had taken their two dollars an old woman came to the front of the queue. The Busker handed her a dollar. She looked at it and said, ‘Thank you, love. You are a very kind man. Very kind indeed.’

The Busker smiled and gave her another five dollars. He was pleased that she liked him so much.

As the morning passed, more and more adults joined the queue. The ones who were very polite received more money. The Busker gave fifty dollars to one young woman who said, ‘What a wonderful, generous and good man you are.’

‘This is more like it,’ he thought to himself. ‘People really like me. They can see I am really a good man.’ He gave Tiny a pat on the head. He didn’t even mind when the people in the line paid attention to Tiny. He wasn’t jealous of Tiny now that he had his own admirers.

By lunch time the bucket of money was empty. The Busker put up another sign which said:

CLOSED
GONE TO THE BANK
FOR MORE MONEY

The Busker took out two buckets of coins from the bank. ‘You had better give me some notes as well,’ he said to the teller. He took out ten thousand dollars’ worth of notes. When he reached home he found the queue had grown to over a mile long. It went down the street and round the corner. As he went by people waved and a cheer went up. ‘Good old Mister Busker,’ someone yelled out.

Mister Busker. No one had ever called him that before. He felt wonderful. He went into the tent and started handing out more money. Most people received two dollars but the ones who said especially nice things got more. One old man came in, knelt at The Busker’s feet and kissed his shoes. ‘Oh Great One,’ he said. ‘I give thanks to you for your great compassion and generosity.’

The Busker was moved. ‘There is no need for that,’ he said. Then he gave the old man two hundred dollars. The news soon spread along the line. The more good things you said about The Busker, the more you got. A lot of people left the queue because they couldn’t bring themselves to do it. But plenty more took their places. Soon everyone was getting at least twenty dollars.

At five o’clock The Busker put up a notice saying he had closed for the night and would be back in the morning. He went inside and sat down. He was very tired and soon fell asleep in the chair. At midnight he was woken up by a noise outside on the street. He went over to the window and looked out. He got a terrible shock. The people were still there in a long queue. They were sitting on the footpath in sleeping bags and blankets. Some had even put up small tents. A man in a van was selling pies, hot dogs and ice-creams. No one wanted to lose their place in the queue and they were all staying for the night. It was like a crowd waiting to buy tickets to see a pop star. The Busker grinned. He felt like a movie star. All of those people were there because of him.

In the morning a television crew came. They did interviews with The Busker and he was on the evening news. People came from everywhere to see the sight. The police arrived to control the traffic and keep the crowds in order. The queue grew longer and longer. And The Busker gave out larger and larger amounts of money. He had to. The people expected it when they said nice things to him. They went to lots of trouble. Some held up signs with his name on. Others had done drawings of him. One group had formed a band and sang a song saying what a great person The Busker was. Two students had made up a poem. He gave them two hundred dollars each.

On the third day the queue was four miles long. On the fifth day it was six miles long. People had to wait for three days to reach the front and The Busker had given away over half a million dollars. The money was brought every morning from the bank in an armoured car. Tiny ran up and down the line licking everyone with her little turned-up head.

At the end of the week the armoured car brought a large box of money. ‘I will need one hundred thousand dollars to see me over the weekend,’ said The Busker.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the bank manager, ‘but there are only ninety thousand dollars left. If I were you I would stop now and keep some for myself.’ The Busker knew that this was good advice. But he couldn’t keep it. The crowd all expected money. Some of them had been waiting in line for three days and three nights. He tried to cut back and give each person less but he couldn’t. They all knew what each compliment was worth. Two hundred dollars for a good song about the busker and fifty dollars for a drawing of him. He tried to give less but they started complaining and yelling that it wasn’t fair. They said they were being cheated.

The Busker was sick of it. He realised that they didn’t really like him. He was tired of hearing people tell him how good he was. But he had to keep going.

Finally the terrible moment came. He ran out of money. There wasn’t one cent left. He wrote a sign which said:

OUT OF MONEY

He hung the sign on the tent door and ran into the house with Tiny. The news spread down the line like wildfire. ‘There is no more money,’ they yelled. The line broke up and the mob charged up to the house. They started yelling and banging on the door. The Busker was scared out of his mind. Someone threw a rock through the window and glass scattered all over the floor.

‘Cheat,’ he heard someone yell.

‘Robber.’

‘I’ve been waiting in the freezing cold for two nights.’

‘Get him. Teach him a lesson.’

Another rock smashed through the window. The door was rattling and shaking. The Busker knew it would soon collapse. He ran out of the back door, followed by Tiny. The yard was empty and there was nowhere to hide. He could hear the mob smashing and crashing around inside the house. He had to hurry. Then he saw the well with the rope ladder still hanging down inside. He ran over to it and climbed down, leaving Tiny at the top. He was only just in time. The angry crowd burst into the backyard yelling and shouting.

When they saw that he had escaped they went crazy. They smashed up the house and stole all The Busker’s new purchases. They broke everything they could get their hands on. One group even destroyed the back fence and the top of the well. Someone untied the rope ladder and let it go. They had no idea that far below, the terrified Busker was hiding at the bottom.

After a while the police managed to control the mob and send them home. But it was too late to save the house. When darkness came it was a complete ruin. The Busker looked up and saw the moon. He thought it would be safe to call out for help. He yelled and yelled at the top of his voice but no one answered. Nobody could hear him, for the well was too deep. No one knew he was there. Except Tiny.

Days passed and no help came. It was cold and dark and smelly at the bottom of the well. The Busker would have starved to death if it hadn’t been for Tiny. The little dog ran off in search of food. It was very difficult, for with her head bent back she had trouble picking anything up in her mouth. She had to lie down on her side, grasp a piece of food in her teeth and then stand up. After this she would trot to the well with an old bone or piece of stale bread and drop it down the well.

The days turned into weeks and still no help came. The Busker stayed alive by eating whatever Tiny dropped down the well. Sometimes it was a piece of rotten meat from a dustbin or a gnarled old bone left by another dog. Once Tiny dropped down a dead cat. Whatever it was, The Busker had to eat it or starve.

In all this time, Tiny gave everything she found to the Busker. She ate practically nothing herself. After a month she was skin and bone and so weak she could hardly drag herself to the well.

The Busker shouted and shouted every day but no one came. He yelled up at the sun, at the clouds, at the moon so far above. But no one answered. Then, one day, a terrible thing happened. Nothing was dropped down the well. No bone, no scraps, nothing. The next day was the same. And the day after that. The Busker licked the water off the wet wall but he had nothing to eat. He knew that his time had come. He couldn’t last much longer. He grew weaker and weaker. And he wondered what had happened to Tiny.

At the end of the fifth week The Busker decided to give one more loud shout. His voice was almost gone. ‘Help,’ he screamed. ‘Help.’

He peered up at the small dot of light above. Was that a head looking down? Was that a voice? He strained to listen.

‘Hang on,’ said a faint voice. ‘We will soon have you out.’ He was saved.

A little later a steel cable came down the well. There was a small seat on the end. The Busker sat on it and yelled up the well. ‘Take me up. Take me up.’

When he reached the top he blinked. The bright light hurt his eyes but he managed to see four or five men with a tow truck and a winch. They were staring at this wild, smelly, dirty man that had come out of the well. ‘We had better get you to hospital,’ said one of the men. ‘You don’t look too good.’

‘You’re lucky to be alive,’ said another. ‘I never would have heard you if it wasn’t for that poor little dog lying over there. I came over to see if it was still alive and heard you calling out.’

The Busker ran over to where the little dog lay on the ground. She was dead. She had starved to death because she had dropped every piece of food she could find down to The Busker. Tears fell down his tangled beard. He picked Tiny up in his arms. ‘You can leave me,’ he said to the men. ‘I will be all right.’

He buried Tiny in a small grave, there in the backyard. On a piece of wood he wrote:

MY FRIEND TINY
R.I.P.

Then The Busker shuffled off. He was never seen again.

‘And that is the end of the story,’ said the old man.

I had forgotten where I was. Sitting there on a sand dune at the beach in the middle of the night. The story had completely taken me in. I looked at the old man but I still couldn’t see this face. I wanted to ask him questions. I wanted to know if the story was true. I wanted to know what happened to The Busker. But I never got the chance.

‘Go now, boy,’ said the old man. ‘That is the end of the story. Go and leave me alone. I am tired.’

I didn’t want to go but he sounded as if he meant it. I stood up and walked away along the top of the sand dune. After I had gone a little way the moon came out. I turned around and looked back at the tree where the old man had told the story. I could see him clearly. He had a white beard and was standing there in the moonlight looking up into the tree. Then he walked away, now looking up at the stars and the moon. With a shock I realised his neck was fixed back. He couldn’t move it. He was destined to spend all his days looking up, as he had looked up that well so many years ago.

The story was true. And the old man was The Busker. I watched him shuffle away with his bent neck. Then the moon went in and he was gone.

I ran home as fast as I could and jumped into bed. But I couldn’t sleep. I lay there thinking about the sad, strange tale of Tiny and The Busker who had tried to use money to make people like him.

The next morning I met Dad on the stairs. He pushed ten dollars into my hand. ‘Here you are, Tony,’ he said. ‘If Tania won’t go out with you unless you take her in a taxi, you might as well have the money.’

‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said.

I stuffed the ten dollars into my pocket. Then I went round to Tania’s house and told her to go jump in the lake.

TBD