The Girl from Ambonia

The little girl's face told of hardships. She was a dark and dirty brown, not tanned so much as scorched. It was the impeccable tan of the homeless - a combination of relentless sun and dust from the end of the road. Her frock was some kind of faded orange with equally faded small red flowers. These two once-vivid colours combined to form a shabby browny-grey. Her hair was matted, jet black and uneven. Her teeth were a disorganized mix of new and old, each apparently still fighting for supremacy in her delicate mouth. She wore no shoes and, by the wide, flat brown feet on show, I guessed she never had. The soles were black, dust clinging to tar clinging to dark, rough skin.

She was beautiful.

As she came close I noticed the frock was damp. She had been playing in the sea, jumping from the nearby sea wall where sinister crabs scuttled along the sleek black stones. Her face was turned up to me, her features fine, accentuated by the fading sun. Her smile completely took over her face in the totally unabashed way that seems to only be found the further we go from what we call civilization. She looked too young to have adult teeth but there they were, glowing against the dark face which in turn glowed out of the rapidly-approaching darkness. The sun sets fast this far East.

In the distance, a single red light hovered above a sleek silhouette. As the small boat approached, her shyness disappeared as she tugged at my shorts. I looked down. "Meesterr! One please," she said. A finger extended towards me to emphasize the point, just in case she had selected the wrong words. As I looked down at her, she smiled in a slightly coquettish way. I marvelled at the way the female package came so complete so young. She knew instinctively that she could influence me and she knew how to do it. My attention was drawn to the nearby group boys. They were her age, possibly some were her brothers or cousins or classmates. Together we watched them pushing, shoving and wrestling nearby. They wanted the same as she did. But while they focussed their attention on forcibly establishing a pecking order, here was their contemporary - a girl with hands clasped together, head upturned, eyelids fluttering, smile unwavering - silently wrapping the main man (me) around her little finger. I was powerless and instantly took her hand in mine. As we walked to the end of the jetty, I looked down at her and said "No problem." We both smiled for our own reasons out towards the darkening horizon.

As we progressed to the edge of the jetty, the male frenzy behind us was intensifying. The red light still hovered but was now close enough so that the speedboat to which it was attached could clearly be seen. Two dark figures now became apparent as well as the distinctive shape of their cargo. The crowd seemed to see this as one and surged, squeezed, receded and surged again towards it like a human tide.

A dark, skinny man with a ragged t-shirt tied around his head had fought his way to the front. But alas, too soon. He was immediately shoved in the back so that he almost fell into the inky black waters. He quickly regained his balance and simultaneously spun around to attack the culprit. As he raised his elbows to do so, a shorter man slipped under them and made it to the front of the pack and the whole process began again. Silently we watched, myself and the little girl, a few meters off to the side. She held my hand, wrapping hers around my first two fingers and clasping them tightly. I watched the crowd squabble with detached amazement, as men will often do. She watched me with a fierce determination, as women will often do.

The speedboat was now only ten meters from the dock. The crowd intensified now, threatening to become a riot. The men in the boat looked nervously at me - even in this light I saw the tight lips and furrowed brows. Their white skin shimmered in the moonlight making them look cold and important. To the dark-skinned masses writhing on the dock they were the most important two men in their world at that moment. Women shrieked, men squabbled, boys wrestled. All the time the little girl stood calmly at my side. Her head was tilted upwards gazing at me,towering above her. Her mouth was fixed in the smile that brought out her beauty from beneath the layers of dust and filth.

"Mark!" I shouted, clear as a bell over the howls and growls of the crowd. The driver of the boat looked up, saw me, visibly relaxed and steered towards my end of the jetty. The crowd was so pre-occupied in the pushing, grabbing, shouting and elbowing that they barely noticed the boat had veered away. Only those on the outside of the ruck noticed. But they were nothing but stragglers. Those in the middle were the nerve-centre of the mob and they were engaged in the internal fight for ascendency. The boat and her cargo, the very thing for which they were fighting, had been forgotten.

"Jesus mate, what a rabble," said Mark as I took the line.

"Just give me one of those quick," I said, "and then get ready for this lot."

Bruno, at the back of the boat reached over and handed us the first piece of cargo. As he did, we all simultaneously sensed the same thing. The mob was advancing as one. I saw Mark's nervous glance and noticed his hand on the throttle. I met his gaze with the most reassuring look I could muster.

Those next few seconds seemed to last a long time and even today are frozen as a series of still snapshots in my mind. I play them through like a slideshow but it is not the continuous motion of other memories, only a series of images. This is highlighted by the fact that the memory has no sound attached to it, as I play it back. I remember the moment in absolute silence which is impossible due to the noise of the crowd and the idling speedboat engine. But it exists in its own perfect vacuum.

I turned, bent slightly and extended my arms to her. The little girl's arms were splayed wide, fingers apart. She clamped both arms around the precious gift and immediately hugged it to her chest. It was as wide as she was but she held it tight. Her eyes met mine and instantly I was overpowered by the love and gratitude in their tiny, sparking black depths. My heart tumbled and expanded within my chest. A warmth rushed over me and through me. There was a moment of purity, a connection between two human spirits, somewhere way beyond the physical world. Something so simple transcended life's general scheme.

It was as she turned away that the volume was suddenly switched back on. A wall of sound preceded the moving jumble of arms, legs, heads and eyes. The look on the little girl's face turned from joy to panic. I saw her hug the prize tightly before she vanished into the pack, like a blade of grass disappearing under a lawn mover.

I stood, motionless, unable to do anything, awaiting the outcome. The mob was stationary now but expanding and contracting on the spot, as if pausing to devour its prey. The sides undulated, the noise rose. I saw elbows stick out, heads bob up and down, pushing and pulling. All I could think of was a pack of Hyenas at a wildebeest carcass.

Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of the dusty orange dress. Then I saw a hand on the ground between two thick, black legs. The arm to which the hand was attached was concealed by long black hair which hung down over it. Then, gradually, the little girl crawled out from between the hindmost legs of the mob. She looked even more disheveled than before. As she stood up, I saw the torn piece of cardboard in her hand. It was all that remained of her gift. The empty cardboard box I had given her - the prize for which she had waited patiently and for which the mob had engulfed her - was torn to shreds. Whatever she had intended to do with that box was never going to happen now. Her gift was gone and my heart sank with it. Even possessing something so simple as an empty cardboard box was an impossible dream for her.

The little girl straightened, and blew her hair from her eyes. As she did, she saw me standing helplessly looking on. With her eyes burning brighter than ever, she met my gaze. She looked down at the sorry scrap of cardboard left in her hand. Her head rose, our eyes met and she looked back at me with the greatest joy imaginable. She smiled the biggest smile I have ever seen and shouted "Thank you meesterr!" before turning and running barefoot away down the dusty road.

Alone again, I turned to face the mob.