The cold was especially ruthless that year. The old man hobbled along the dreary street shivering like the last leaf on a vine. He kept moving his tongue over his parched lips which were starting to bleed now. He wrapped his thin shawl a little more closely around his cadaverous frame, even though a little respite from the weather seemed a long lost dream. But he kept moving, for he had an appointment. He had seen a vacancy for a watchman’s place in the local paper two days ago. His wife was bed-ridden with cancer which had all but sapped out the life out of her. What kept her alive were the intermittent doses of medicine he gave her each day. Sometimes he wondered if she had any blood left in that body anymore. They were not rich which you would have probably guessed by now, and whatever little money they had accumulated over the years had dwindled to just a few coins in the piggy-box. He needed to find a job and this one seemed to suit a man of his age pretty well.
There it was. ‘It’ was a bungalow of some rich official whose watchman had suddenly left without any apparent reason. The old man though, attributed this to the Lord Almighty. He was a firm believer and he could readily vouch for the fact that the Lord always took care of his children and had sent that job for him. He stamped his feet on the stairs and reached for the doorbell. “You are late ! Where the hell were you ?” “I-I got lost sir.” Which was a lie but he was desperate. “Lost ? How many bungalows do you see on this street ?” “I…” “Don’t argue. Do you think you can stay up all night ? We don’t want any burglars partying in our house while you explore dreamland.” “No, no sir. I assure you sir, I won’t sleep.” “Yeah, yeah. Every tom-dick-harry says that. You listen to me carefully old man. If I see you close your eyes even for five minutes, I’ll kick you out. Understood ?” “Ye-yes sir. Absolutely.” “Now don’t stand there nodding your head like an idiot. Take this torch and get going.”
