Even a child that I was, I remember that during the twenty-minute walk back home, I was clutching my bag of toys tightly, and thinking about Old Man Red, and what he did for me. It would have been a trivial thing to anyone, I supposed, for an adult to buy something for a child. But to a child who had simple but (to her) pressing needs, Mister Red was practically a hero! A toy would have been a priceless…
Making a small noise at the back of my throat in protest, I held my prize protectively behind my back. My brother opened his mouth and I was sure he was about to loudly berate me when Mr. Bin interjected and said, “It’s alright, boy, the toys are paid for. They belong to your sister now. I don’t want them back.” “Oh, really, sir? That’s alright, I suppose. But who paid for them? My mom told us not to bother…
An unreadable look on his face, Old Man Red walked the short distance to the counter, murmured something to Mr. Bin, placed the balls down near the cash register, picked up his purchases, nodded his head at the store-owner, turned away and left. He didn’t look at me again, still standing there silently but with an unfamiliar feeling roiling around in my stomach. Mr. Bin sighed. I’ve always known Mr. Bin as a kindly elderly man, one of the few…
The incident happened at a particular time, quite some time after I was first brought into unwilling awareness about the forbidding mystery of Old Man Red. I was still in my late childhood years, barely a teen even and still having childlike needs, when I went to the local store with my brother. We were tasked by my mother with the arduous responsibility of buying sugar, when we would rather be playing in the shallow river behind our house and…
But no one bothered to explain further to us ‘kids’ what kind of monster or what this ‘monster’ really looked like. They just gave the impression that the monster looked like Old Man Red. However, I did remember that a neighbor visited with my parents once. He was telling us in hushed whispers, that one dark night he saw Old Man Red digging a deep hole in the forest behind his, Mister Red’s, house. He was putting a big and…
For as far as I knew, only a handful of adults would bother to greet him and made efforts to talk to him. At which point, Old Man Red would reply abruptly and gruffly, before turning away as if he didn’t welcome the attention or courtesy. Yikes! I did wonder though, how he came to be called ‘Red’ since nothing about the old man came remotely close to being anything of bright color, or any color for that matter. Everything about him was…
In truth, this is an almost forgotten story. But it is funny how later on in life, a certain someone can remind you of another you met years ago. Perhaps it is the similarity in their stories. It convinces me that I need to tell the tale of this shadowy figure from my past. After all, every story need its own chapter in the grand book of life. And, every story need an attentive reader to give the telling of it justice. Every…