Sounds of Caution

I knew what would happen if he did. I was instantly mortified. Yes eight year olds can be mortified. I imagined the trouble that would follow if I was to be taken home in a police car, or worse to get home and have my parents advised of the crime. ‘No, sir.” I answered. “And did you give the thing you stole back” He looked at me hard again. “Yes, Sir. They have it.” I blubbed. “Right. Then I suggest you head yourself off home then. Quick smart”

He raised himself up, just as a curious member of the public leant forward kindly, “Everything alright, officer?” I was nodding, not wanting any further involvement with people. ‘He looked down at me. “Yes, thank you. He had a bit of a scare that’s all.” “Ah” The public member nodded wisely and apparently a little disappointed they couldn’t involve themselves in the matter any further, moved on. The officer stood up at his full height and with a tap to the back of my head, somewhat softer than the first. ‘On your way home then. And….” He paused somewhat threateningly. “I’ll be keeping an eye out for you.” I went. Quickly. I had had enough of the street fair, the showies, and especially the people. I had had enough of the psychological punishment which had been inflicted on what was supposed to have been a fun annual event. I had ruined it with my ridiculous theft. I had paid a serious price. Both with the psychological stress (punishment type one), and, a taste of the physical stress (punishment type two). In fact there was also a little of punishment type three involved (fiscal – more on that later). Fortunately my father was not going to be advised. So the physical (the second form) was kept to an absolute minimum. A good clout from a decent police officer, actually two, including a slightly less painful bang on the back of the head as he propelled me a little on my way towards home. Even in the right direction. I hadn’t stopped to think back then, but did he already know who I was? Did he already know where I lived? Did he know my parents and was it possible he would be advising them. Now, who needs others to psychologically terrify you, when you can do it yourself? I was immediately punishing myself as the guilt set in. I had not yet read Dostoevsky (Crime and Punishment). That would no doubt have helped a little in understanding what I was thinking.

Instead I made my way back to my bike. Looking out for my older sister with whom I had come to the street fair with. Spotting her. I said I wasn’t feeling well (yes, a thief and a liar in the same day) and was going home. She, naturally, not having been committing any offences, didn’t want to leave. I insisted I was all right to make my own way home and that she could stay (which she really wanted too. And while she could see I wasn’t my usual self (a couple of whacks and being terrorised will change you), reluctantly, very reluctantly, she agreed I could go.

(Continued tomorrow)