Moira, the chemist, come out of the Pharmacy and ask what was going on, telling him to let me go. You could tell a crowd was gathering. I felt his lips up against my ear and he was whispering, “Go, wash in the pool of the Sent.” He just kept whispering it until I stopped struggling and could hear him. People were yelling and I think some of his mates were holding my friends back. I shook him off. I spat on the ground at my feet, hoping he was still close. “Get stuffed!” I said, and stormed off, leaving the commotion behind. Do you know what it’s like to have the ground kicked from under your feet? To get lost in a blizzard of emotions that makes it impossible to think logically or remain coherent? That was me. That’s where I was. All the years of feeling hurt and ignored, brought together by this mongrel who’d literally rubbed dirt in my face. I just stormed, until I stopped. Stopped and listened and worked out where I was. Until the shame of being me wound down. I had a stick, and I knew the roads in my town. People get out of the way of a blind man. Some out of pity and others so they don’t get contaminated by our ‘sinfulness’. I just walked until I was breathing normally. I couldn’t believe what had happened. I’d been treated badly before, but this was something more. It felt personal. I smelled water and realised I’d stormed my way to the pool he’d named. The Pool of the Sent. I touched my eyes, and I felt the dried spit and dirt covering my skin. I felt sick. Carefully, I walked down the steps to the water. I didn’t care why he’d said to come here, I was there and I was going to wash away any memory of him and his insult. I was going to wash the day away. I sat for a while, with my feet in the water, just trying to understand what had happened. What had I ever done to him? What gave him the right? It didn’t make sense. He hadn’t laughed at me and, when he’d spoken, it’d been quiet and insistent and … not angry or cruel. But … what he’d done. 75
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