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The Man With One Leg





“Hey, Wooden-leg, could you tell me the history of how you got injured?” said that frank and freckled boy, staring at me with those begging eyes. If he used this facial expression to earn money, we would have more pennies at the end of the day.
“Ok, ok, grimy boy, you win. Nobody can change your mind, can they? It's getting late and you have to look for shelter”. I gave him a smile in resignation. I cleared my throat,  while I was figuring out how to find the right words and give the boy the drama he was waiting for.
“Once upon a time, there was blood for everywhere. A part of me was missing and in a strange way, I couldn't feel pain. I had a persistent buzzing inside my right ear and my eyes kept blinking trying to readapt after the hot flash.  Suddenly, I was dragged by my armpits, into the trench, and everything vanished away. When I woke up, several days had passed. The doctors had attached this wooden leg and I had to learn to use crutches too. When I came back, everything was different....I wasn’t the same person who went to that damn war….”


The boy’s face had a wrinkle in the center of his forehead, showing doubt about the history I had told. I pointed my forefinger to his head. “A penny for your thoughts, Freckles”.
“You're the best storyteller I know, Wooden-legs. But I doubt that's true. You must have hurt your leg in some bar fight.” , rubbing his hands oh his arms, trying to warm himself.
“Smarty, tomorrow I'll tell you a story about pirates and bar fights. Good evening. Be safe and warm". At dusk, he went away, without looking back over his shoulders.
I am alone again, accompanied by my phantom pain in the amputated stump. I become invisible again in the crowd. One more night I'm going to sit near the door of the Night Club that I used to attend, where I smoked a good cigar and drank the best scotch in the city. When my worries were about being promoted to the next military rank.
I grasp the medal in my pocket, which I won when I was discharged from the army- when I became useless to society. It does not help to earn a living, but it helps to spend the days, remembering when I was known by my name: Paul.

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