Men, women fingered at you, you never turned back. You looked up, walked straight without blinking your eyes for a moment. It seemed you had indomitable vigor. You painted a camel on a paper and stuck it on your suitcase. And soon after, you headed to the station, you walked alone on your bare feet, holes in your pant, dirt on your shirt and the suitcase in your hand. Awaiting there under the fiery sun, you saw people had already occupied the benches. After waiting for an hour, you got a place to sit on a bench.
The crowd somehow managed to adjust you. Some were closing their nose, who stood beside you, spat in the corner. But you never cared, awaited the train, and the train came, you hurried to be in among thousands of people crammed. They threw you back on the station and you got slipped, plunked your head to the pole. You stood there with bleeding head, you took out handkerchief and wrapped your head. And you uttered a word to yourself, 'Consistency' watching the train leaving, and the sun pierced its rays through the holes in your pant, and you again uttered a word 'Patience.'
You had to stand there because the benches were taken. You had to wait there for the next train for an hour. And after a while, the pain in your knees made you unable to stand, you had to sit. You got a place to sit under your own feet. You sat on the ground, legs folded with the suitcase on your thighs. You glanced at the camel. The camel popped out walking front on its bare feet under the sun with ardent earth under its feet sprinkled the rays of hope within you.
You arrowed your lips, gleams in your eyes you looked around. You wondered nobody was really cared to see who are you, where you sat. All they were, from children to young to old age people, inclined in the world of their tiny gadget that required a constant movement of fingers, up-down-right-left. You laughed at them to call it 'consistency.'
You saw a little girl, her teary eyes, her curly hairs, and her hand wiping her nose. She moved all over the places, asking and fiddling around everyone's bag. She might have lost something you thought. Her little steps reached you.
She asked, 'Have you seen my Debby?'
'It's my doll. I lost it somewhere. Have you seen it?'
'No, I don't.'
And she watched you, dirty clothes, holes, and bleeding head, and she stared at your suitcase.
'Can I check it?'
'Because I lost its key. I assure you---'
The girl ran away weeping and came back with her parents. Her mom shouted, 'here is a thief.' and her voice echoed on the station. Everyone around came out of their tiny gadget, their heads jumped out from the possession, stared badly at you.
Some said, 'call the police.' some said, 'grip him, let him not escape." And some old women in the corner, frightened, said, "We were already suspicious of him.' And some young women dressed peppy giggled. 'He stinks.’ Word by word everyone from the crowd passed the judgments on your appearance.
Some young men came forward, some slapped, some punched you, and some choked your throat. All they asked you about the key. All you answered that you had lost your key and you hadn't taken the little girl's doll. But hardly they heard you, they gripped you harder.
The policemen arrived, threw you in their van and you landed in the police station. The head of them sitting in the chair, asked, 'Where is the key?' and twisted his moustache.
'I lost it in the Eden garden'
'Where is it?'
'It's in the west.'
And a constable leaned to the ear of the head. 'I never heard about the place before. He must be a thief. Look at his clothes.' and the others said,' he seems abnormal. He must be a madman.' 'I think the suitcase might contain some fortune, gold, money he stole.' 'He seems to be not from our country. Look at his beard.' 'The suitcase could be a danger too, it might have an explosive.'
All stayed away from the suitcase and put it out of the police station.
Each one from them presumed you by their opinions. They questioned you what was in the suitcase. All you did was pleaded them there was nothing vital in the suitcase. It was your belonging.
They discussed for hours about you but nobody came to a conclusion 'who are you?' They decided to break your suitcase. You asked them to forgive you and to not break the suitcase that you had the only one. And they broke it.
Scared they, one by one came closer to see what was in the suitcase. And they found the pages sewed with thread.
The head said ' You stupid! It's a book.'
And they froze, talked nothing, handed you your belonging. While you were returning, the head asked you, 'What you do in the Eden garden?'
'Sir, I work under a tree at the Eden Garden in the west. Each morning I took a train from here. I sit under a tree and begin to write in the morning until the sunset. I see butterflies flying over the flowers, bees buzz around, ants run in the holes collecting its food, and from the universe, trees receive profusion. I work under a clear sky, sometimes cloudy, and most of the time in the darkness to not let people disturb me. But yesterday, I lost my key of the only suitcase you just broke. I woke up late today. I had great thoughts in my mind and I had to write them as soon as they lose in the clouds of eternal chaos and mystery. That's why I had to travel in the presence of people. All that got me here.'