Making A Living

• Jolene Cheah, Grade 6M
• Short Story
• 2018

Etna gazed around the bustling city. People dressed in vibrant colours. She noticed a tall man dragging a suitcase. A tourist! She held out her hand. “Excuse me, sir,” she began, but the man shook his head, staring at her missing arm and hurried on his way. She sighed in despair.

She remembered what Leon had said. Go up to them. Make them pay you to go away. Stay, even if they shout at you. Etna tried it, walking up to a woman in blue, holding out her hand. The woman, glaring at her, promptly dropped a coin in her palm, then strutted off. Two dollars! Satisfied, Etna returned to her spot. Good method. She spotted a handsome, rich-looking man. She ran up to him and tapped his shoulder. Turning around, while looking annoyed, his eyes rested on the stump. “Oh! Poor girl!” he exclaimed. Act weak, Leon had also said. She tried to look pathetic. Frowning at her, he tossed a coin into the air and it hit the ground with a clink.

Etna dropped eagerly to the floor and chased after the rolling coin. Picking up the small copper piece, she snorted in disgust. Ten cents! Was that all he could spare? She flicked the coin into her rusty tin, coins chinking as they collided.

It was late when she finally walked away, coughing in the chilly air. Stumbling down the road until she reached a house, painted pastel green, she knocked on the door. Leon would be pleased. She would finally get paid!

A dark burly man opened the door and let her in. Snatching the tin from her, he poured its contents onto the table and counted out the coins. “Only thirty-two twenty?” he growled. “How am I supposed to feed all of you? Am I a charity?”

Etna stared into Leon’s wide eyes. “Sir, you promised to pay me fifty cents this week,” she boldly spoke.

“Pay you? You should be paying me for your board and meals!” He ended with a sinister chuckle.

“But that isn’t fair!” said Etna, her eyes welling with tears of anger.

“Now no tears, cranky old maid,” he guffawed. “No dinner tonight.”

“You nasty, foul beast!” It was barely an insult, but Leon’s face contorted into a scowl. He raised his fist. A stinging blow landed on her cheek.

This sent little Etna wailing in distress. She ran to the bedroom, slammed the door and flopped onto the bed, an old double mattress which she shared with four other children. Normally they would comfort her but today they were silent. She glanced up. “What is it?” she demanded. “Etna, meet Elena,” said blind Douglas, indicating a girl crouched in the corner. “Leon takes her to the Chopping Room tomorrow.”

Etna gaped in horror and disgust. Of all of Leon’s money-making ideas, the Chopping Room was the one she dreaded most. It was worse than tricks, music or selling cigarettes. She shuddered, reliving her own experience there, many years ago.