Bassim
VIP Member
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2008
- Member Type
- Student or Learner
- Native Language
- Bosnian
- Home Country
- Bosnia Herzegovina
- Current Location
- Sweden
Would you please correct my mistakes in the second part of my short story?
Martin loved birds, but he loved his children most of all. I remember when he was locked up for an attempted bank robbery. Whenever I visited him, his first words were, “How are my children? Do they have enough to eat? Do they have proper clothes? Do they have enough shoes? Do they lack anything?” For eight long years, he was howling behind the thick walls like a captured wolf, unable to help his cub. Indeed, his love was strong and unconditional.
Once we went to a supermarket. As we queued at the checkout, we were accosted by a shop detective, who ushered us into a small windowless room. He ordered Martin to take off his jacket, and when he did, a large piece of meat fell to the floor. “What’s this?” he asked picking it up and waving it before Martin’s eyes. My friend shrugged, looked at him with his sad eyes and told him he had many mouths to feed. Then two police officers arrived, and when Martin told them he had twenty children to take care of, and more were on the way, the two sturdy men started crying like mourning widows. And not only they but also the shop detective and the manager, who sobbed like an abandoned child. The police officers opened their wallets and wanted to give him some money, but Martin, proud as he was, declined. In the end, we left the supermarket with two bags with food the manager and his staff had donated to his children.
Some may think that our Martin was a womanizer and recklessly promiscuous, but I can assure you that it was not he who had run after them - it was women who wouldn’t leave him in peace. He had done everything to discourage them. He warned them he was married, showed them his large wedding ring, swore he was homosexual, scared them with his gonorrhea, assured them he was impotent and that he hated women, but they wouldn’t listen and clung to him like limpets to rocks until they got pregnant. Martin, selfless as always, didn’t have the heart to spurn them and obliged them unreservedly. He had sacrificed much time and energy to satisfy his fellow humans, but now when we see his twenty-five healthy children standing beside us, we know that his sacrifices were not in vain.
Martin was like a powerful magnet that drew everyone to him. And not only humans but animals also. As we walked down a street, cats would emerge from gardens and porches and spring to Martin and purr and rub against his legs. Dogs strained on their leads and wouldn’t stop barking until their owners led them to Martin to be patted and scratched. Birds followed him and sang as soon as they saw him. You can seldom hear a nightingale in the town, but as soon as Martin stepped into the park, the bird sang so sweetly that everyone just stood and listened.
Our Martin was a paragon of generosity and honesty. This can confirm dozens of company owners, landlords, ordinary workers, students, jobless, homeless, and other people in need who turned to Martin for a loan when no bank would lend them money. Martin never refused anyone, since he hated to see people suffering. But if they refused to pay back, Martin had no choice but to teach them a lesson because a deal is a deal even when the interest rates are high. It is true that some people had ended up in hospital with broken ribs, noses, jaws and limbs, but Martin sat alone and cried every time he had meted out punishment. Such a compassionate man is difficult to find in our egoistic world. Such a gentle soul is rare like a white tiger. Therefore, our loss is immeasurable and irretrievable.
The last few sentences I had spoken in a cracked voice while the pea-sized tears trickled down my cheeks. I collapsed on the coffin and hugged the cold, hard wood. Martin’s twenty-five children and his numerous wives, girlfriends and lovers joined me in my grief. We interlaced our hands and sobbed inconsolably. Our wailing rose into the air and was carried on the wind over woods and fields.
THE END
Martin loved birds, but he loved his children most of all. I remember when he was locked up for an attempted bank robbery. Whenever I visited him, his first words were, “How are my children? Do they have enough to eat? Do they have proper clothes? Do they have enough shoes? Do they lack anything?” For eight long years, he was howling behind the thick walls like a captured wolf, unable to help his cub. Indeed, his love was strong and unconditional.
Once we went to a supermarket. As we queued at the checkout, we were accosted by a shop detective, who ushered us into a small windowless room. He ordered Martin to take off his jacket, and when he did, a large piece of meat fell to the floor. “What’s this?” he asked picking it up and waving it before Martin’s eyes. My friend shrugged, looked at him with his sad eyes and told him he had many mouths to feed. Then two police officers arrived, and when Martin told them he had twenty children to take care of, and more were on the way, the two sturdy men started crying like mourning widows. And not only they but also the shop detective and the manager, who sobbed like an abandoned child. The police officers opened their wallets and wanted to give him some money, but Martin, proud as he was, declined. In the end, we left the supermarket with two bags with food the manager and his staff had donated to his children.
Some may think that our Martin was a womanizer and recklessly promiscuous, but I can assure you that it was not he who had run after them - it was women who wouldn’t leave him in peace. He had done everything to discourage them. He warned them he was married, showed them his large wedding ring, swore he was homosexual, scared them with his gonorrhea, assured them he was impotent and that he hated women, but they wouldn’t listen and clung to him like limpets to rocks until they got pregnant. Martin, selfless as always, didn’t have the heart to spurn them and obliged them unreservedly. He had sacrificed much time and energy to satisfy his fellow humans, but now when we see his twenty-five healthy children standing beside us, we know that his sacrifices were not in vain.
Martin was like a powerful magnet that drew everyone to him. And not only humans but animals also. As we walked down a street, cats would emerge from gardens and porches and spring to Martin and purr and rub against his legs. Dogs strained on their leads and wouldn’t stop barking until their owners led them to Martin to be patted and scratched. Birds followed him and sang as soon as they saw him. You can seldom hear a nightingale in the town, but as soon as Martin stepped into the park, the bird sang so sweetly that everyone just stood and listened.
Our Martin was a paragon of generosity and honesty. This can confirm dozens of company owners, landlords, ordinary workers, students, jobless, homeless, and other people in need who turned to Martin for a loan when no bank would lend them money. Martin never refused anyone, since he hated to see people suffering. But if they refused to pay back, Martin had no choice but to teach them a lesson because a deal is a deal even when the interest rates are high. It is true that some people had ended up in hospital with broken ribs, noses, jaws and limbs, but Martin sat alone and cried every time he had meted out punishment. Such a compassionate man is difficult to find in our egoistic world. Such a gentle soul is rare like a white tiger. Therefore, our loss is immeasurable and irretrievable.
The last few sentences I had spoken in a cracked voice while the pea-sized tears trickled down my cheeks. I collapsed on the coffin and hugged the cold, hard wood. Martin’s twenty-five children and his numerous wives, girlfriends and lovers joined me in my grief. We interlaced our hands and sobbed inconsolably. Our wailing rose into the air and was carried on the wind over woods and fields.
THE END
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