by Aldo Orlando

Created on: August 15, 2011   Last Updated: October 03, 2011

Confirming the Past

The large patch of limestone gravel at the rear of my dad’s store, bordered by shrubs and wild figs, was merely wasted space for the people who lived in the tin-roofed townhouses nearby. It was our playground; inhabited by a host of stray cats chasing an easy feed of household scraps and small birds. Occasionally, we encountered large rats feasting on figs. They frightened us and even the big feral cats kept away from those long-tailed creatures. Nevertheless we loved the place. It was away from adults and only a few cars drove up the narrow lane way to seek a parking spot in the sparse shade. However, at night, it attracted a different user; the secluded spot was a lovers’ hideout, hidden from prying eyes.

The fifties was a peaceful era. Dad’s store was doing well, he worked long hours but he was happy. During the summer holidays I would spend my time in the playground with Phil, the son of the local policeman and Mike whose mother worked at the fish market and supplied us with an abundance of fish and chips. Mike and Phil lived in the townhouses behind the trees. A gap in the rickety fence, surrounding the patch, was sufficient for them to get into our playground.

That summer, my aunt had gone to give birth to her third child and my cousins, Carmel and Olga, stayed with us while she was in hospital. I introduced the two girls to my friends and soon we were all playing together in the gravel patch. Fun was easy: a few rocks, a stick, an old tennis ball or handful of marbles was all that was needed. The firm ground was a perfect pitch for a game of cricket. It was going to be the best summer holiday.

While my aunt was in the throes of labour pains we were gathered in the backyard enjoying our day together. I don’t recall who found it but the metal lid from a large can of tuna caught our attention. The jagged edges of the lid looked risky but it wasn’t going to stop us from seeing what it could do. The plastic “Frisbee” hadn’t been invented yet but we threw the lid, with its menacing edges around uninhibited by our youth, unaware of its perilous potential. As I launched the metal disc to Olga I hadn’t realised that she was looking elsewhere; I called out to warn her but as she turned her gaze in my direction the disc hurtling head high, with a perfect spin, struck her forehead. The impact almost knocked her out and the blood that spurted out of the wound was the most horrible sight I had

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