New Story: A Robbery

As I was cycling home from school I was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. It was nearly 2.00p.m. and the sunlight was glaring down on me. I was thinking of buying myself a drink and a snack. Before reaching the nearest grocery shop I realised that I was being followed by a man on a black titanium motorcycle. I began to panic as I wondered why he was following me.  As soon as the man knew that he had been spotted, he acted as if he hadn’t been following me at all.

          After a few minutes, my heart rate returned to normal; I was calm and composed. I bought the food and drink that I desired and gulped it all down with my drink like a monster that had been starving for years.  I continued my journey back home; it took only less than eight minutes. Still exhausted, I entered the house and dragged myself to my room.

          I fell asleep at once on my bed and I slept for three hours! I woke up and went into the bathroom to wash my face. I finally felt refreshed for the first time that day. I then raced downstairs as I heard my mother screaming my name.

          Although it was only 5.30pm, it was dark. My mum told me that she and Papa were going to a posh restaurant with their friends. After they left, the only occupants in our house were my little brother and I.  In silence, we ate the dinner that mum had cooked.  After washing the dishes, I did my homework in my room.  While solving a mathematical problem, the dark image of the stranger came unbidden into my mind.  My body shook involuntarily and I couldn’t finish my homework. My eyes kept ticking. Did it portend a bad omen?

          I went downstairs with my brother, Eugene. We were watching our favourite programme together when suddenly I heard some knocking on the window upstairs, followed by a heavy thud on the floor. 

  “Did you hear that, Kakak?” asked Eugene, his voice trembling.

“Yes, I did,” I said, struggling to remain calm. “It sounded like someone getting into our house through a window.”

“What should we do?” Eugene was on the verge of crying.

“Hush,” I whispered, putting my index finger to my lips. “Let’s check out the windows upstairs.”

With bated breath we tiptoed upstairs.  Upon reaching the landing, a noise emanated from my room. We peeked into it through the ajar door.  As if acting in response to our action, a man’s face popped out through the opening and we shrieked. My legs turned into jell-O and I slumped down on the floor.  Two large hands grabbed hold of Eugene’s pudgy body and lifted him up.

“Let me go! let me go.”  Eugene struggled, his short legs kicking in the air. A tall man with a knapsack on his back was holding him.  He was the one who had trailed me home.

“If you make any noise again,” said the man, threateningly, “I will kill you.”

Eugene’s shouts turned into whimpers.

“Don’t hurt him,” I pleaded. “He is only eight years old.”

   The man dropped Eugene to the floor and turned to me.  He grabbed a handful of my hair and asked, “Where did your parents hide the money?”

“Ouch!” I yelled.  “You’re hurting me!”

“Where is it?” he demanded, yanking my hair even harder.

“It could be in my parents’ room,” I said, with tears welling up in my eyes. “Their room is next to mine.”

Pulling my hair with one hand and Eugene’s collar with the other, he dragged us into our parents’ room.  He pushed Eugene and me into one corner ; we huddled, trembling in each other’s arms.

He began to ransack our parents’ room, pulling out drawers as he looked for valuables. Some glass containers fell to the floor and shattered into pieces. His face brightened when he found several wads of  hundred ringgit notes and some jewellery in a drawer.  He shoved them into his knapsack and said, “It’s three thousand altogether. I may have nearly ten thousands if I pawn the jewellery.”

“Why did you target my family?” I asked him, in spite of myself.

“I had been observing you for almost a week,” said the thief. “You were always treating your friends to gifts and meals and I figured you were from a well to do family.”

“Instead of stealing,” I said, shocking myself with my rising anger, “why don’t you earn the money yourself?”

“Shut up!”

“Why don’t you ask for help if you are in need of money?” I continued.

The man seemed to bristle at my barrage of questions.  He gave me a slap.  Eugene burst out crying.

“Why did you hurt me?” I asked as I touched my cheek, holding back the impulse to sob. “I am only a defenceless thirteen-year- old girl.”

              “You are a snob,” the man spat his venom.  “A heartless snob who does not know the plight of the poor — just like your parents!”

              “My parents are good people,” I retorted. “They were born into poor families.  They studied hard to earn a decent living.”

              “You are lying!” were the words that came out between the man’s clenched teeth.

“No, I am not!” I said, as I drew myself up. “Both my paternal and maternal grandparents were farmers.  My parents had very little to eat during their childhood but they never stole.”

“Don’t teach me about life, Junior.”

         

“My parents always advise me to work hard,” I said emphatically.  “It is more respectable eking out a living by your own effort.”

The thief’s face turned beet red.  He hit me very hard on the head and I fainted.

When I came around, I was in the hospital.  Eugene had telephoned my parents about the robbery as soon as the man had left our house.  Papa had reported the incident to the police  and an investigation had been launched immediately.

After three months, the thief still had not been caught.  The experience traumatised me for several weeks but I eventually got over it.  My parents were glad that Eugene and I were safe despite the loss of our valuables.  I gazed into the distant traffic, fiddling with my hair as I stood at the door.  Where was the thief at this precise moment?

          I was about to close the door when something near the fence caught my eye.  It was a box tightly sealed with duct tapes.  I picked it up and entered the house.  I opened it and was shocked by what I saw.  Inside was the money and jewellery stolen by the man on the black titanium motorcycle.  At the bottom was a note that read,  

Dear Miss,                               Sorry for breaking into your house and hurting you.  I have been riddled with guilt since leaving your house.  Yes, you are right.  It is more respectable to earn a living with our own hands.  Your words keep ringing in my ears. Each time I reflect on what you said to me, I am ashamed of myself for my bad deed.  God is punishing me for stealing from your family.                               After months of thinking about this, I have decided to return everything I stole from you.  I have neither spent a single cent nor pawned a single item of the jewellery.  I will be more hard working from now onwards.  Believe me, I will turn over a new leaf.                                                                                     With Blessings from the man who broke into your                                                                                        house

I was so filled with disbelief that my mouth was agape for seconds.  I went over the note again and was moved by the thief’s decision to repent.  My eyes brimmed with tears.  I finally forgave the man for what he had done.  Crossing myself, I said a prayer to God,

             “Lord, thank you for touching the man’s heart through my words.  Please guide his words and actions along his journey as a changed person. May he have steadfast faith in you.  Amen.”