Le Gai Paris

1 - Filth

"Aidez-moi monsieur. Aidez-moi monsieur!" shouted a haggard women wrapped in dirty rags. She held out an empty, twisted-tin and grabbed onto Michaels leg.

He turned sharply and stared at the exasperated woman before him. He quickly realized her plight; no left leg, a stump rotting away due to infection. She was poor and needed money, so he dropped a few coins into the empty can. As they fell, they clattered and the sound echoed through the busy, bustling street.

The train journey had been long, his back ached as the seats had offered him little comfort. The woman thanked Michael with a simple "Merci", but did not let go - he had showed her kindness, but she was greedy; she wanted more.

'One should fear 'want'; as 'want' will destroy everything.'

Michael tried to push the woman aside, being careful of her wound, but it was no good. She became infuriated and continued to hold on, needy for more of the little wealth he had given her. Michael noted the situation; he thought it would make a splendid anecdote for when back in England. The golden stone had become dirty over time from the smoke that billowed from the trains. The 23 statues, representing the cities served by the company, were stained with blackish marks, ruining the glorious art that they were. Michael stood and took in the vista as the woman clutched to his leg and the busy arrivals brushed past him, ignorant to the life around them.

His train was from Calais and the railway station there was small, compared to the opulent 'Gare du Nord' Railway station which sat in the dirty part of Paris. Michael and his beggar had gained attention, yet not from the busy people going about their daily business but from the other beggars, without limbs or sense. They crawled through the streams of people, hoping to share in the womans new found wealth. Michael obliviously, decided to give a little more money to the poor women, sympathetic to her injury. Soon it wasn't only the poor women holding onto his legs but a mass of un-healthy beggars, whom had lost their way in a pool of alcohol, gambling and sex.

Soon Michael was overrun with the riff-raff of the street, like a sweet dropped by a child, near an ant's nest. He shouted at them 'no'. "No more money" he said as though they were his spoilt children. Yet they continued to gather, grabbing any bulge on his apparently flat clothing. One man began to un-button Michael's trouser fly, obviously aiming to give him some sort of pleasure in return for his wealth. He continued to shout 'No!' as though teaching a dog to stop tearing up the newspaper.

"Need some help old chap?" said a posh, young, well built man, before the situation became too dire.

"Yes, I suppose I do" replied Michael, with a similar posh, Londoners voice

"Allez vous faire foutre, sale bâtards!" the young man named Thomas said and as though magic, the beggars began to move, but not without protest. They shouted "Va te faire foutre" and "Espèce de con" back at Thomas and stuck up the odd finger or two.

"What did you say to them?" asked Michael inquisitively, as the beggars continued ranting on their way,  through the crowds, tripping up the odd busybody now and then.

"Oh just to fuck off" Thomas replied playfully.

"Oh...I forgot how good you were at French"

"Well, I wasn't drawing naughty pictures at the back was I" accused Thomas happily.

"No you were not" said Michael, guiltily thinking of his school days in Britain, where he did little learning but went through plenty of tissues and Johnson's baby oil.

"And why is that?"

"Because you've had it and I haven't" Michael said sadly, as though reciting from a black board.