The Old Cleaner (Short Story)

The hot sun beat down on the back of an old, bent cleaner as he slowly swept the streets free of litter.

Left, right, left right, left, right...

His gnarled hands moved the broom in a mechanical manner while he stared at the hot concrete ground. Having swept the streets clean for the past twenty years, he was simply going through the daily motions of his monotonous routine.

It was already noon time, yet there were hardly any cars to be found cruising along the empty road. The air shimmered in the afternoon heat.

Sighing to himself, the cleaner rested his broom against a nearby lamp post. He sat down on the pavement, groaning slightly as he did so due to his painful knee joints, a condition that had been troubling him for quite some time.

Unzipping his pouch, he took out a wrapped packet of cheese sandwiches.

His lunch for the day.

Meticulously peeling off the plastic wrapping, he then proceeded to bite into the sandwich and chew on it.

It was quiet, almost too quiet. The place was void of any human voices. He could hear the pigeons crowing up in the trees and the leaves rustling each time a warm breeze wove its way through them.

Then, he heard footsteps on the concrete pavement. They seemed to grow louder and louder before stopping abruptly.

“Hey old man, you’re blocking my path,” a voice said aggressively.

The cleaner turned to look and saw a young teenager standing there glaring at him.

The boy was dressed in a simple sleeveless white shirt and jeans. There were no form of accessories to be seen on him but his decorated skin was enough to compensate for the lack of it. Elaborate tattoos of dragons, tigers and skulls covered his entire body from head to toe.

It was enough to scare any sane human being off. Yet the cleaner continued to look at him impassively.

“Young boy, how can I be blocking your path when I’m sitting at the side of the pavement?”

It was the wrong thing to say to a boy who was disillusioned and discontented with his life. A boy who was only looking for trouble.

“You old bastard. I warning you arh, if you don’t move I’m going to bash the hell out of you right now!”

Seeing no other alternative to reason out with the boy, the cleaner shrugged and slowly got up. However, due to his knee joints, he had some difficulty in standing up.

That was when the teenager, thinking that the cleaner was trying to defy him by taking his own time to stand up, lost his temper.

Kicking the old man to the ground, the teenager started to pummel him all over, swearing and cursing violently as he did so.

“Who the hell do you think you are? You’re just some cleaner by the roadside! Everyday only need to clean up rubbish for other people like some pathetic idiot. You don’t deserve to be respected at all! I can spit on you for all I like and no one will care!”

Then, as though to emphasize his point more clearly, he spat into the old man’s face and burst into peals of laughter. He clearly relished mocking the old man. At least it made him feel like he was worth something. Like he wasn’t a piece of rubbish that the cleaner had to sweep away.

Though the cleaner was by no means a young man any longer, the anger surging through him gave him more than enough strength to push the teenager aside and grab his broom.

Getting beaten up and scolded was disrespect enough. But having his honor and dignity insulted was more than he could bear. Holding the broomstick like a weapon, he chased the boy away by raining blows down on him.

Then, panting heavily, he slumped back down on the concrete pavement and buried his face into his hands. Though he was furious with what the boy had said to him, the cleaner knew, deep in his heart, that the boy was right.

And he was ashamed. Ashamed of what he’d become.

How had he fallen so far behind?

In a blink of an eye, he had wasted twenty years of his life sweeping the streets clean. Yet no one, not a single passer by, had thought to thank him for doing a service to them. No one felt that what he was doing was important.

Was cleaning the streets really such a demeaning job?

Did people only respect you based on the amount of money you earn?

They only know how to look down on me and belittle my dignity.

Wearily, he placed the half-eaten sandwiches back into his pouch and got up.

The purring sounds of a car driving down the road now filled the heavy silence that hung in the atmosphere.

It was a beautiful silver Porsche.

The cleaner stared at the sleek curves of the driving machine in awe. Even though he was no expert in machines, it did not take a fool to realize that this was no ordinary car.

And it did not take a bigger fool to realize that the car had slowed to a snail’s pace before stopping altogether.

Puzzled, the old man leaned forward to squint at the person seated in the driver’s seat.

Almost at once, his eyes widened in disbelief.

“Stella?” he whispered her name timidly, sounding as though the very word would pull him back into the past again.

Today seemed to be a day filled with unexpected events.

She was decked out in a crisp black business suit and white pumps. Tiny diamond earrings glittered in the light as she lowered her Gucci shades, turning to stare at him with equal disbelief.

Though her face was thickly layered with make-up, it could not hide the wrinkles that still showed through; a delicate network of fine lines mapping her skin.

Yes, age had finally caught up with her. Yet her eyes were as bright as ever, brimming with defiance and contempt as she gazed at the cleaner. They seemed to miss nothing, taking in the blood trickling down his face, the fresh bruises on his skin, the anger that lingered in his eyes.

Then, as quickly as they’d appeared, the emotions that were once written on her face vanished, leaving behind a carefully composed mask.

“I’m sorry but do I know you?” she said in a deliberately polite and guarded tone that he knew only too well.

It was the same tone she had used when she’d informed him that he had been fired because he’d been embezzling the company’s funds. That it was all over between them.

The very voice that had condemned him to a life with no future.

Then she drove off amidst the flurry of screeching car tires and unspoken betrayal. She drove off before he could utter another word that was not her name.

Leaving behind only a set of fresh tire marks on the black gravel and all too vivid memories of how she had betrayed him.

And how stupid he had been to trust her.

To love her.

He grounded his teeth, gripping his broom so tightly till the whites of his knuckles showed. And still, his hands trembled.

Anger was the last emotion he felt like handling right now. Forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, he resumed his monotonous routine for the day.

Sweeping energetically as though he could clear away all the memories of the past he did not wish to remember.

Left, right, left, right, left, right ...