During the day the boy kept himself busy with odds and ends he loved to collect; and he had collected everything that a poor boy of five years could manage to collect.
But after sunset he would become restless and would often rush to the rooftop to look at the lights of approaching trains. They were living in a pathetic dwelling, not far from the railway track.
“Papa is driving this train? No?”
“May be?” mother usually followed him to the rooftop. She would feel miserable looking at trains.
“Will he come home…. today?”
“I think he would come next month.”
“He never comes. Why can’t he be like other Papas?”
“Because he has to drive trains and trains run every day; day after day.” She could feel the tremble in her voice. The lie was becoming unbearable.
“But still?” he sounded helpless.
He kept gazing at the lights of an approaching train, as if mesmerized by them.
She looked at her little boy and quietly wiped a tear rolling down on his withered cheek.
“How long can I live with this lie,” she wondered but, as always, she remained undecided.
A post for A to Z April (2015) Challenge.
L for Lie
You may like to read my earlier posts