Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Will you place a bet for me? he asks.
I say I have no change and try to walk past him.
He is not asking for charity. He wants to enrich me. I say what?
He is barred from the bookies he says because he wins too many times. He glances at the street surveillance camera on the shop as he speaks.
I think he looks too shabby to be a big winner; but think he may be in disguise, in working clothes.
What would I have to do I hear myself ask, though I fear I should know better.
Just place this five euro bet for me and add your own bet to it; we can divide the spoils later.
In my hand is a five euro note and two scrawled numbers I take to be the fifth horse in the sixth race.
I add €100 of my own money to the five and place the bet.
The horse loses the race, I lose my money and my sense of justice.
I never see the man again; some say he is the mad son of the country's ruler; others that he does not understand horses; I say he is a teacher of men.