Down Justice Parade

“That’s not fair!” he says violently, an outburst of irritation accompanied by an assertive shake of the head. “It isn’t fair, no it isn’t.” The cabman throws a cantankerous glare in my direction, twisting the ancient, white-haired face so far around the driver’s seat I half-expect the sound of bone snapping. I carefully shift my eyes elsewhere, uncomfortable but trying to hide it – elsewhere being out the window, for now.1

Snowflakes dust the window pane ever so lightly, like the touch of some noble queen’s fingertips, cold and aloof. Further out, glow the faint pinpricks of tiny fairy lights that adorn the streetlamps and decorate small Christmas trees set up outside the little curio stores that line the road, their awnings heavy with snow. Shop windows bear pretty drawings of reindeer in white frosting, and the occasional “merry Christmas” etched across. Down the road a huge Santa doll smiles and waves; a crowd of little children group round, mouths agape in laughter soundless to my ears.2

The taxicab rattles ponderously down this road. We pass a small junction and approach a busy open-air shopping zone. The entrance is crowded with people. Behind the bustle of those desperate enough to do last-minute Christmas shopping in such icy weather, I make out a road sign with the name “Justice Parade” spelled across it.3

The cab driver withdraws his head with a disgusted snort. “Snow everywhere,” he mutters, just loud enough to be audible. “And all these cars! I’ll be damned if we can ever get past this.” His frown deepens. “I tell you, it isn’t fair.” He casts another cold glare in my direction; I can feel his eyes on my head, more wintry that the weather outside could ever get. Sighing inwardly, I refuse to look at him. I have nothing to say – I do not understand what he means. What do I care about an old fogy? 4

He finally returns to the wheel, scowling. “Youngsters these days,” he mutters irritably. “Care nought for anything but themselves. No, not fair at all.”5

I decide to ignore that, still fixing my eyes on the view outside the window, trying to throw myself into the mood for the approaching holiday. Outside the traffic eases up a fraction, and the cab driver allows the taxi to move a little faster. There is nothing to see outside except the crowds now, and they are not particularly fascinating. I find my thoughts drifting back to the rather one-sided conversation I’d shared a minute ago. Not fair…not fair at all.6

A red-cheeked girl frolics in a small park between two shops. I watch her inattentively, but still noticing her obvious happiness – innocent joy. Her little booted feet kick up snow from the ground, red scarves flying about her flushed face, and her features drawn in an expression of merriment. I cannot see anything unfair. The cabman’s meaning eludes my comprehension.7

The taxi inches along, and the child-girl passes into the periphery of my vision - a tall figure looms forth instead. He leans into the shadows, dressed in worn, thin clothes and hunched against the cold, a lean figure barely more than a creature. I see how weary he is of life – he has seen more than any other ordinary individual has ever seen, knowing darker and deeper things than truth itself could bear to reveal, and he hates it, even as he understands it.  He does not observe the Christmas festivities, or even the red-cheeked girl. Insight plays tauntingly with my mind. I stare at both the girl and the man for the brief moment I have both in my direct vision – and perceive the bitter irony of it all, unfairness in its most unsolvable form. Not fair… That’s not fair.8

The taxi rolls on, accelerating gradually as the masses clear, bringing rows more of stores into sight. A well-dressed, rather round patron of a large, posh restaurant named “Yu Xian’s Seafood Delight” steps jauntily away onto the sidewalk. His hair is neatly trimmed and fashionably topped with an expensive-looking beret, and gold ornaments decorate his neck, hands and wrists. The wealth of the man is obvious – he reeks of it. Not more than three feet away an aged man kneels, playing a portable keyboard that looks like it might have spent years in a musty attic at the top of a forgotten old house. A scruffy hat lies in front of him. As my cab passes, I press my face to the window and peer into the beggar’s tool of trade; not more than a few coins fill the insides. Again realisation tugs at the threads of thought in my mind, and I nod to myself. That’s not fair.9

I sit back slowly in my seat as the stores slide past, but I cannot quite relax. My mind is afire; the old cabman has made me realise the strange injustice I have always seen and never questioned. Why do some people have everything and others don’t? Be it happiness, luck, wealth, joy…10

The cab driver has stopped the taxi suddenly. Now he turns to face me, motioning with his head the cars in front. He says nothing, but his eyes, wise with experience, tell me something else, something unphraseable.11

I clamber to the middle of the seat and try to pierce the shadows ahead. I can just distinguish the shape of a lady by her car, shouting and clearly distressed, hands to her face. A few minutes more and I understand. She had parked her car under the rafters of a shop-house, and after the snowfall the awning had collapsed on her car. Pity surges in my stomach, a welt I cannot rub away. The feeling is not mutual. A sleek sports car rockets by our cab and the cars ahead, to the vehement protests of us all. The offender pays no heed and pauses before the scene. A youthful face protrudes from the window and shrieks a derisive expletive before zipping away into the clouds of drifting snow, the gift of Mother Nature in expectance of Christmas. Anger catches the outcry in my throat. That’s not fair either, I think sadly. A woman looking forward to a cheery holiday finds her car almost irreparably damaged, and another citizen of life who cares little for such festivals speeds unchecked in a sports car. Did fate do this...? Not fair at all.12

The police clear the road quickly to prevent tempers rising, and soon we are on our way once more, departing from the scene like a child does quietly after witnessing a parental argument. I sit silently in the back, lost in reflection on the harsh realities of life. Perhaps not simply life alone. Maybe we humans accentuate it all the more.13

Down the road, the pattern of shops breaks into houses. As we pass by, I notice all sorts of houses – one, a small, shabby dwelling devoid of decoration save a few tiny lights here and there, obviously a poor household. All the same, through the uncurtained windows, silhouettes of people celebrating a meagre Christmas around a small dinner table greet my eyes. I am touched – for the house opposite is large and rich-looking, almost a mansion, with fancy gates and windows, dwarfing the other houses. But despite the beauty, this house is silent and bare, and I can just glimpse the pale face of a young boy leaning out his balcony and staring into the warmth of the smaller house. The scene brings compassion to new levels; I feel sorry for the boy, who in spite of his wealth, stands apart and alone. That’s not fair.14

The night is serene as we continue down the road, all left being the houses, the snow and the whirr of the car engine. Even the cabby is silent. The repartee of life; ironic comparisons so different, so unfair. This is the world we live in. I shift in my seat. The journey down Justice Parade is nearly done – soon I will arrive at my destination, and bid farewell to the navigator of my transport means. 15

When the cab halts before the gate of my grandmother’s home, I lean over to the cab driver. “How much do I owe you?”16

The cabby turns an ancient grin on me, and tells me the amount. I pay, and exit my confined space, stretching as I touch the pavement with my feet. A thought suddenly strikes me.17

I catch the door shy of closing it, and lean down so the cabby can hear what I have to say. 18

“It isn’t fair at all.”19

The old man nods in satisfaction, beaming knowingly. He does not reply, only says “Merry Christmas,” and I smile back, shutting the door as he pulls off the kerb. 20

Stepping back and still smiling thoughtfully, I watch as the taxi disappears back up the road, away. Away, along the road that had taught me life. Away, along Justice Parade.21