THE RETURN OF THE RED BUTCHER

12

Three days after the fire, Simon buried Toma and Elik.

He did not make it small. He bought proper coffins, paid for clean clothes, flowers, prayers, and a quiet place in the cemetery where the grass was soft. There were no parents to cry for them. No siblings came forward. Simon stood alone beside the graves, his face was hard, his hands folded, carrying the weight of being the only family they had left.

By afternoon, Simon walked into the University of Betford. The campus was bright and full of life. Students sat under trees, laughed near food stands, shared drinks, and talked loudly about exams, relationships, and football. The noise felt strange to him after the silence of the cemetery.

He had come to see the owner of the university cafeteria. Before the fire, Simon used to supplied fish there every week. Now there was no stall, no freezers, no boys, and no business left to supply anymore fish.

As he crossed the relaxation spot, he stopped.

A young woman sat alone on a bench near the far end. Her head was lowered. Her shoulders shook slightly. Around her, students gathered in groups, but no one sat close to her.

Simon narrowed his eyes.

“Loveline?” he called.

The young woman looked up quickly. Her eyes were red.

Simon moved closer. “Loveline Shawn?”

She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Mr. Simon?”

He knew her now. She was the first daughter of Vincent Shawn, the fruit seller whose stall stood beside his own at the market. Vincent’s stall had also been damaged by the fire. He was not rich, but he worked like a man who believed sweat could force life to be fair.

Simon had always wondered how Vincent managed to keep Loveline in the university.

“What happened?” Simon asked gently. “Why are you crying here alone?”

Loveline tried to smile, but it broke almost at once. “I heard about your stall including what happened to Toma and Elik. I am sorry, sir.”

Simon’s face tightened. “Thank you.”

“My father cried when he heard,” she said. “He said those boys always helped him carry baskets when his back hurt.”

Simon looked away for a moment. “They were good boys.”

Loveline nodded, then lowered her face again.

Simon sat beside her. “Now tell me what happened, why are you crying all alone here.”

She hesitated. “It is my school fees.”

"You are owing?"

"Yes."

“How much of it do you owe?”

“I paid part,” she said. “But I still owe sixty percent. They said if I don’t complete it, I won’t get my exam ID. The semester exams are starting soon.”

Simon’s eyes grew serious. “Your father knows about this?”

“He knows,” Loveline said, her voice cracking. “But since the fire damaged his stall, everything became worse. He has tried. He has begged suppliers. He even wanted to sell my mother’s sewing machine.”

Simon’s jaw tightened.

“I told him not to,” she added quickly. “My mother uses it to work. But if I don’t pay, I cannot write exams.”

“What about your friends?” Simon asked. “You always had people around you.”

Loveline laughed weakly, but there was no joy in it. “They left.”

“Left?”

“When they heard I might not get an exam ID, they stopped calling me. I had a study group. I used to teach them accounting and statistics. I helped them prepare since the beginning of the semester.”

“And now?”

“They said they need serious people around them.” She swallowed hard. “One of them said there is no need studying with someone who will not enter the exam hall.”

Simon looked toward the groups of students laughing nearby. “People are pathetic sometimes.”

Loveline wiped another tear. “I don’t want to hate them. But it hurts.”

“How much do you owe?”

She looked embarrassed. “twenty thousand dollars.”

Simon stayed silent for five seconds.

Twenty thousand dollars was more than many people in Betford saw in years. However despite that, he knew Vincent and his wife. They were hardworking people. Loveline was brilliant. She was not lazy. She was simply caught under a weight too large for her family.

Simon stood. “Get up.”

Loveline looked confused. “Sir?”

“Stand up,” Simon said. “Let us see what can be done.”

Her eyes widened. “Mr. Simon, I am not asking you for money. I know your own business was burned.”

“I know what you are asking for,” Simon said. “And I know what I am doing.”

She slowly stood and followed him.

They walked toward the bursary building. Along the way, three young women near a flower path looked at Loveline and quickly looked away. One of them whispered something, and the others laughed softly.

Loveline’s steps slowed.

Simon noticed. “Your friends?”

She nodded. “They used to be.”

One of the girls glanced at Simon’s simple clothes and murmured, “Now she is bringing market people to beg for her.”

Another said, “Maybe he sells fish on credit too.”

Loveline lowered her head.

Simon’s anger stirred, but he kept walking. He had seen betrayal from grown people too. Seeing young people learning the same cruelty disgusted him.

At the bursary unit, the air smelled of paper, ink, and old air-conditioning. Behind the counter sat a thick woman in glasses, typing slowly on a computer. The nameplate on her desk read Mrs. Dalia Trent.

The moment she saw Loveline, her face twisted.

“You again?” Dalia snapped. “What is wrong with you, girl? Are you a rat that keeps disturbing this office?”

Loveline flinched. “Ma, please, I—”

“I told you that there is no way I am going to give you an exam ID if you don't pay your fees,” Dalia said. “There is no way I am going back on my word. Do you not understand English?”

Simon stepped forward. “Hello, ma. Please, I am here to solicit for this young girl. She is in distress and—”

Dalia raised her hand sharply. “Stop there.”

Simon paused.

She looked him up and down, taking in his plain clothes and tired face. “Loveline, is this what you brought now? Another poor family member?”

Loveline’s face burned with shame. “Ma, he is not—”

Dalia cut her off. “You think bringing another poor person here will make me pity you? You think I will convince the Bursar to approve an exam ID for you just because your family has gathered to cry?”

Simon burned with anger as the accountant’s cruel words sank in.