A Camera's Tale: A Short Story

Why was she the one who had to sit by the ice-congealed fountain, watching a migratory flock of flapping overcoats? Those grim figures were scurrying towards the imposing red blocks - a sorry sight that was miserably out of focus, no matter how many times her deft fingers clicked the button. Her hands were aching anyway, slashed by the dirty icicles that the winter gale swept up. She scowled. What kind of a photographer was she, with her fingers curled around some out-of-date metal lump that dared call itself a camera? And it wasn't even hers! No wonder the examiner had laughed at her pathetic portfolio. She'd laugh at herself, had she been one of them.

There must have been a queer expression on her face, or else the bright red jacket that she was wearing was screaming attention, because some of the grey-clad folks turned to look at her. She was certain that they did. There had been the quick glance sideways, before an even faster aversion of the eyes. An almost inhumane snarl twisted her delicate face, directed at the useless lump of metal hanging limply from her wrist. It had failed her. It had dared to fail her.

It simply wasn't fair. If Caroline had lent her the latest model - the one that she bought from France - then she would have been admitted to the School, not kicked out of the gates. But no, Caroline wouldn't. Apparently, she needed it too. "Sorry, darling. I'm going to need that camera for the trip to Paris, sweetie. Imagine going to the Louvre and not having a proper camera to take photos! And I do want pictures of those dainty rooms in the Versailles!"

Yes, it was all Caroline's fault. She could have taken her malfunctioning camera and lent her the better one for her exam. All because of Caroline's nasty selfishness that she hadn't been accepted...

She had been sitting there for a while. She knew what the passersby must have thought of her. It was all in their eyes. She saw her own reflection in the metallic depths as clearly as she would in a mirror - a lanky girl staring at apparently nothing, just another one of them teenagers who ought to be kept off the streets. Aha. There comes a patrolling officer strutting towards her - I'll bet that she gets a fine for loitering in the Square. It was all in their eyes. Crystal clear. She glared at the uniformed brute who was inching closer.

"Taking photographs?" He coughed. It was a stocky man with beady eyes and a thick moustache, and a lopsided cap with the official emblem crowning his head. She felt his eyes lingering on the second-grade equipment that she was holding. Her hands clenched tighter, so that her knuckles were white and numb. More than once she had been made a laughing stock because of that useless gadget. It wasn't going to happen again.

"Oh, that's only the oldest model," she said in what she hoped was an offhanded manner, "I was actually thinking of throwing it into the fountain, for good luck, you know?" She smiled. The winter gale screeched an encouragement in her ears, "Go on. You know it's fit for the incinerator. Go on. Destroy it!"

But the officer simply looked confused. "Huh?" She decided that he must be one of those really slow-witted ones, only capable of brute force and little else.

"It's to celebrate my admittance into the... Royal Institute of Art. It's in Paris, you know? And I have a brand new camera now, so I don't need this antique anymore," she remarked. She hoped that he had never been to Paris or he would definitely know that the so-called Royal Institute was nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

"Uh. You mean...no, you can't possibly mean...you are throwing that away?" The man was stammering now, his double chin quivering. How thick did his skull have to be? Hadn't she made it perfectly clear - with her utterly dramatic improvisation - that she was above using this type of worthless equipment?

She smiled at him, letting the ruthless winter gale toss her ponytail behind her back. "Why, of course!" She fingered the collar of the red jacket too, for effect.

"Can't you... can't you..." the stocky man continued puffing and a thin trail of mist condensed like the fumes of a dragon's breath in front of her. "Can't you just... You see, I have a daughter, about your age. Smart girl. Loves photography. Her birthday is coming up soon, in a week or so. I've been intending... been intending to get her a camera, but... to be honest with you, those things aren't cheap you know? Especially not them foreign brands from France - " he reached to touch the worn-out label, " - Since you have a spare camera... I mean, you were going to throw it away anyway... can't you.... Can't you give it to my daughter?"

She stroked the camera's label. It was nowhere as posh as Caroline's other one, but she was flattered to be thought to be the owner of many such cameras, to be extravagant enough to send a couple crashing to the pavement. And to give one away just because she felt like it. Well, she did have that power over this one...

His squinting eyes were full of hope, his throat dry as he uttered the last word "please - ?" But Caroline...

"You'd better look after it," Caroline had demanded, and the girl had sworn that she would. She had promised, not once, not twice, but three times. She was about to grimace at the officer, before she heard a nasty voice hissing at her, "It's all Caroline's fault that you failed that entrance exam. She didn't care if you failed. She didn't care about you at all. Not a single bit. Don't you reckon she deserves punishment? And besides, the only other thing you can do is to apologize for being such a professional liar. Do you seriously want to be sneered at again because of that pathetic camera?"

So the camera changed hands. She had pretended to be gracious about it, flicking the camera in his direction, accepting his many echoes of thanks with a girlish smile. But as he walked away, she remained seated at the fountain, her eyes following the bulge that protruded from his pocket. She could just hear Caroline shrieking in her ear, "Where's my camera? Where? Where?"

For the next few months, she jumped whenever there was a knock on the door, thinking it might be Caroline coming back to demand the return of her camera. The dusty, single roomed apartment lay in a wretch, with laundry strewn across the concrete floor and faded, red juice stains on the wall. The landlord hadn't been happy. He had demanded that she paid to remove those stains. Another hundred dollars gone. Another hundred dollars further away from buying Caroline a new camera.

Caroline had called from Paris and insisted having a long, relaxing chat with her "dear friend back home". "Aw, sweetie. Do I detect a distasteful tone there? Hmph. I'm calling my dear friend all the way from Paris for a little chit-chat, what's wrong with that? And don't say I'm wasting your time. You can't be doing a lot these days, since your precious exams are over. How were they anyway?"

She sprung up from the moth eaten couch. The camera - could she possibly already know?

" - you need a bit of relaxation in your life, darling. You'll love the neon lights here... tell you what, I'll bring you a little model of the Eiffel tower. And don't say you don't want it! You know you want a little souvenir of my visit."

Phew. Caroline was only being her usual frivolous self. But if she came back... when she came back...

" - well? You still haven't answered my question, you little quiet mouse! How were your exams? Will you be joining me in Paris next year?"

"I... I... It went very... well." She squeaked.

"I just knew it! I just knew you'd get into the School! Super! Just wait till I show you the Boulevard Haussmann! You just got to marvel at all the shops they have here! Oh I just can't wait - "

She was still five hundred dollars short, not mentioning the money she owed to various friends and acquaintances. She sold what she could of the various photographs and stamps she had collected over the years. Even the set of scenery of that chalky white forest with tall, angular pines - art that she would never be able to produce a second time, had to go. And the collector paid such a pathetic, measly amount that she wanted to cry. It was worth more. A whole lot more.

Even the banks wouldn't lend anymore to her. "It's already over our usual limit for unemployed people with no stable income - think about it, Miss, it's for your own good as well. Are you capable of paying the interest plus the loans?" She didn't care. Caroline was returning. Very soon.

She had begged - crawled on her knees and begged - her friends, or those who she thought were friends anyway. "Please... please... Caroline will be back really soon... I need it ... really..." They didn't trust her, nor did they care about her plight. They couldn't lend her anymore, they said, what if she was as careless with their money as she was with Caroline's camera? But they told her that there was a man who was selling second hand cameras in a rundown stall on the outskirts of the town. They'd take her there and she could buy a camera for Caroline with what she's got. So the gaunt girl with bloodshot eyes let herself be dragged into the whirring automobile. Caroline had always been careless with her stuff... perhaps she won't notice that the camera she returned was the slightest bit different to the camera she lent to her...

Never in her life did she expect to see Caroline's own camera - the very same, or a very authentic replica, sitting on the straw covered table. She snatched it up, but somebody near her gave her a nudge. Must be one of the fellows who brought her here, a nasty insensitive brute. He didn't know the feeling of being parted from treasure...

"Excuse us there, Missy. You going to pay for it?" A familiar, bellowing voice, except this time, deprived of any hint of warmness. She found herself staring at the beady eyes of the stock muscular figure. So what if he was in work clothes instead of his officer uniform? She'd recognize him anywhere.

She barked at him, yipping like a frantic puppy. "You - you - thief! You said your daughter needed it. Your beloved daughter, who supposedly loved photography, remember?" One of the fellows nudged her again, before muttering in her ear - "nasty piece of work, just pay up, don't want to cross him."

"That's right, Girlie. Pay up. I have no idea what you are talking about. That camera was one of my old ones," he scooped it out of her arms. "Well? Are you going to pay or leave it?" The singlet that he was wearing was soaked with sweat, his muscles tightening angrily. There was a thin snake with a fork tongue that coiled around his upper left arm. How could she have ever mistaken this brute for a policeman?

She paid. Caroline would be back soon. Dangerously too soon.