I heard a commotion of sorts in our street and saw the police handling a teenager roughly. They showed him to my neighbour and asked if the boy had stolen anything from their house.
The boy made a living washing cars, and, going by his appearance, far from being a thief. He was in tears and looked at her pleadingly. The lady of the house looked at the boy for a long time and shifted her head sideways, meaning ‘no’, not emphatically, though. The police were not too happy to let the boy go free. I don’t know whether my neighbour really meant that ‘no’ or was shielding the hapless boy with her little lie.
I had the fortune of watching Victor Hugo’s play, Les Miserables, thanks to my friend Guru, a British citizen.
I remember the incident for two reasons. First, the trouble he took getting me to the play: from home in the outskirts of London to the railway station, a train to Piccadilly, and then a taxi to the theater. We were late, and generally the doorman will not allow you to go to your seat if the play has already started, disturbing the rows of picky Londoners. Luckily, an elderly man was entering the hall from the rest room, saw our plight, and signaled us to follow
him quietly.
Second, the play was a masterpiece. What I remember most about the play was the act ‘Bishop’s Candle sticks’, also adapted by Norman McKinnel.
When the police bring in a known criminal, Valjean, in front of the Bishop and ask him if the candlesticks in possession of Valjean belong to the Bishop. He says, “Yes, but I gave them to him myself,” hiding the fact that the thief took advantage of his generosity the previous night of providing shelter for the night, and disappeared in the morning with the steal.
In the play, the Bishop’s lie, out of kindness to the thief, reforms Valjean.
After the play, we were discussing the merits of forgiveness vis a vis punishment. We argued about law and social justice. There were no
easy answers.
One thing I know for sure. But for the forgiving nature of my elder siblings, several of my indiscretions would have reached the ears of my father, who had no doubt about the efficacy of punishments and was easy with his thick cane.