Extras (fiction)
I had just left the Indonesian shop, where we usually buy food on weekends, when it occurred to me that I had stepped into a potentially gripping scene.
The action was taking place across the square, where at one point my daughter almost found an apartment, before settling on something better at the last minute. As she is wont to do.
In the here and now one burly man threatened to smash another equally broad-shouldered man’s head in. He came dangerously close, but I couldn't quite tell if his opponent was as impressed as I would have been, had I been in his shoes.
I suspected the incident had been going on for a while. There were at least fifteen to twenty people hanging around and there was also great interest on my side of the street.
It was like watching a movie scene from a distance. At least there was no shortage of extras.
At the corner cafe, people had risen from their terrace seats to get a good look. Some even started to applaud. I was disappointed that I had missed the start of the clash, because now I had no idea whose side I was supposed to be on.
It was at this point that the menacing looking man decided that enough was enough. He turned away from the other guy and began to walk. A bus and some lorries passed by, and although the first man did say something in parting, I could no make out what it was.
I turned the corner and looked for my bicycle keys. I hung the bag with food on the handlebars and cycled away. The sun was high in the sky, it was almost thirty degrees, maybe that had heated up people's minds, although I have often seen people lose their cool in cold weather too - but then a cloud passed in front of the sun.
At the traffic lights an older man was sitting on a dilapidated moped. It seemed like a miracle that it was still going. It reminded me of my daughter's car. Even though that too had passed its most recent inspection after a few small repairs.
Whatever, I thought, what the hell did I know about mopeds? All my life I have been nothing more than a simple cyclist.
"Aren't you hot?" he asked me, not unkindly. I couldn't really make out his face through the moped helmet, but I had the feeling that he was giving me a worried look, as if he half expected me to sneer at him, something along the lines of, "Hot? What do you mean hot? Is this what you call hot? It doesn’t bother me at all.”
I thought for a moment and decided to give him a measured response: ‘I think it’s not so bad now that there is a cloud in front of the sun."
The man started to mutter something, but this time it was completely incomprehensible. Perhaps he was feeling the heat himself, or maybe he was lonely and in need of a chat, which is of course more difficult with a moped helmet in front of your face.
The light turned green, so I wished him good day and started cycling.
The man also wanted to drive off, but he couldn't get the engine going right away. Don’t you hate it when that happens?
It took him half a mile to overtake me and by that point we were strangers again.
It struck me that I had experienced two half-scenes, which together formed a kind of whole. And, if only for my own peace of mind, I was glad I wasn't in the screaming scene today, because I have been known to play those roles as well: both the yeller and the yelled at.
Extras is part of my upcoming Collected Short Stories about Film, Movies & Cinema (2023).