To Steal can be a Good Thing
By Mary Howard
From the diary of Echo, a serving girl in Andril.
I can still remember how it looked when I left. The old farm house with paint that at one point may have been red but had turned a gray brown. The barn that was in the same condition, looking strangely lonely without the friendly light normally in the door for the animals; the fields on the brink of harvest bright with the gold of ripe wheat; the sunset giving everything an ethereal light; my parents' graves lying beside the house, reminding me that there was no one to care for me.
Just three weeks before I was my parents' little Echo. With my brown hair and startling blue eyes, I knew I would have no trouble attracting a boy at the village dances in the summer, where all the seventeen-year-olds gathered to pair off. My mother, Jumana, would work in the house cooking and cleaning while my father, Tekoa, and I would work in the fields together, since my father had no sons to help him. But then they died of the White Pox, a disease that has been spreading, slowly but fatally, through the country. Soon after I decided to leave for the city and leave the sadness behind me.
Well, so much for that great idea.
There I was, with out any work, several superficial injures from being beaten up and all of my carefully hoarded money stolen. In the Lower City of Andril, also known to those who live there as The Pit, gangs rule. They decide whether or not a new stall in the market place will stay up and whether or not the life of a new person will be pleasant or a nightmare. Apparently, I managed to get on the bad side of one of them (if they even had a good side to be on), by running into their leader.They made sure I could not find any work on my first day in the city, then attacked me and took all the money I was planning on using to pay for food and lodging until I found work. I needed to move from that dank alley way or they might have come back for more (not that there was any more to take).
I stood up and walked out of the alley way and looked to see if anyone was out. Luckily, the gang that attacked me had left and the only people in sight were beggars sleeping in doorways and the entrances of the alleys. It seemed that I walked for an eternity but it must have only been an hour or so until I came upon a likely looking spot to hunker down for the night.
Three days later I still hadn't found a job. Sitting on the edge of the market near the food stalls, all I could think of was eating. The lovely smells of frying meat and cooking pasties wafted over to me like a heady perfume. My mouth watered for just a single bite of dough or meat. Then a risky idea came to mind. I could just take it. My rational side reemerged and tried to beat back the idea but my stomach was much louder than any reasoning against stealing that I could come up with.
I looked for the most crowded stall, thinking that the more people crowding around the less likely my thievery would be noticed. I stole up to the stall while the woman watching it was occupied with a customer and reached out and grabbed the first thing my hands found. As I walked slowly away, my heart beating a tattoo in my chest, I stuffed the pasty into the pockets of my trousers.
As soon as I was out of sight of the stall I broke into a run and went to my little hidey hole. I moved out of the alley to a safer place, away from the gangs. I found a little forgotten garden in the back of several abandoned houses and made my self a small lean-to against the side of one of them out of fallen branches and wood from the surrounding houses. Here, I dug my catch out of my pocket and devoured it. After three days with out a single bite to eat, the savory flavor of a meat and herb pasty burst over my tongue, seemingly more delicious than any food I had ever put into my mouth. After that fortifying meal, I found a new energy I didn't know I had.
I returned to the market, intent on asking every vendor (except the one I stole from) if they had any work for me. My first stop was a crafts table selling gloves and scarves.
"Hello, how are you on this fine spring day?" I asked the woman.
"What do you want?" the woman growled at me. I couldn't help but think I would not enjoy working for this woman.
"I was wondering if you needed help at this stall and would be willing to give me work." I tried to look as willing and eager to work as possible.
"I don't have time for uppity little girls, go bother someone else!" I could tell that trying to reason with her would not help me and walked away with my head down.
The rest of the day went along the same lines, me trying my best to be polite and seem eager and willing and the stall owners turning me away time and time again. The only difference in each was the way I was turned down. At some stalls, the owner was kind and would apologize for not being able to help me. At others, they all but chased me away. The next day went the same way.
By the third day of disappointments, I was not only disheartened but also extremely hungry again. I knew that at this rate the only way to gain sustenance was to steal yet again. This time I targeted a stall at the opposite end from the stall I had robbed the last time. As I reached out my hand for the pasty in front of me, I saw out of the corner of my eye the leader of the gang who had robbed me. Quickly I grabbed the pasty and ran for all I was worth but the miserable little snitch yelled out, "Thief, thief".
. Now I was in trouble. I could hear the guards running after me and my chest was starting to hurt. Running past an alley I tripped over something and fell to the ground. Turning around I saw that it was the boot of a guard. I tried to scramble to my feet but was forced back down to the ground and my hands were bound with leather thongs.
"That's her! That's the girl that stole the pasty," the boy told the guard who was holding me. I knew that I would be taken to court and faced work in a chain gang in the country, building roads or fortresses. Trembling, I was put into a wagon and driven to the holding cells for the court.
That night was the longest night of my life. I dreaded going to court the next day and the punishment I would receive. While I sat there I noticed things about my cell. Hundreds of names were carved into the wall by previous tenants. I wanted to add my name but anything sharp that would have cut into the wall was confiscated by the guards upon my arrival to the cells. There was also a small dribble of water running down the wall, looking like a miniature river or waterfall. I could hear the cries of the other prisoners and wished that the sun would rise early.
When the sun did finally rise I learned that my time in court wasn't until that evening, the last appointment of the day. While I waited I was given some bread to eat. Then time decided to speed along, rushing me to my doom. Sitting there watching as one prisoner after another went into the court and came out, some with bright, happy faces but most looking sorrowful.
"Come on girly, you're next," a guard said to me. I stood up and walked slowly over to the door.
"What's your name, girl?" the guard asked me.
"Echo."
As the door opened the guard called out, "Echo, for stealing from a market stall". The guard pushed me in and a second guard grabbed my arm when I stumbled, walking me over to a chair set up for the prisoners. On the other side of the court room I could see the owner of the stall that I had stolen from, looking at me as if I was a worm under his boot. Looking up I could see the magistrate, with his robes of office and the gavel he used to call the court to order and when he gave out a sentence.
After the court was called to order the magistrate called, "Echo, please approach the bench", in a stern voice. I stood and walked slowly to the bench. "Please tell the court of the circumstances of the thievery, Echo," said the magistrate.
As I started my tale I could see that many did not believe me. But by the end there was not a dry eye in the court room and even the stern magistrate looked damp.
"I know what I did was wrong, but please, please understand why I needed to steal. Please take the circumstances into consideration", I begged the magistrate. Even though he seemed to be empathetic while I was speaking, as I looked at him he was as stern and unmoving as ever.
The bailiff called, "The court is in recess." The magistrate walked out to decide the verdict and the punishment that might be needed. As I sat there waiting for the magistrate to return all I could do was think about what my parents would think if they could see me now. I worried about what punishment I would receive. And I hoped that the magistrate wouldn't be too harsh with me.
"Please rise, the court is now in session." This call made my heart race in my chest. The magistrate walked in and motioned for everyone except me and the owner of the stall to sit down.
"Echo, I must say the law is not very lenient for those who steal. But your story is exceptional. I have decided that you are guilty of stealing. As punishment for your crime you will work in the kitchens of my home as a bond servant for two years." The magistrate smiled at me as he said this. My first feeling was that of relief. The second, elation.
"Thank you, sir! Thank you!" I called. I was going to be fed and housed for two years and I would most likely be taken into the household as a regular servant after that term. I was going to be alright.