Highly Commended - Short Story Competition 2012

"Mighty Big Job" by David C Ellis

The day Mighty Sparrow came upon that enormous low-loader parked on double yellow lines marked the end of his life as a traffic warden and the discovery of his true vocation.

Mighty started out as Stanley Sparrow and only acquired his enduring name during his school days. Despite his efforts to stretch himself out longer and his mother's regular dollops of porridge, he remained physically small for his age but retained, in his own eyes, monumental potential. The sight of the low-loader abandoned on double yellow lines aroused within Mighty the same kind of euphoric joy which causes a premiership goal scorer to bare his chest and skid to his knees. Mighty expressed his emotions more subtly. His dark glasses obscured a brightening of the eyes but the discerning bystander might have noticed the gambolling of a smirk.

He walked all round the vehicle, pad and pen poised. It was carrying a huge brown container, but the driver was absent. Traffic was building up behind it - his first duty was traffic control. The arm-work always afforded him great satisfaction - that sheer power of stopping and starting the heart of the city and relishing the writhing tide of impatience. After some minutes the driver turned up. He was one huge giant of a Sikh, dressed in a voluminous boiler suit, with a red turban crowning a bushy black beard. He introduced himself as Zorawar Singh.

"Good afternoon, sahib," he said with a slight bow. "You are big boss traffic man?"

"Warden is the word you need," snapped Mighty, continuing to direct the traffic.

"You have big power job, sahib, but very bad pay."

"Are you aware, Mr Singh, that the law of this land decrees that a vehicle may not be brought to rest and abandoned where double yellow lines are in evidence?" said Mighty, not deflected.

"What I am meaning, sahib, is that I give big boss man like you big job and very big pay."

"Listen," barked Mighty, turning momentarily from his task and addressing his colossal protagonist close-up at belly-button level, "either you remove this obstruction or face the imposition of a penalty."

"No, no, please, sahib," said Mr Singh calmly. "No need big fusspot. Belinda is needing drink so she is saying stop here."

"I take it you mean your alcoholic wife," said Mighty with masterly rudeness.

At this Zorawar Singh roared with laughter as only a bearded giant can. He went right down to his toes and all the way up again, lifting his hands high as though to expel every last vestige of mirth.

"Belinda is my lady?" he said, setting his hands on Mighty's shoulders. "Oh, sahib, you are also big, funny fellow! Belinda is my lady? Oh, yes, sahib, you are right! Belinda is my very big, fat lady!" And he went through the same ritual of hilarity all over again. "Belinda, sahib," he added more soberly "is my elephant!"

At this point, amidst a crescendo of honking from impatient motorists, Mighty peered about him, convinced that this must be a "Game for a Laugh" TV stunt and that Jeremy Beadle's ghost would emerge from the gathering crowd to end his nightmare. But his hopes were disappointed.

"Sorry, sahib," said Mr Singh, "I explain. Belinda is in big, brown box. I take her to zoo, but today very hot, sahib. So Belinda say to Zorawar, she say, "Drink! Drink water. I need!"

"Does this flaming elephant of yours talk?" bellowed Mighty. And as though to answer him a mighty trumpeting came from the container, causing the onlookers to fall back and rear bumpers to crunch front ones.

"Yes, yes, sahib, Belinda talk in special way. When Belinda very hot she swing big belly this way and that way, and if Zorawar not stopping, then everything go roly-poly, big bang wallop! If I stop, she happy. If I go long way she very big monkey. You understand, sahib?"

"And what in the name of thunder do you propose to do about it?" yelled Mighty on tiptoe, aware that in the eyes of the crowd he was already considerably upstaged.

"What I do, I do already, sahib. No problem. I telephone fire people and I say, 'Come bring big water thing to flower park because here very busy, very dangerous,' sahib. And when I see big boss man here I say, 'Glory be! Big boss man walk Belinda to park and Zorawar drive lorry up back.' "

"Hang on a minute," said Mighty disbelievingly, "have I got this right, Mr Singh? You expect me to walk your elephant to the park while you bring your lorry along behind?"

"Yes, exactly, sahib. You have hit big nail on head! Belinda respect boss man. I very sure. Big boss man say to Belinda no hanky-panky and Belinda make no monkey!"

Even as he was speaking Mr. Singh loosed the bolts on the container, let down the backboard ramp and out plodded a very large Indian elephant, which then stood obediently awaiting instructions. At the same time a new light of revelation was dawning in the mind of Mighty Sparrow. Of his ability to command Belinda he entertained no doubt whatsoever. This was probably his biggest job yet - certainly as a traffic warden. The crowd was hanging on his decision. To chicken out would be unthinkable.

"Do I need a rope, or something?" he enquired more meekly.

"No, no, sahib, no rope. Because if rope, Belinda give very small tug and big boss man going aeroplane over roofs and mountains. Sahib walk and Belinda follow. Sahib say 'come' and 'stop' and Belinda no monkey business! No problem. Zorawar, he come behind slowly, slowly." With that Mr Singh bolted up the container, hoisted himself into the cab and started the engine.

Drawing himself up to his full five foot two and adjusting his Hitlerite cap, Mighty addressed Belinda with the single word, "Come!" And having observed her put an enormous best foot forward, he set off with fixed resolve, instinctively adopting the goosestep. Gleefully the crowd took up the pursuit, multiplying in curiosity and numbers as it progressed.

When the procession reached the park, sure enough the Fire Brigade was ready with the water tender. Belinda stopped, let out an enormous trumpeting, pawed the ground and dipped her trunk into the tank. She sucked in several gallons to repeated applause, intermittently dowsing herself all over. Then she paused. She shifted her small eyes to left and right and, having immersed her trunk for a final time, she held her nozzle poised directly over the traffic warden's head. The crowd drew in a communal breath in anticipation of a deeply satisfying and gleeful recompense for every parking ticket ever slapped on a windscreen. A palpable hush came over the whole city. The earth paused in its diurnal round. But it was not to be.

"Quick, sahib!" said Mr.Singh who had alighted from his cab. "Very important, sahib. You say, not me say, 'No, Belinda! Big fat, naughty lady, no!' "

With all the authority self-nurtured in the core of his being from the age of six, Mighty thundered, 'No!' And slowly Belinda changed from blow to suck, gulped down her final fill and decidedly winked. The applause was somewhat tempered by disappointment. The traffic warden removed his dark glasses, mopped his brow and for the first time that he or anybody else in the city could remember he grinned with genuine pleasure from ear to ear.

Mr Singh shook Mighty by the hand so vigorously that the feet of authority periodically left the ground.

"Oh, you mighty big boss man!" he said. "I am knowing when I am seeing you, you are big power. But people persons for you no good! People persons stupid! For boss man I have animal persons - plenty big animals in zoo. They give boss man no monkey. And pay? Pay very good, very big, not like traffic job. Sahib, you come with me to zoo and Zorawar give you mighty big job."

"That's my name!" beamed Mighty, truly radiant now.

"Your name, sahib?"

"Everybody calls me Mighty Sparrow," said the proud little man.

"Oh, sahib," said the big Sikh, "I am knowing it! Your name is coming from Big Spirit power!" And the traffic warden was completely swallowed up in an enormous Indian bear hug.

"Do you imply, Mr Singh, that there is definitely a job waiting for me at your zoo?"

"Definitely, sahib, definitely! Zorawar is promising. Elephant man never forgetting!" he beamed.

"And would I be working with elephants?" Mighty enquired, relishing the thought as though he were sipping a vintage claret.

"Elephants? For you I think maybe . . . lions!"

"Lions!" whooped Mighty Sparrow, sending his cap flying skywards with one hand and carefully catching it with the other. His occupation might be about to change, but what made him immutably mighty . . . well, that never would.

The End