How lonely I was as a young lad! I was born in a corner house, part of which looked over the main road of our town; the other, along a narrow, winding street that reeked of bad smells and worse reputation. The main road was wide, flanked on one side with poplar trees that often swayed as great gusts of winds hurtled through terrible storms during the winter and wrought havoc across the countryside. Otherwise it was well frequented by the self-proclaimed high-class people of the town. However the road did not interest me so much.

I was more concerned with the winding street, which strangely enough was named Strait Street. Very few people dared enter the street in broad daylight. During the day, police were known to patrol and look out for loiterers, drug traffickers and other criminals best not mentioned, but as night approached very few sensible people ventured in there, whilst the police developed nocturnal myopia.

The temptation to loiter in there myself was always there but mother would have had a fit and I certainly did not want to be the cause of her premature death. As always she was a very proud woman. Nothing should happen in her household that might tarnish her reputation. Even when her husband left her, some twenty-five years back, she faced the town people fearlessly and proudly. She kept up appearances and found work in a hospital near-by. Often I wished I would hear the last of this bragging about hardships, and honour, but it was her pet subject and remained so till the day she died.

I should not complain. She raised me properly, gave me the schooling she could ill-afford and got the satisfaction when I became a lawyer.

"You are like your father, knowledgeable and a good businessman," she would boast. This confused me she since she often referred to him in public as a ne'er-do-well and best forgotten. Nowhere in our house would you find a photo of her husband, or of her wedding day.

Hence I shall never forget the day when I entered the kitchen and found her angrily pounding pieces of octopus.

"Looking at those evil girls, again, Mark?"

"They are good clients and pay promptly, not like some of your friends!"

Mother was never easily perturbed. "I have never known a gentleman pay his debts immediately. It's....indecent!" Typical of her she quickly changed the subject. "Your father is coming to visit."

Nothing could have wiped off the smirk on my face except that piece of information. I hated my father! Not only for what he did to my mother, but for what he did to me. I was well looked after by my mother but I lacked the roughness of a father.

"What is he coming here for? He's not wanted!"

"He will come as a friend. No one really knows him. And no one is to know! Even you do not know him. But he wishes to meet you. It is his wish and I respect it. And you will show him respect for he is your father, whether you like it or not."

I almost blew my top off. His wishes! Mother's respect! Where was her contempt now? And what about my wishes and my contempt! I strode out of the room slamming the door behind me. I had lost all appetite.

It was true I never knew my father, considering I never saw his photo, but mother was never tactful. She could have introduced him as a friend of hers. Why insist that I should recognise him as my father? Why should he want to know me? What right had he to want to know me? Without a word, I left the house and hastened towards the open countryside, where I could vent my anger alone.

Just outside our town was a hill of rough stones and bounders. It had no proper pathway and its ascent was hard. It was a habit of mine to attempt such a climb every time things went wrong. Perhaps it was a sort of redemption of my failings or a purification of my emotions; I could not pinpoint exactly what, but it bothered me, for I had a logical mind and wanted to know the why and wherefore of life's complications. Once I reached the top, I would sit down, and dwell on the view below me. Down in the valley, humanity was there, drifting along, trying to make the best of things in adverse circumstances. Time passed without awareness until I felt stiff. Then I would climb down the hill, a feat more difficult than going up. By the time I arrived at the foot of the hill, my feet would be sore and my clothes dirty. Things had not improved since my last climb, except that now I was faced with this visit of my father. I wondered how it would end and especially how it was going to affect my future life. So I sat on a flat stone, my back against a hard granite boulder, thinking things out. Finally the wind grew cold and thunderclouds gathered above. I scampered down the hill as best as I could.

Dora was waiting for me. She had seen me go up and, very much perplexed, waited for my return. She was not much to look at. She chewed on her gum and pushed back her tangled yellowish hair, a feat that was really futile since her curls would never stay in place. Add to that some horrible make-up and the picture was not very attractive. Dora would never win a beauty contest though I was sure that with a little effort she could become presentable.

"Well, Dora! Have you considered what I suggested?"

"Yes, Mark, but I cannot understand why you picked on me. There are several on the beat like me."

"Listen Dora, you are fairly new and I can see you do not really enjoy it."

"It's a job."

"I wish you could tell me why you left home." As usual she remained mulishly silent. "Very well. However you can pull out of it. Soliciting is illegal and dangerous. You can get seriously hurt. You'll be put on drugs. And you can die. You have a chance, the others...I doubt if they do."

"Shouldn't everyone get a chance in life?"

I was not a charitable institution. Frankly I did not know why I wanted to help Dora. I was prepared to give her a little money, put her on a bus, and send her as far away as possible to a nursing home where strong young women were needed. Dora could go there provided she bought some clothes and spent some money at a hairdresser. She could take it or lump it. Besides I was not in a mood to argue. It was already dangerous for me to help her.

"You know, I could take your money and do nothing of what you suggest." I shrugged, prepared to take the calculated risk. "Don't worry, the first time you will need me in court, it will cost you double."

She accepted my offer and left. I took some time before I returned home. I was still astonished with my gesture, wondering if I did what I did to spite a certain pimp or to really help Dora. And what would mother have made out of it? Yet I knew I was never going to tell her anything about it.

When I finally returned home it seemed as if the house was empty. It was only when I entered the sitting room that I found a man talking in a low voice to my mother. I stopped at the door fighting down the urge to turn back and escape back to my hilltop.

"Hello, Mark." The voice was soft, gentle and cajoling. He did not stand up nor did he proffer his hand for a friendly shake. It was as if we had always been friends. However, I was not in a mood to co-operate. I sat down on a sofa and immediately thought of Dora and her reticence over her family affairs. Was I as stubborn as Dora? I shook my head discarding the idea.

"Mark, why are you shaking your head?" Mother's voice was severe. Somehow I managed to smile.

"Are you a psychologist?" I asked the man.

"No, gynaecologist"

"Do you know what mother calls you: a ne'er-do-well and best forgotten and that you never earned a decent salary. Congratulations mother!"

The man was not surprised. Mother remained calm. "There are things I have always been afraid to tell you. He is not my husband. None-the-less he is your father!"

Suddenly I felt so disgusted I intended to put her in her place. With all the sarcasm I could muster I asked: "Am I a love child, like those in our Strait Street?"

Mother was not easily perturbed, but it was the man who spoke up again. Even as he spoke I realised I was not as stubborn as I thought I was. As a lawyer I could understand extenuating circumstances and that guilt is not easily attributed to persons for actions that happen during a crisis. Other people would have had other reactions. Yet I had a logical mind and I did want to understand people such as my father, my mother and especially Dora.

"You're no illegitimate son of mine, Mark. Although you're a part of me, whether you like it or not. I respected your mother and I accepted you as my responsibility. However it is only right that you should know. You're the result of my first successes at genetic manipulation. And I'm proud of my result no matter what others say about it!"