It lumbered and heaved in the dark, the large prize glistening softly. Surely such a shiny object would produce a prettier impression, but one would be disappointed. It hardly caused an impact; rather, it went up and down, much like the rest of his skin, as the heavy, warm air made its way into his mouth.
Mamadou watched in wonder. He looked, then, at his father, who was much more serious. Serious like he usually was. The seriousness he exhibited just as he got home and threw his heavy, tattered coat on the family chair, while Mamadou’s mother warbled her singsongy Peul melodies in the kitchen, the smell of mangoes and curry dousing the furniture and fabric. He could hear the songs now, in the calm air of that night.
He knew not then, of course, that he was never returning home or seeing his father. He had no way of knowing and, besided, he was busy looking at the Beast.
-Shoot - said his father, his voice hoarse - Before he gets away.
Thaddeus grumbled, and produced three tiny copper coins from his pocket. They rolled into her hand, the product of three good days of labor. The woman acquiesced; when she looked at him again, her eyes had changed color yet again, to a vivid green.
‘Did you see that?’, said Solkov, his voice booming, his skin flushed.
‘You’re drunk’, answered Thaddeus, feeling bothered.
'One being true does not mean the other is a lie", said Solkov. ‘You saw the same as me. You saw her eyes. The mark of the Elohim. The stories were real all along!’
‘Careful’, said Thaddeus. The street was crowded, pulsing with people, and Thaddeus knew being too loud brought attention. He held the pouch tightly against his breast pocket.
Thaddeus thought a good deal about those coins. Matilda would have to go hungry that night, and maybe the next one too. But in time, that wouldn’t matter. Not when he could see the future. Hell, he could see it now. He could see the amazing banquet he would lay before her for her birthday.