The station was clogged with people and hundreds more were streaming in. Every time a train arrived, the mass of people pushed and shoved to get onto the train, which departed with commuters hanging out of the doors and windows.

Suddenly a shout went up: “Oh my God! My child … she’s fallen onto the tracks … someone help … please!”

A train was pulling into the station and the people were shocked into immobility. It was the old man, pleading and shoving his way to the front, but he was making no headway. The schoolgirl with the grey-green eyes and flowing hair was lying on the tracks, scared out of her wits and unable to move.

Then it happened … a man jumped up onto the people’s shoulders, simply walked over them towards the line, and launched himself in a headlong leap onto the tracks. It was The Creep.

He landed on his feet like a cat, scooped up the girl in one smooth movement and jumped onto the opposite platform. The train rumbled over the spot where the girl had been, moments before. A loud cheer went up from the crowd. When the train departed, only the shocked, forlorn figure of the girl was on the opposite platform. The Creep was gone…

“What happened to the man who saved you?” the father inquired of the girl.

“He left Pa.”

“Didn’t he say anything?”

“Yes, he patted me on the head and said, ‘Keep smiling kid’ and then he left,” she said.

“We’ve got to find him, to thank him for saving your life.”

*****

The next day the weather had cleared.

Promptly at eight, the Mercedes stopped at the station. The old man got out and scanned the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had saved his youngest daughter’s life. He was out of luck. He went down the subway to the other side of the station where fruit and vegetable hawkers were decorating their stalls. He approached a one-legged hawker who was rubbing a red apple until it shone.

“Mister, can you tell me where I can find a tall guy with a leather jacket with the name ‘The Creep’ on the back?”

“The Creep?” The man spat into the gutter, without looking up. “You stay away from him pops. He’s bad news,” the one-legged man said.

“You don’t understand … yesterday he saved my daughter from certain death.”

“So? Be thankful for small mercies pops. He’s a no-good button head, strutting up and down, walking over people ever since he came out of prison. He doesn’t want to work. He just comes here, leans over your stall and looks at you with his death-cell eyes … and you give. He’s weird and he gives me the creeps. But sooner or later somebody is going to scrape up enough guts to blow his brains out.”

The old man winced at the venom in the hawker’s voice. “That bad, huh?”

“If I were you, I would walk away”.

“But I’ve still got to thank him”, the father insisted.

The hawker looked at him, flabbergasted. “Okay popsie, it’s your funeral and I’ll eat a flower at your grave.” He pointed with his crutch. “You see that mosque over there? On the other side you will find an alley running alongside it. Maybe you will find him there.”

The hawker’s eyes followed the old man, as he walked in the direction of the mosque. The hawker just shook his head.

***

Tell us what you think: Is the father being foolish, or honourable?