Layne's Knight in Shining Armor
A Jon Story
It was busy at the market… busier than normal. Usually Layne and I went to the market in the mornings and got the bread, vegetables, and other fresh food we needed for the next few days. This day we went in the afternoon and we could tell the difference.
It’s a sad problem to have but Menongue, Angola has a large problem with alcohol. Small, roadside shops or tents sell whisky in small plastic sachets, much like the ketchup you get at a fast food restaurant but about 5 times bigger. They are an extremely cheap way to get very drunk, very fast.
By 4 in the afternoon on this particular day a good guess would say about 1 in 6 people at the market were stone cold drunk.
In the market you have to weave your way through the small tables and booths where people sell their items and Layne and I were heading to the vegetable section, about 4 or 5 rows back from the dirt road that you drive to get there. As we walked between the booths, men began to notice us and, as there were many drunk men, they noticed Layne more.
I was instantly on the alert for any brave/stupid guys who might be willing to try something.
As we made our way back towards the vegetables one man in particular tried to get Layne’s attention. As we walked by he tried to grab her shoulder to get her to talk to him but we moved along and he ended up getting my shoulder/back instead. I put myself in between him and my wife and she seemed to take little or no notice of the commotion she caused as we passed this clearly (both by site and by smell) inebriated man. We’ll call him “Chauncey”.
We arrived at the vegetable area and Layne began talking to the women who sell them. She seemed unaware of the commotion behind us and was asking prices on tomatoes, onions, green peppers and more.
Chauncey, who seemed so eager to talk earlier had apparently made up his mind that he would have a word with this pretty girl who had ignored him on her way in and he had followed us to the vegetable area. Layne, still unaware of his attention, continued to talk to these kind, vegetable-selling ladies. I noticed quickly that Chauncey wanted a word with my wife and moved beside him attempting to divert his attention. He wanted little to do with me and, again, reached for my wife’s shoulder. I moved my hand out to intercept his, still trying to divert his attention to myself.
Layne, blissfully unaware of any of the activity behind her, bent down to closer inspect some, maybe a little too ripe, tomatoes.
Chauncey’s hand changed direction and headed south.
Warning bells exploded in my head and, with my already outstretched hand I shoved him in the chest to keep him away from my wife.
A confused, angry look appeared on Chauncey’s face and he looked at me and began stepping back towards me.
Before I really new what to think, both hands came up and connected.
Hard.
Chauncey went stumbling back holding his chest. Chauncey lost the confused, angry look and his bleary eyes took on a new look.
He was scared.
I stepped forward and put my face a few inches from his.
“NÃO TOCA ELA!” I yelled. “ENTENDES???” (Translated, “DON’T TOUCH HER! UNDERSTAND?”)
“Sim, sim.” Chauncey replied quickly. “Entendo. Entendo.”
I turned back around to see if Layne would be traumatized or hurt or proud or anything, only to find her still bent over, inspecting tomatoes. She had not heard, or noticed nothing. Apparently she had been completely wrapped up in her incredibly important tomato purchase the whole time. Standing back up, she looked at me and smiled and moved on to the onions, an even more formidable buy. I asked her if she had noticed me defending her honor (not to mention her backside) and she gave me a puzzled look. “What?” She asked.
“Nothing, forget about it.” I replied.
But this was one of those events in a young husband’s life that is not easily forgotten. After leaving the market I regaled her with stories of my bravery and ferocity in the face of drunken lechery, and gave her vow upon vow that I would do it a hundred times more.
Because, honestly, there isn’t much that pumps up a young husband as getting to deck a drunk guy who’s leering and reaching for his wife.
At Layne’s urging, we made greater effort to go to the market in the morning after that. I was both glad and a bit disappointed that we would probably not be encountering any more drunkies at the market. There was a little bit in me that still wanted to thump some heads.