Making a living with the innocence of children

Eddie was a special child. One of those people who clearly have something different about them. Perhaps he had a chromosome missing, or a nurse had dropped him on his head when he was born. On the other hand, perhaps he was born of a virgin birth, or he came down from heaven. He was that kind of special too.
He was constantly smiling and seemed to have no iota of shyness about him, despite having at first glance the intelligence of a child. He used children’s words and he seemed to hold beliefs that were fanciful at best, but on further reflection, they carried deep truths.
He visited the bank almost daily, having first struck up a friendship with Samson, the security guard. Then he started coming into the bank itself. He met Yvonne, the customer service co-ordinator, whose job it was to greet anyone who looked like they needed assistance.
Eddie was about 35, with a childlike bowl haircut – the kind his mother might have given him. That first day he stared around the bank, with a mischievous smile and knitted eyebrows, like he was looking for something.
“Can I help you, sir” Yvonne asked.
“Where do you keep the money,” Eddie wanted to know.
It had taken her a while to explain that he couldn’t see the vaults, and secondly, that banks didn’t work with as much physical money as they used to.
“So you don’t have any cash here”
“Some,” Yvonne explained. “But not much. Most people get their cash from the ATMs.”
“So why don’t you put the guards at the ATMs instead of at the banks,” he asked.
Yvonne had to admit he had her there. Why didn’t they?
The next time he was in, he stuck his hand out and tickled her under her armpit until she giggled awkwardly. “That’s better,” he said. “It’s nice to see someone laughing in here. You’d think more people would laugh in banks. They all here to fetch lots of money.”
Yvonne pointed out that a lot of people were there to spend money, so there were sad people too.
“Well then they should spend their money on things that make them happy,” he said.
A couple of days after that, he came in to visit and brought her some flowers that he’d picked for her in the flowerbeds outside. He told her, “Do you know you work in a pyramid?”
She hadn’t understood what he meant, until he took her for a walk to the top of Sandton City during her lunch break and showed her the roof the bank building. It was a perfect, four-sided equilateral pyramid. She did work in a pyramid.
“I think it looks like a church,” said Eddie. “It’s like a church of money.”
The next time he came in, he produced a R5 coin and said he wanted to open an account. Yvonne had to explain to him that the minimum balance for normal savings accounts was R50.
“So if you’re not rich, then you can’t save?” he asked.
She had helped him assemble the R50 in order to teach him the rudiments of saving and interest, then been embarrassed to discover that most of his investment was gobbled up by service charges.
Eddie was crushed to learn that the R50 proceeds of his begging and street hustling had been reduced to a mere R29,64 within a month.
“No wonder the poor people don’t save with you,” he proclaimed angrily, then insisted that his account be closed.
“I think I’ll keep my money in my pocket from now on,” he said, with tears in his eyes.
Shame. To make him feel better, Yvonne introduced him to Mr Smit, the bank manager, and got permission to show him around the vaults.
He was surprised that the wads of banknotes weren’t bigger. “Don’t people need cash any more?” he wanted to know.
Yvonne said that she supposed not.
“So, what’s the most cash that you need?” he asked.
Yvonne smiled fondly at the innocence of his question. “Well, to be honest, Eddie, all you really need is about two hundred rand for petrol… otherwise, most people use bank transfers.”
“Two hundred rand?” Eddie mused. Then his tone changed. “Nah. I think I’ll take the lot.”
He produced a nine-mil handgun and a plastic Checkers bag and told Yvonne, “Now if you don’t mind filling this up for me…”
His childish smile had vanished.