The Real Man

A friend told me. Following her words.

I sit with my wife and son in the cafe. My son 3 years. I drink a cocktail.
At the neighboring table sits a dumb black man, gracefully pulls wine, and looks around for the subject of whom to remove. He notices a company of five girls at the neighboring table, and begins to make a big call to acquaintance. They cut it off quickly, they are so fun. Then he turns to us.
Which name to call? Am I able to wipe up?
We didn’t have time to say a word.
The son comes out of his place, puts his hands on his sides, and so says:
Go home to home!!! to
The Negro is stuck in stupor, small, seeing that he is not fully understood, approaches me, puts his hand on his shoulder and says:
Mother is mine!! to
Following a friend:
Natasha is mine too!! And you go home!! to
The black man turns back to another company. But it was not here. The child walks to them:
That aunt is mine too. And this! And this! You go home!! to
has gone.
The broken girls fed the "defender" with sweets, but the story did not end there.
A couple of weeks later, we rest with the same girlfriend on the beach and see the same Negro. With a cheerful smile he goes to us.
And here from the bushes comes the son. With a sock in hand. He is silent, but looks at him horribly.
I understand. I am going home, the Negro sorrowfully breathes out and leaves.