-Rubi Linda-Tolibas
I've been staring at the frail young boy for sometime and he seemed to be in deep thought. His eyes were focused on one particular spot - the wide and bustling streets in front of him.
His dirty shirt is obviously too big for him, but for a street child, that will do. He just sat there, face rested in his palm.
"What are you thinking of, boy?", I asked, realizing the question was a ploy to catch his attention. I guess begging could be a lonely job, one beggar could use company - even that of a boy.
He turned to me and his face glowed, forcing a smile. "Nothing really. I'm just trying to find the right moment to cross he street".
Cross what?! For a boy of his age, the street really looks scary with all those big cars and trucks. Being run over is not a happy thought.
"But you could use the pedestrian lane over there", as I pointed the nearest one which is a bit farther especially for him With his young legs, it would take him longer.
"Nah! That's too far, sir. My mother and I used to walk there, but now I'm alone. I can cross anywhere." His eyes shot back at the street, and then in a near whisper, "I'll manage..."
I was touched. This child is no ordinary one. His face a picture of innocence and confusion. "Would you like me to go with you there? Don't be ashamed to say so", I offered.
He eyed me from head to... knee. With pity in his eyes, he said, "But you can't. I mean..."
"My legs. They to be cut off or I'd die. I met an accident and this was the result. The cart is now my feet. I roll from one place to another. My hands provide the needed start like the paddle of a canoe".
"I... I'm tired. Really, I just want to cross here". And he stared back at the streets. It was a hot afternoon and people come and go unmindful who beg along the sidewalks. The can I held had only 25 cents in it, not even enough to buy me a dinner.
"What's your name, boy?"
"Jose! But my mother call me the little fool or sometimes... son of a bitch! I don't know anyone with that name, so I think it's quite unique. Don't you think so, sir?"
God knows I wanted to cry and hug that little boy. He had suffered so much. How could someone be so cruel to him? I managed to ask about his mother and visible tears rolled out and raced down his cheeks.
"She... she walked..."
"Where?"
"I don't know. We slept on a bench that night and I... I held her hand, but when I woke up... she..." He wiped the tears off with the back of his hand, and decided not to continue with his story.
"Have you eaten yet?"
He nodded. Hands trembling, he took a crust of bread out of his breast pocket. He laid it out for me.
"So you beg, too?", I asked.
"No, sir! Mother won't approve to that!"
I looked at him with quite a shock. "Then, where did you get that piece of bread? You stole it?"
"God would neither like that. I just asked for it," he sounded very defensive; just like kids do when caught in the actindoing nasty things.
"But asking is just like begging," I told him. But to my dismay, the boy knew the difference. "My mother said begging is bad. It uses irritating ways of asking. When you beg, you insist. But when you ask, you just simply say it. You don't insist on asking over and over again."
"How old are you?"
"Eight."
Here I am, begging all these years, and it took one boy, aged eight, to spell the difference of my job and his. Unfortunately, mine was the wrong one.
"And I worked, too - with my mother," he added. "We collect bottles and sell them." There, I realized that his love for his mother never waned although she deserted him. God forgive such irresponsible woman! Curse her for what she had done to this helpless creature who still worships her without question.
"Would you like to stay with me?"
He answered politely. "Thank you, sir, but I'll have to look for my mother. I know she's just there. Somewhere across the street."
I learned more things about him. But he could no longer remember what happened to his father.
I'm late forties. Handicapped at 17 and a beggar until now. My life started in misery and it looked as if it will end the same way it had been from the beginning. I looked up and sunset was near. Ah - my life had never seen its sunrise. But when I met this boy, I knew dawn is near. Hear is a symbol of hope and courage. The courage to fight back. Similar to his aim to cross the street, life should be seen as an effort to get through a web of challenges where someone awaits you across. For Jose, that somone is his mother. For us, that someone is the one who could lead us to eternity.
"What if you won't find her?"
"Oh, I will," he answered. "I pray to God everytime, and I know He'll let me see her."
"You go to church?"
"Yes! To pray - and sometimes, to eat!"
I don't think churches give away food. "Does the priest give you biscuits?"
"No. He calls it... the Body of Christ. I call it lunch." And he let go of his smile. "If you're hungry, you could live there."
"No, thanks," I laughed and he joined me, the gap between his front teeth looked good on him. He's still cute. The father in me was awakened. I've never known how fathers feel with their children. I could never be one. Buut this boy could charm any father with his wit, innocence and smile.
School children passed by noisily behind us while cars rumbled up along the streets. But neither could disturb our little chat.
"Do you sing?"
"Yup! You want me to?"
"Well, of course! I'd love that."
Then he belted out the undying "Name Game" in full hi-fi stereo.
"Let's try Linda! Nick, Nick... Okay, let's try Larry!..." And he laughed at his performance. We both shared the fun. I cracked a joke. And i regretted it.
"With that voice, you could grow out to be a good boxer."
He stared at me. The smile vanished. His face suddenly forlorn. "Father was a boxer."
He recounted how he saw his father fight and got hit perilously in a boxing bout. "He fell... and was hurt. He was in a hospital later, with... with... crazy people. I don't know why. When I saw him next, he was laughing and crying at the same time."
After that, he told me that he never saw him again.
It was already dark. Time to go. I took the plastic bag with my things. I sleep at the waiting shed at the other end of the street. Once again, I offered my help.
He shook his head. I took out the 25 cents from the can, held his hand, and gave him the only money i had for the day. He seemed reluctant, but he quietly took the money and held it tightly in his hands.
"Will you come and see me again?"
He smiled. "Yes, sir. And I'll bring my mother with me... that is, if I'll find her."
"I'll be waiting young man. Please take care of yourself." I started to move the wooden cart that carried myself and slowly rolled down the busy street. A few meters away, I stopped and looked back. He was still sitting there, arms folded across his chest, and eyes staring at the busy street. And in one swift move, he ran across, shouting... Mother!
"Mother!"
"MOTHER!"
A car's break screeched.
I couldn't move. People screamed and everyone was running towards the boy's direction. Some of them even stumbled on me.
Hours later, when there was anything that moved on the dark street, I was back on the exact place where the boy and I had conversed earlier.
Rain fell. It was midnight. And i was all alone soaked.
Tears mixed with the drops as I stared at the silver coin on the road.
I looked up and let the rain wash my feelings off.
I never felt so alone in my entire life.
But there is one conslation. He finally got himself across.
(one of my favorite short stories)
I've been staring at the frail young boy for sometime and he seemed to be in deep thought. His eyes were focused on one particular spot - the wide and bustling streets in front of him.
His dirty shirt is obviously too big for him, but for a street child, that will do. He just sat there, face rested in his palm.
"What are you thinking of, boy?", I asked, realizing the question was a ploy to catch his attention. I guess begging could be a lonely job, one beggar could use company - even that of a boy.
He turned to me and his face glowed, forcing a smile. "Nothing really. I'm just trying to find the right moment to cross he street".
Cross what?! For a boy of his age, the street really looks scary with all those big cars and trucks. Being run over is not a happy thought.
"But you could use the pedestrian lane over there", as I pointed the nearest one which is a bit farther especially for him With his young legs, it would take him longer.
"Nah! That's too far, sir. My mother and I used to walk there, but now I'm alone. I can cross anywhere." His eyes shot back at the street, and then in a near whisper, "I'll manage..."
I was touched. This child is no ordinary one. His face a picture of innocence and confusion. "Would you like me to go with you there? Don't be ashamed to say so", I offered.
He eyed me from head to... knee. With pity in his eyes, he said, "But you can't. I mean..."
"My legs. They to be cut off or I'd die. I met an accident and this was the result. The cart is now my feet. I roll from one place to another. My hands provide the needed start like the paddle of a canoe".
"I... I'm tired. Really, I just want to cross here". And he stared back at the streets. It was a hot afternoon and people come and go unmindful who beg along the sidewalks. The can I held had only 25 cents in it, not even enough to buy me a dinner.
"What's your name, boy?"
"Jose! But my mother call me the little fool or sometimes... son of a bitch! I don't know anyone with that name, so I think it's quite unique. Don't you think so, sir?"
God knows I wanted to cry and hug that little boy. He had suffered so much. How could someone be so cruel to him? I managed to ask about his mother and visible tears rolled out and raced down his cheeks.
"She... she walked..."
"Where?"
"I don't know. We slept on a bench that night and I... I held her hand, but when I woke up... she..." He wiped the tears off with the back of his hand, and decided not to continue with his story.
"Have you eaten yet?"
He nodded. Hands trembling, he took a crust of bread out of his breast pocket. He laid it out for me.
"So you beg, too?", I asked.
"No, sir! Mother won't approve to that!"
I looked at him with quite a shock. "Then, where did you get that piece of bread? You stole it?"
"God would neither like that. I just asked for it," he sounded very defensive; just like kids do when caught in the actindoing nasty things.
"But asking is just like begging," I told him. But to my dismay, the boy knew the difference. "My mother said begging is bad. It uses irritating ways of asking. When you beg, you insist. But when you ask, you just simply say it. You don't insist on asking over and over again."
"How old are you?"
"Eight."
Here I am, begging all these years, and it took one boy, aged eight, to spell the difference of my job and his. Unfortunately, mine was the wrong one.
"And I worked, too - with my mother," he added. "We collect bottles and sell them." There, I realized that his love for his mother never waned although she deserted him. God forgive such irresponsible woman! Curse her for what she had done to this helpless creature who still worships her without question.
"Would you like to stay with me?"
He answered politely. "Thank you, sir, but I'll have to look for my mother. I know she's just there. Somewhere across the street."
I learned more things about him. But he could no longer remember what happened to his father.
I'm late forties. Handicapped at 17 and a beggar until now. My life started in misery and it looked as if it will end the same way it had been from the beginning. I looked up and sunset was near. Ah - my life had never seen its sunrise. But when I met this boy, I knew dawn is near. Hear is a symbol of hope and courage. The courage to fight back. Similar to his aim to cross the street, life should be seen as an effort to get through a web of challenges where someone awaits you across. For Jose, that somone is his mother. For us, that someone is the one who could lead us to eternity.
"What if you won't find her?"
"Oh, I will," he answered. "I pray to God everytime, and I know He'll let me see her."
"You go to church?"
"Yes! To pray - and sometimes, to eat!"
I don't think churches give away food. "Does the priest give you biscuits?"
"No. He calls it... the Body of Christ. I call it lunch." And he let go of his smile. "If you're hungry, you could live there."
"No, thanks," I laughed and he joined me, the gap between his front teeth looked good on him. He's still cute. The father in me was awakened. I've never known how fathers feel with their children. I could never be one. Buut this boy could charm any father with his wit, innocence and smile.
School children passed by noisily behind us while cars rumbled up along the streets. But neither could disturb our little chat.
"Do you sing?"
"Yup! You want me to?"
"Well, of course! I'd love that."
Then he belted out the undying "Name Game" in full hi-fi stereo.
"Let's try Linda! Nick, Nick... Okay, let's try Larry!..." And he laughed at his performance. We both shared the fun. I cracked a joke. And i regretted it.
"With that voice, you could grow out to be a good boxer."
He stared at me. The smile vanished. His face suddenly forlorn. "Father was a boxer."
He recounted how he saw his father fight and got hit perilously in a boxing bout. "He fell... and was hurt. He was in a hospital later, with... with... crazy people. I don't know why. When I saw him next, he was laughing and crying at the same time."
After that, he told me that he never saw him again.
It was already dark. Time to go. I took the plastic bag with my things. I sleep at the waiting shed at the other end of the street. Once again, I offered my help.
He shook his head. I took out the 25 cents from the can, held his hand, and gave him the only money i had for the day. He seemed reluctant, but he quietly took the money and held it tightly in his hands.
"Will you come and see me again?"
He smiled. "Yes, sir. And I'll bring my mother with me... that is, if I'll find her."
"I'll be waiting young man. Please take care of yourself." I started to move the wooden cart that carried myself and slowly rolled down the busy street. A few meters away, I stopped and looked back. He was still sitting there, arms folded across his chest, and eyes staring at the busy street. And in one swift move, he ran across, shouting... Mother!
"Mother!"
"MOTHER!"
A car's break screeched.
I couldn't move. People screamed and everyone was running towards the boy's direction. Some of them even stumbled on me.
Hours later, when there was anything that moved on the dark street, I was back on the exact place where the boy and I had conversed earlier.
Rain fell. It was midnight. And i was all alone soaked.
Tears mixed with the drops as I stared at the silver coin on the road.
I looked up and let the rain wash my feelings off.
I never felt so alone in my entire life.
But there is one conslation. He finally got himself across.
(one of my favorite short stories)
