The beggar

In the middle of a bustling market, there was a beggar kneeling in an inconspicuous place on the roadside, and in front of him was a broken bowl. The crowd parted around him as though he was a god or some kind of sacred being. A boy threw down what appeared to be scraps from his plate—a few crumbs mixed with bits of meat. And then someone else dropped something: a little bit more than the size of a penny piece, but not quite large enough for anyone's hand. It fell into the beggar's bowl like a pebble tossed by God himself onto the earth. The people who had been watching moved away slowly until they were out of sight behind the stalls along the edge of the square where it met the main thoroughfare through town. Then those who remained looked at each other wonderingly. One woman said she thought her child would have liked to give that last scrap to the poor fellow if he hadn't already eaten it all. Another person remarked that perhaps the beggar was just waiting for another gift to come tumbling in before he ate again. Some people laughed, others shook their heads sadly.

But more often than not he was ignored by all, no one stopped, no one paid attention, as if he didn't even exist there. People walked quickly past him, avoiding eye contact, afraid of catching whatever disease he carried. They hurried toward wherever they needed to go, and when he called them over, asking for alms, most pretended not to hear him, while some gave him nothing. Sometimes he begged on the sidewalk near a store window that displayed beautiful clothes, hats, shoes, gloves, scarves, and jewelry because it seemed to him that rich men must surely carry coins about in pockets or purses. Other times, however, he simply sat alone on a bench outside a temple, where parishioners entered and exited without giving anything. In fact, many avoided looking directly at him altogether, although once they might pause momentarily, pretending not to see him.

It wasn't long before Hobb became accustomed to these reactions. His body was thin and weak, and his face was drawn with pain. There were days when he couldn't move from the spot where he'd set himself up to beg. He felt cold inside, as if his soul had frozen solid, and every breath hurt. When he tried to speak, his voice came out hoarse, harsh, almost unrecognizable. He wanted to shout, scream, cry, curse, swear, plead, weep, but somehow found he could say only words such as please, thank you, excuse me, I'm sorry, pardon my manners, hello, how are you today?

His hair was matted and greasy. His beard had grown wild, unkempt. He wore old torn clothing which was dirty, stained, patched here and there, ripped, faded, frayed, worn out, threadbare. Many passersby took notice of him, especially children who giggled, pointing fingers and whispering to one another. Older boys shouted at him, calling him names like a cripple, beggar, and idiot. On rainy days they kicked at him, pelted him with stones, punched him hard in the ribs, made fun of his limp, and hurled insults. Once, when he was sitting quietly, staring ahead blankly, a group of young thugs surrounded him, laughing loudly, kicking his legs, poking him with sticks. One grabbed hold of the end of his stick and used it to prod him in the groin. Others jeered and pushed him around. Eventually, the bullies ran off. Afterward, hobbling painfully, he disappeared, and no one knew where he went until several days later, he returned to the same spot, and kneeled there silently, leaning against his cane, waiting patiently. Soon he saw a small girl approaching with a basket full of apples, and he watched her carefully, knowing she'd probably throw them away rather than share them with him. He held up his empty hands, and cried aloud, —Please! Please! Help me! The child paused, turned her head slightly, stared straight at him, and asked her father, —Daddy, is that man really sick?

He nodded yes.

She handed him an apple and continued on her way. Her mother noticed too late and rushed after her daughter shouting, —You shouldn't have given the apples away. Strangely enough, the hungry beggar did not eat the apple but carefully put it away.

In addition to his dirty appearance, he also walked in a strange manner, stooped forward, dragging his leg behind him. Children sometimes chased him, yelling obscenities, throwing rocks, and spitting on him. Men cursed him, spat upon him, hit him with clubs, kicked him, beat him. Women shooed him away from their shops, yelled at him, and called him names. Yet he never retaliated. He always kept his silence. If he spoke, it was usually to ask for help, to request charity, or to express gratitude. Often, he sat on the steps of the temple, holding his head in both hands, crying softly, tears running freely down his cheeks, yet refusing to raise his eyes heavenward. Occasionally, he wandered aimlessly, lost in thought, ignoring everything except the sound of his own breathing. At night he lay on a bench under an alleyway bridge, curled up tightly, sleeping fitfully. He woke frequently during the hours between midnight and dawn, trembling, unable to get back to sleep, and then he rose, walking listlessly about, searching for somewhere safe to rest, finally finding shelter among piles of rubbish, beneath the eaves of buildings, in abandoned warehouses, in dark corners, under bridges, or beside the riverbank, where he slept in the open air.

Besides the bustling market, the place he visited most was the back door of the restaurants, because there were big garbage cans there, and if he was lucky, he could find the leftovers of the customers. More often, however, he scavenged in the streets, rummaging through bins, taking advantage of discarded items. He lived day by day, eating scraps of leftover fish, and fruit that had fallen to the ground, and drinking water from puddles, rivers, lakes, and streams.

His favorite place was the town's only brothel because he always found surprises in the garbage cans outside its walls. Although he seldom stayed overnight anywhere, he spent much time there and was known to everyone who worked in the house. The customers there always seemed to order a lot of expensive wine and meals, but they didn't seem to be very interested in food, so he could sometimes even find half a chicken, several potatoes cooked with onions and garlic, and slices of fruit. He devoured them hungrily whenever he happened across any such bounty.

That night, there were no pedestrians in town, and many families had gone to bed early. But the beggar had been limping to the edge of the town, he walked very slowly. As usual, he passed through the center of town, going north, toward the mountains, stopping briefly now and then to look into shop windows, to watch people coming and going. He glanced into the graveyard where the tombstones stood tall and proud, silent witnesses to the passing years.

He felt very content today: he found himself a delicious meal in the garbage today and filled his stomach; besides that, a cute little girl gave him an apple, unlike any apples he used to eat which were a little rotten or left over by others, which was a completely good apple, and a kind man coming out of the temple gave him two copper coins, which was not something that could happen often, but only when he was very lucky. He smiled happily to himself. Life was wonderful tonight. Everything was perfect.

The place he was going to was the town's orphanage, which was at the foot of the hill at the edge of town, close to the woods. It was a big building, built in the shape of an H and covered by slate tiles, and it was surrounded by high fences topped by thorns. All kinds of trees grew in front and around it—oak, ash, and elm, and in summer, the grassy lawn in front of the building was green. There were tens of orphans living there, some babies who were still wet-nursed, others toddlers who were playing in the yard, and older ones who were learning to help the caretakers there. The caretakers were women wearing long aprons. They were mostly widows whose husbands died in wars or accidents. Most of them were very old and frail, bent over, hunched over, and feeble, but they were well loved by the children who lived in the orphanage. The caretakers were strict, and they punished those who misbehaved severely, but in spite of their sternness, they were gentle souls, and the kids liked them dearly.

The beggar had been visiting the orphanage from time to time secretly, whenever he got something good. By the time he arrived, it was late at night, and he was sweating profusely. He stepped onto the porch, took out the apple and two coins from his pocket, wrapped them in paper, and put them on the ground in front of the gate. Maybe because of his paralyzed right hand, or maybe because he was afraid of making too much noise to disturb the people sleeping inside, he moved very slowly and gently, carefully. He looked around carefully to make sure no one was watching him, then he put a small stone on the paper as if he was afraid that the wind would blow it away.

He turned and left the gate, disappearing into the dark shadows, but he did not go far; he went to sit behind a large tree not far from the gate and looked at the things on the ground: he wanted to make sure that no one else would take them, and that they would be found early the next morning when the staff opened the door. These were not valuable things and might not help the orphanage much, but for him, they were the best he could get, and he had to make sure everything was in order. Obviously, this was not the first time he had done this.

In the middle of the night, the sound of a child's cry would occasionally come faintly from the yard. Sometimes it was just the baby who cried, but once in a while, it was the toddler who was crying because his diaper needed changing. At this point he would look up at the door, wondering if this crying child was his and Emelyn's child. Then he would think about her face, her smile. She was so beautiful, so bright, so cheerful. Those memories were all he had left.

Finally, the sound of the crying stopped. Then the orphanage was quiet again.

He sometimes wanted to see his child, because it was his and his wife's child, but he was now a poor disabled beggar, not able to do anything for him, and feared would scare the other children in the orphanage, so he could only express his love in this way; he sometimes hated this child, because of who, his wife left him, and he therefore also did not know how to face the child. So he hid these feelings deep within his heart.

A few minutes before dawn, the cries started again, but they were different this time, more urgent, and louder, which meant a new day at the orphanage started. Shortly after, a woman opened the door and saw something on the ground. She removed the small stone that was pressed against it, opened the wrapped paper, and smiled when she saw what was inside, realizing that it had been left by a kind person, just like before. She stepped out onto the porch and looked around, hoping to see the trace of the person who had left these things. When she found nothing, she turned around and went back inside.

Hobb held his stick, stood up with all his strength, and limped towards the market square, which was crowded as usual. People ignored him as usual, but he didn't mind. His life consisted of being alone in empty places, waiting for someone to give him food or clothes or money.