Chapter I - The High Priestess

It is said that those who wake up in the morning go far. But Maxim hated mornings. More rest means more productivity. And he was preparing for the most important day of his career. It was the day eagerly anticipated by the ambitious corporatist, also marking his promotion if everything went according to plan.

He had already imagined the reactions of his colleagues watching the unscrupulous presentation he was about to give. The nonchalance with which he will accept the boss's promotion, followed by flattering praise. How will he then celebrate the success by inviting all the members of the corporation to a luxurious meal. He had a tendency to celebrate positive events in life by giving lavish feasts. As many people as possible had to witness his success. Once it is all said and done, he might as well think of a speech that would stir people's emotions, he thought. He just had to pull through.

That morning, however, his car happened to have a flat tire. Maxim wasn't much of a religious man, but he made sure to take all the names of the saints he knew in order, cursing. 'The wheel is simply an impediment.' He reassured himself. It was already late, and the current situation made his temples hurt. At any time, he could call a taxi or, at worst, catch the bus, hastening. In principle, however, he did not agree with ride-hailing. 'They are all thieves.' The driver would definitely try to rob him of his money, seeing the "prestigious way" in which he is dressed. 'Naturally, people are more inclined to take from the haves than the have-nots,' and Maxim had no intention of giving money to taxi drivers. For the first time in a while, he was being forced to bend his principles and engage in physical effort. The man tied the laces of his shoes, bought especially for the occasion, arranged his pearl cotton jacket, adjusted the knot of his checkered tie, and hurried towards the bus stop, his last option.

Public transportation was seen as a constraint by Maxim. Not only did he find it humiliating to ride the bus, which was crowded and jostled by superficial passengers, but even more humiliating was the discrepancy between the car, the clothes he owned, and the bus ride itself. People would make of him a con man, a scoundrel who spent his money on expensive goods while having to frequent the bus; he was sure of that. Sick panting could be heard from such a rush, clearly indicative of a man's not being in the best physical condition. It started to rain. And as the water leaked through his dolled-up suit, ruining it, the positivism of the past also leaked out simultaneously.

When Maxim arrived at the station, the bus had just filled itself with passengers and departed the place immediately, leaving mud and dust behind. Despite his redundant effort, the close-to-fainting marketing man now found himself having to wait for the next bus and, possibly, clean up the ruined suit up to his knees due to the bus' departure. At least the rain had stopped.

It was not his best day. Frustration almost brought him to the verge of tears, restrained only by the looks of passersby. It's not as if there was any crowd at the bus stop anyway; at least that's what he was getting on with. Other than Maxim, there was a street person who seemed to have set his sights on him. The man stood up from the coin box into which passersby would throw one penny at a time, two at a time, here and there, approaching, crawling with his left foot.

'Stay away!' Ran through Maxim's mind.

"I have nothing to offer you. I'm afraid you're reaching out in vain." He frowned without looking down. The man didn't even get to say a word or make a gesture.

"The way you look, I wouldn't have forced myself to deject you even more." A hoarse, sickly voice answered him.

Has the cur ever glanced at himself in the mirror? Having the nerve to make such remarks about him? A beggar like him? Maxim scrutinized the man in front from head to toe for a second and found nothing but contempt in him. A face full of allergies, a bushy yellowish beard, and not to mention the broken leg Dressed in clothes that once might have attracted glances, but now could not be called more than "rags". Has Maxim become so degraded that even a degenerate like this one would recognize it?

He was overwhelmed by insecurity and thousands of questions, although he returned a frank "Pardon?"

"You check your watch every second while seemingly giving off the vibe that a train hit you." The man added, "I reckon you're in a hurry."

"I'm a busy man."

"I don't see how that has anything to do with that gloomy face of yours. Are you preparing for work or for war?"

The muscles in Maxim's mouth twitched as he spoke. "Of course you couldn't see the irony behind your current situation. You criticize me, although I assume you haven't had a proper meal in days."

And how could he ever understand? Maxim has made a contribution to society. Friends rely on his success, bosses have expectations, and those close to him keep account of his responsibilities. What man on Earth would not sigh heavily at the thought that the job that fructifies his entire life is put in jeopardy? And for what? A flat car wheel? After all, what is the difference between a carefree street person without a roof over his head, without a place under the sun, and a parasite? There was no way the beggar could have put himself in his shoes; he could not have ever understood his laments.

"Don't they teach you not to judge in such haste, without any basis?" The bearded man burst out into a dry laugh. "I assure you, you ought not to pity me at all!"

Maxim wasn't moved. "Maybe if you put your heart to work like the rest, you would understand. Maybe you wouldn't be in the situation you are in if an ounce of dignity pushed you to live an honest life." He was stirred by the whole being of that man, which simply evoked repulsion.

The man grinned. "And what good is it if I don't find meaning in my work?"

Upon hearing such an outlandish question, Maxim's body was subconsciously stirred, as he turned a negligible bit, now showing curiosity.

The man continued. "I know very well the price of assets. I once had a house that I sold. And I once had an expensive car, an interior pool, and a personal gym (which I never used). Do you see me profiting from these now? Tell me if you can see them here."

The same voice lowered as a deeper tone came off. "I divorced the wife, whom I always considered nothing more or less than the mother of my children. Now not even the children have left any trace behind. The job was the first one I lost, but I don't regret it." Visibly lit.

Maxim silenced himself for a moment, deep in thought. It was as if the noise of the cars no longer resounded as it used to, continuously, for minutes on end. Finally, he broke the silence. "How come you're telling me this?"

"You might benefit from hearing about my laments. It's the feeling I get."

Maxim didn't quite know what to make of his words. Nevertheless, he felt moved by the queerness of this man. "Did you give up everything completely? And yet, why do you choose to waste your life now? How can you be content with living in disgrace?" He looked directly into his warm eyes. The concern was evident.

"If you consider that I throw away my days, you are sorely mistaken. Nowadays, I feel alive more than I did in my youth. I admire the sunrise and sunset with every chance I get. I walked through places I never had the opportunity to visit. I met people I never thought I would talk to. I live on the streets, yes. But even on this wonderful morning, I continue to live, and I thank God for that. What would I turn back time for?" The man's face illuminated, as if he had been waiting for years to confess.

Maxim gave thought to the possibility that the beggar was actually visually impaired. There was nothing wonderful about Maxim's day. And certainly, there was no sunrise to admire. Offended by the man's words, the corporatist felt a slight personal attack after what was said, as if the life he has been living for so long was being contested.

...

The same hoarse, echoing voice interrupted the insistent tantrums that followed and discreetly showed interest in his age, maintaining his diplomatic allure. Maxim was thirty-five years old, and yet he halted a little at the thought of this fact. Not because he had forgotten his age, but because it had been a while since he had contemplated the passing of time.

But the street man persisted in stirring the discussion up, as if aiming for turbulence in the eyes that reflected his bushy beard. "What makes you step on the path you follow? Do you care about your career so much that even a poor man of the streets notices how much your soul is grinding?"

Maxim never wanted a career in corporate advertising, after all. From his youthful days, he showed a vocation for the arts.

"You forge your own success." He specified "It will bring you appreciation from people and order in your life, right? You grind hard for a while to reap what you sow. I want to believe that life is not always rosy, but one should go through it with dignity. I might not find pleasing the course my life takes, yet some things ought to be done."

"And when is it rosy? When do you make time to admire the sunrise, for example?"

"After you achieve your goals for which you strive? Nobody would want to waste time, of course." Maxim stated bluntly.

The beggar shook his hand tightly, hesitatingly approaching the next question.

"So what was the reason for which you wasted thirty-five years?"

...

Maxim took a long pause. Maybe it was because the sunlight just coming out of the clouds was distracting him, subconsciously making him avert his gaze. The gaze that for too long has been fixed on the ground, without realizing the rain has stopped for some time. Or maybe because his attention was perpetually stolen by the ticking of his wristwatch.

Maxim hated mornings. But this morning in particular, inexplicably, had something captivating and ephemeral compared to other mornings. Something for which Maxim opted to go for a matinal walk, omitting, for a short time, the plans for that day, enjoying the aroma of the morning. It was a beautiful morning.