Beggar's Stories (or Careful, you might be mentioned in one of these tales)

Setting the scene:

Phnom Penh. The sidewalk in front of a cafe.   Two tables are on the sidewalk facing the river promenade and the Mekong beyond.   A tall young Cambodian man has pushed an old man in a wheel chair here.  The old man is blind and plays a violin.  Each of the tables is occupied by a single Western male tourist with a beer in front of him. 

When I pass the scene on the sidewalk the younger man is BESEECHING and IMPLORING the tourists with wailing noises and flailing arms to give the fiddle/pusher pair some money.  As I walk by my head keeps turning to look at the faces of the tourists, who stare straight ahead and don't even acknowledge the beggar pair's presence.  I have passed the scene now and I'm pretty much looking back where I came from.  Only now do I realize that the younger wheel-chair pusher only has one eye.

After I have stopped, fished for my wallet, checked my money, asked Zu for $1, I turn and walk back to the scene.  I see that brief spark of relief in the younger man's eyes as he accepts the trinket.  It only takes 20 minutes until I ask myself why I haven't given them $5.  I'm sure they can make MUCH better use of it than I can.


Another time.  Scene: Vancouver.

I've just cycled from North Vancouver to Waterfront Station.
There's a guy pretending to be blind and he gets 2 or 3 bucks.  Right in front of the station, I spot what looks like a young native guy in a hoodie bent forward in sleep or despair behind his small cardboard sign.  I grab a twoonie and walk towards him. The figure raises its head when I approach and it's a gorgeous native woman with short hair in her 40s or 50s.  I see her inspecting her income with surprise after I give her the twoonie then she looks at me throws her arms towards the sky and shouts THANK YOU, THANK YOU THANK YOU.
Why?

I'm inside Waterfront Station and I see her through the window sitting there on the cold pavement with her little cardboard sign.   Something in her eyes and demeanor touched me. At once she saw right through me and revealed her own character.  It happens once in a while. You look into someone's eyes and you're connected.   I go back out and see her surprise at seeing me again.  I tell her "You just made me smile inside", give her another $8, tell her to take care, and quickly escape the ensuring spectacle.

 

A few days later. Still in Vancouver.

The city is getting to me.  I can taste the air on my lips but none of the gazillions of drivers on their unnecessary car trips seem to notice.  Yes, thank you Diesel pick-up driver, I did notice that you hit the gas pedal hard, just the moment you passed me. Just to engulf this cyclist in a cloud of Diesel exhaust..... and somehow get pleasure out of that action.  This city is the pits.  I'm not only suffering but I feel a horrible ANGER growing inside me.  And what exactly that anger is, I notice when I see a pan-handler with an amputated hand look me directly in the eye with a suffering facial expression and I look away and pedal harder.  WTF?   THAT is what the truly horrible part of this city is.  It's turning me into one of its regular residents.  There is an expression that I never truly understood until recently:

Fates worse than death.

It also happens to be the title of a collection of bits of work by one of my very favorite authors, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

I was not surprised to find a picture of him with my other favorite author, Heinrich Boell.

Both writers are classified as Humanist.   That's a word that is no longer in fashion.  Just as helping those in need is no longer in fashion.  But tell me, who would you rather spend an hour on the bus with: one of the guys above, or a bitchy sour old woman complaining about all those new foreigners in her town?  

Be very careful what you choose !