Today we have a guest editiorial:

To Smile, To Beg, To Listen

To Smile.

The other day a beggar became my best friend. I was waiting at the bus stop when a gust of cold air washed around my legs; the bus doors had opened and out came an old lady carrying a large plastic bag over her shoulder. I did not realize she was a beggar until she had circled the bus shelter and stood before me shaking her tin can in my face. I smiled and said, “I’m sorry but I don’t have anything.” She considered me for a moment and then moved.

I was surprised she accepted my apology without any further harassment. She must have been surprised too for she came back when the woman at the other end refused her and stood before me again, considering me.

I smiled. She asked me where I was from. I didn’t understand her. Her words were garbled and guttural. She had only two upper canine teeth separated by a long gap of pink gum. I told her. She smiled and moved past me to the bins to inspect the rubbish for plastic bottles. There were none. She glanced at me. I nodded.

She smiled. I smiled.

She came forward and started to explain in sign language and partly-formed words that it was hot. I agreed.

This encouraged her.

She pointed to my hair and said things that I didn’t understand; by now our faces were so close I was afraid she was going to kiss me. Her hands went to my hair, combing it through and then I realized that her concern was about my hair; that it was too hot for me to have long hair. She said I should cut it short like hers. Her hair was cut in a bob length littered with white streaks.

I was no longer concerned about being polite. I was more worried about her hands running through my hair. She soon slowed to a soft patting like I was a dog or a cat or something. I was trying my hardest not to cringe.

To Beg.

More buses passed. Young university students passed, staring at us. Old Ayis and Shushus, aunts and uncles, passed staring.  Even the bus driver was staring. I was getting embarrassed. I was feeling trapped. I asked about her family. She said she had a son but he was blind. She did not mention her husband although I did ask several times. She asked about my children. She groaned deeply as if she was in pain and began to beat her fist against her chest when she learned I had none. “What will you do when you are old like me?” she asked. “You’ll be hungry,” she said and her hands moved to her stomach to indicate hunger pangs. She opened her toothless mouth and air-spooned food into it. “What will you do?” she asked. “You need to have children. So you will not be lonely and sad like me,” she said, her fingers running down her cheeks like they were tears.

To Listen.

I made myself another trap. First by being polite and second by telling her I had no children. When she had had enough of berating my barren womb, her hand went toward one of my wrists. She held it and swung it like we were best friends. By now I was laughing, it was all surreal and she took my laughter as approval. Finally, she let go of my wrist to cross the street to look into the bins. There was nothing. She looked up to see me staring. She gave a huge sweeping wave that confirmed we were now best friends forever.

She was not finished.

She crossed the street, circled the bus shelter and again took my wrist, swinging it as though we were five year old best mates. More people stared. I giggled some more. The students around me giggled. I wished my bus would come already. I should have given her the money at the first acquaintance.

My bus came. She waved. The bus took off. I made my way toward the back and found my seat by the window. I turned around to wave but she was not there.

I did not take her picture. I thought about it, but in the end didn’t.

This is what makes us human. This is what we do. This is what we all need to do.

by Xenia Taiga