I took a long walk - too long, I would dare say - and quietly counted off the turns on the way home. Two more pedestrian crossings. Then I saw an elderly gentleman on the other side of the four-lane road by the traffic lights, bowing very strangely, as if he was trying to fix his trousers. I slowed down and watched him from a distance, fearing that he was about to fall on his nose. The light turned green and the gentleman, bent almost to his ankles, stepped out into the street. He was catching his steps, staggering, the large briefcase slung around his neck dragging him forward. His trousers slipped down to his shoes and he tried very unsuccessfully to pull them over his knees as he hobbled across the aisle.
But you can't leave a man in the middle of the road stripped of his dignity! I ran towards him without a second thought, and so did the lady on the opposite side of the road. She grabbed him under the armpits, I quickly put on his trousers and together we carried him across the road. We sat him down on a bench, and that's when new questions were raised ...
First, how to fasten his trousers. We asked the gentleman politely if we could do it, but he did not respond.
He's probably a drunkard, you thought, didn't you? And if he was? Doesn't a man like that deserve help?
He was not a drunkard. When I somehow managed to close the button on his jeans, he lifted his head, looked at me from under his beret-like cap and gave me a grateful smile. He pointed to his ear with a shaking hand. Oh, I guess he can't hear. He tried to say something, but we didn't understand him. Doctor ... Hospital ... Back ... We tried to decipher his slurred words, but hardly any of them made sense.
"Where are you at home? "I opened my mouth wide to his face. He mumbled the P-word and nodded in satisfaction. Pakova, A cobweb ...?
"Spider! It's between these blocks!" the lady next to me jumped up. Oh, he understood what we were asking, how great, then let's help him home!
We each took him under one arm again and slowly lifted him off the bench. Step by step, we continued our journey.
"I'll just call someone," said the lady, pulling her phone out of her pocket with one hand.
"Are you in a hurry? If you tell me where Spider Street is, I can help him myself."
"Ah, no, no, it will be much easier together. They'll be waiting, I'll just let them know I'll be late."
We were moving towards the blocks, and the lady and I were thinking out loud about what we were going to do when we got there.
"What if he lives alone? We have to call someone ..."
"It's okay, we'll put him to bed..."
"And they looked for a phone. I'm sure she has some relatives we can call. Or we could ask the neighbours..." How much easier it is when more people are involved in the story. Although in reality we were both quite helpless, we encouraged and supported each other in finding solutions.
"Sir, your referral is in your bag! We can read the exact address on it!" The lady pulled out a piece of paper sticking out of her open briefcase, but the gentleman grabbed it and carefully stuffed it back into his bag.
"Don't worry, I just checked the address. We have to go to 27 Pajkova Street. By the way, Manja is my name." I introduced myself to him too, so he wouldn't be so uncomfortable. The gentleman did not answer, just leaned silently on our hands and tried to move his feet.
We found a block of flats that said 27 Pajkova Street. The lady quickly pulled out the referral card from the gentleman's bag again to read the surname.
"You're writing yourself off, let's go to your flat." The gentleman picked out the keys himself. A narrow staircase with no lift. "Ugh, this is going to be a challenge." He gripped the banister tightly, with me on the other side, while the lady kept adjusting the waistband of his trousers, which were creeping tirelessly towards his knees. We were all breathing fast on the first floor, but the gentleman didn't stop. Oh, he probably lives one floor up. But even on the second, he just grabbed the railing and went on. On the third floor, our foreheads were already furrowed, and we were only one floor away from the top.
"If he's not here, then we have nowhere else to go," I remarked jokingly, but Mrs Manja had the same worried look on her face as I did. We crept to the top floor and the gentleman pointed his finger at the door. Oh, how I wished someone was home.
We rang ...
The doors have opened! On the other side stood an elderly woman with an apron.
"Yes, where have you been? I thought you were just outside the block, but you never came back." We told the lady what had happened, that he must have had a lower back, to check the referral... I'm not sure if she understood us, but I guess a person can't solve everything. From here on, we can only hope that things will work out well.
The gentleman, leaning on his lady, slowly turned around, looked up and gave me one of the most sincere smiles I have seen in a long time. A smile with more gratitude than any word spoken. It makes your eyes sparkle and the sparkle leaps into your heart, warming it with the warmth of humanity and brightening your day with the feeling that you have done something right. You could have judged from the start, but you didn't. You could have found an excuse to hurry, but you didn't. You could have simply looked the other way. But you didn't. It was worth it that you didn't. It was worth that spark, that warmth, that feeling ... That smile.
Nuša Maver
English (UK) 
Slovenščina 
Italiano 
Magyar