Thursday, November 09, 2006

It's a holiday in Madrid -- el Día de la Almudena. A local día festivo, taken only in the capital. Falling on a Thursday, giving many an excuse to take un puente, a long weekend. Yesterday morning on my way back from a neighborhood joint for a wake-up shot of espresso, I saw a 20-something woman heading toward the Metro, pulling a wheeled suitcase -- the first of a stream of such people seen during the course of the day. Getting out for the weekend.

The holiday also means no construction types climbing around the scaffolding that covers the front of this building. No workers outside my windows pounding away on the wall, yelling back and forth all day. Relative quiet, disturbed now and then only by normal city sounds -- voices of folks passing in the street below, car horns. Vehicles trying to turn onto this narrow street at the tiny intersection this building abuts often have to jump the curb across the way to make it, producing crumbling concrete and a growing cavity in the sidewalk that someone covered yesterday with a large metal plate that clanks about every time feet or tires touch it. Producing an impressively loud sound that has, in less than 24 hours, become part of the neighborhood's soundtrack.

Other than all that: quiet. Peaceful. Or as peaceful as it gets in an inner-city neighborhood given to partying most nights of the week.

This morning: dragged myself out of bed, stumbled around the flat until coherent enough to pull on clothes and head out to pick up a paper, find an open caffeine vendor, toss down a shot of high octane. Post-all-that, beginning to feel vaguely functional, I stepped out into the morning air, let my feet take me down la Calle de Barquillo for a head-clearing walk. A couple of blocks along, I became half-aware of a woman up ahead, a backpack slung over one shoulder, pulling along a sizeable suitcase on wheels. Short, plump, looking a little frazzled, but not in a way extreme enough to call immediate attention. As I approached, she began talking, I gradually realized she was addressing me and slowed to see what was up. She spoke of having unexpectedly become homeless a week and a half ago, of suddenly finding herself on the street, trying to find places to sleep. She seemed amazed to find herself in that kind of situation, frustrated, and having a little trouble trying to pull together the words to express her feelings about it all.

I still had not yet reached full consciousness, realized she seemed to be asking for something, and asked her to repeat what she'd just said. She heard my accent, studied me, asked if I was English. I shook my head no. French?, she asked. No, I said. I found myself pulling out what change I had in my pocket, giving it to her, apologizing that it wasn't more, that I'd just spent most of what I had on café. Feeling completely unprepared for the situation and inadequate to the kind of help this woman needed.

Here's the thing: I tend to depend on my instincts with things like this. I tend to trust the hit I get off people and the impulses that arise in response. Two, three months back, a slender 50ish man stopped me along Main Street in Montpelier, skin a light coffee color, accent sounding like he might have originally been from India. Dressed in normal clothes, not looking like someone down on their luck, living in the street. He explained that he found himself without any money, that he needed to get to Burlington -- he said ‘back to Burlington,' suggesting he lived there -- and all he needed was the cash to buy a bus ticket. I stood listening, not responding immediately -- he paused, taking my lack of response as a negative, then began explaining how embarrassing it felt having to ask for help like that. And I found myself reaching into a pocket, pulling out a five dollar bill, handing it over. His expression shifted to one of surprise, then a tentative half-smile. We shook hands, I went on my way.

I trusted the feeling I got about the guy, have never doubted the impulse to hand over that money. With the woman this morning, I found myself getting no hit at all -- nothing positive, nothing negative. Leaving me with no idea what to do apart from handing over the small fistful of coins I had with me -- an inadequate response, I think, one I'd understand her finding offensive or embarrassing. She glanced around, looking unsure of what to say, then looked back at me. Are you German?, she asked. I shook my head no, waved good-bye, we headed off in separate directions, me head spinning with thoughts about what had just happened -- wondering about going home, grabbing a 20 euro bill, trying to find her again, either give her the money or buy her something to eat.

That train of thought brought me back in this direction, following local streets back here where I grabbed some cash, headed back out. The hour had grown late enough that sidewalks were becoming busy with people, I walked keeping an eye out for a short woman with a backpack, pulling a wheeled suitcase. But nothing doing -- she'd vanished. The moment had passed and moved on.

I found myself without a place to stay once, about twenty years back. Circumstances took a strange turn, I found myself suddenly out of one home without another one lined up. I owned a car, so had shelter for the night -- the next day a friend took me in, life moved on from there. I didn't have to fend for days at a time. I can only imagine what that would be like, and appreciate that it didn't go that way for me, give thanks for the blessings that adorn my current existence. And wish everyone else who wanders this world lives similarly awash in things meaningful to them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Madrid sidestreet, Thursday morning:

España, te quiero.

rws 11:58 AM [+]

Comments:

I once found myself adrift...
No home, no hotel, no bed for the night. Paris, 1975....
I spent a night in a cafe, hunched over an empty espresso cup and the next day I found refuge with a friend of a friend...
I always find some small change...
maybe I am being conned, maybe not
I would rather err on the side of kindness regardless

# posted by

Anonymous : 4:59 AM

What counts, I think, is following your inner compass.

In any case, I hear you.

# posted by

rws : 7:28 AM