The real scent of charity
I was quickly descending the stairs near the central train station, deep in thoughts like ? what things should I still buy for the trip, and how to furnish the apartment on time just after the return - when, at the base of the stairs, a homeless on a wheelchair suddenly came to view, looked up at me and asked to be brought up. The lift was broken, apparently.
I stared at him for a second, dumbfounded, thinking how to excuse myself out of this, but then the young guy appeared; together we could give it a try.
We lifted the chair. It was difficult in the beginning, but then I found the right grip. What couldn?t be helped was the sharp, acid smell, one of human dirt and excrements, filling our nostrils as we bent over him. Finally we reached the top of the stairs, and the homeless thanked us, and the other guy nodded goodbye.
I turned downstairs again but then I noticed another person, a woman this time, who had started climbing the stairs, holding herself close to the railing. Her tricycle, the one on which she normally supported herself by pushing it in front of her, was left below, with a plastic bag next to it. She, too, asked to be assisted upstairs.
I brought up the tricycle and the bag first and then asked how I could help her. She took my hand and leveraging on it we went, one step at a time. Her hand was very warm. There was the same smell.
?Worst punishment of all?, she said somewhere in the middle, ?to be crippled?.
Above the man was waiting on his wheelchair. I left them there and continued with my business.
I had a feeling as if my hand was itching and kept it away until I was able to wash it in the bathroom of the shopping center. But the scent persisted somewhere in the background through the rest of the day.
