Yesterday was a beautiful and sunny day. It wasn't too hot either, since summer has lifted one of its hands to wave bye-bye. Now that I'm doing freelancing work from home, I have the liberty to set my own schedule. I set out for my daily two-mile jog around mid-morning.
As I was leaving my apartment complex, a lady walked rapidly along the sidewalk towards me. "I haven't had anything to eat all morning", she said, "and I'm pre-diabetic."
I was surprised by her directness. "Oh, I'm sorry about that."
I could understand her suffering. My own mother is diabetic, my father went through a spell of being pre-diabetic, and I myself had a bout of diabetes insipidus a year ago. Diabetes has the omnipresence of a treasured heirloom in my family. This lady was slim and agile, but I could tell from her tired look and the brown scars on her white face that she was not in the pink of health.
"And I don't have any money", she added. "I've been waiting at that bus stop for a long time, but there's no bus."
Perhaps I didn't look convinced. The lady ran her fingers through the maroon sweatshirt she was wearing. "I didn't have this with me; I got it from the church over there this morning." I gave her a look of sympathy, but my dark sunglasses and white baseball sun-cap veiled much of my face and my expressions from her.
It was decision time. "I don't have any change", I said. "All I have is a big $20 bill. I don't have any change at home either, or else I could go have gone back home and gotten it."
The lady didn't say anything. She turned away and started crossing the street. I continued jogging. I was just a minute away from home, and I would have gone back home if only I had some change with me.
A couple of minutes into my jog, I remembered that I did have four dollars in change in my car. I could go back and give them to her. "Nah, I'll give her when I return from my jog", I decided. "I'll be back in just fifteen minutes."
I continued jogging. But I was haunted by the look of sheer sadness and disappointment on her face when I told her about my decision. Try as I might, I could not shake it off. "You may well be worth helping", I had managed to communicate to her, "but you're not someone for whom it would be worthwhile doling out a twenty dollar largesse for."
I jogged a little faster than usual on my two-mile circular trip along the neighborhood sidewalks. I made up my mind that I would certainly give her the $4 when I got back. $4 was peanuts compared with my monthly expenses of a couple thousand dollars.
A few minutes later, I turned the corner and came back to where I had started. The bus stop was empty. I looked around, but there was no sign of the lady. "Maybe she finally got a bus", I thought, "or maybe she went elsewhere looking for money." I felt sorry for her, and I felt guilty and shameful of my own conduct. Justice delayed is justice denied; action delayed is assistance denied.
"I'm not a miserly skinflint", I consoled myself. "I regularly give money to beggars at traffic stoplights." When I drive towards a red stoplight, I see the panhandler well before I stop my car. I have ample time to decide to give him money, and I have enough time to check that I have a $1 bill in my car's money drawer.
I start feeling nice and fuzzy even before I give him the money; at this point the panhandler does not yet know that I'm going to give him anything. Once I come closer, I lower the glass and stretch my hand out. The panhandler takes the $1 bill, smiles at me and exclaims, "Thank you, and God bless you."
Now I'm no God-believer, and I often don't even look at the panhandler's face as he expresses his gratitude, because the stoplight has turned green and I have to accelerate away. Besides, looking at the panhandler in the eye brings you in direct contact – however fleeting – with his sorrow and with your own inability to address his sorrow in any meaningful and everlasting way.
And yet the panhandler's happiness heightens my own delight and reinforces my self-image of a powerful and benevolent do-gooder assisting a powerless wretch. But this lady caught me by surprise. I hadn’t seen her coming. I hadn’t had a chance to hatch a me-feel-good plan for her.
"I'll tell my mother about this incident when I call her tomorrow", I decided. But I soon had second thoughts. I could guess what my mother would tell me, going by my past experience of my mother's outlook. She would compliment me for making the correct decision. "Never trust such people", she would say. "They are rogues and liars, and they cook up false stories to extract sympathy and money from unsuspecting victims."
Then she would have added, "It's good that you didn't go back to your car or to your home. That woman would have followed you, seen your car and your home, and would have then passed on that information to her co-conspirators. They would have attacked you and robbed you in the next few days..." Action delayed may be assistance denied, but a solicitation rebuffed is an attack foiled.
I felt like telling Mum, but I ultimately decided to keep mum. "Mum's the word", I told myself.
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