Greece. A sidewalk cafe. A waiter on break, smoking a cigarette. He sees an elderly woman crossing the street. She is carrying groceries, but she is struggling.
He is still wearing his apron when he crosses the sidewalk to help her carry her bags. He accompanies her down the street. He is gone for a long time. Maybe forty-five minutes.
Later, I see him return to the cafe. His boss isn’t happy. They exchange words. And although I don’t speak Greek, I can read the hand gestures. The server is explaining that he helped the old woman with her groceries. The boss is uninterested in the Samaritan’s reasons. The boss shouts, shakes his head, spits out expletives—I think—throws up his arms, and walks away.
The server resumes his cigarette.
A group of high-school kids. They are crossing the highway, laughing and carrying on. A few of the kids are eating fruit. Apples and oranges and such.
A man with crutches is also limping across the street, heading the other direction. He passes the kids.
I see a girl. She brushes past him, then turns quickly. She trots after the man, catches up, then reaches into her bag and hands him a large orange.
He just looks at her. She smiles. They part ways. The man on crutches continues his struggle across the crosswalk. He is smiling now, too.
A public bus. The bus is full. People are crammed into each seat like anchovies. A little girl, maybe five years old, is skipping up and down the aisles while the bus is in motion.
The girl is soon engrossed in a conversation with an elderly woman. They are both speaking rapid-fire Greek. The little girl has a lot to say. The older woman is a good listener. I am guessing she has spent her fair share of time around verbaceous kids.
When their conversation ends, the old woman reaches into her purse and hands the girl a small piece of candy. Then, she tells the girl to close her eyes—at least I think that is what she says because the little girl closes her little eyes and holds out her tiny hands.
The old woman places a small silver ring into the child’s hand. It is a modest ring with a green stone. The old woman then slides the ring onto the child’s finger. And I don’t know what she’s telling the child. But it sounds a lot like three beautiful English words I know.
Two kids in a grocery store. They have a dog. A black cocker spaniel, which they leave at the front doors, tied up.
The dog is waiting patiently by the entrance, greeting every passerby.
One of the store cashiers sees the dog. Without saying a word, she leaves her station, then returns with a bag of doggy treats. She scans the bag, rings herself up, then reaches into her pocket and pays the register.
With the treats, she squats by the door and feeds the dog. And occasionally, she rubs her own nose on the muzzle of the animal.
When the dog’s owners return, the woman gives them the bag of treats. They thank her. She just shrugs. She nuzzles the dog one more time before she leaves it.
A man in a little white car pulls up to the city park. He leaps out. Feral cats appear out of the shadows. They come from everywhere. Soon, there are maybe fifty cats, swarming him.
He removes sacks of cat food and a bucket from his trunk. With the cat food he feeds the older cats. But he feeds the kittens from the bucket.
“What is in the bucket?” we ask him.
“I make food special for the kittens. It is chicken and rice. They need it to grow big and strong.”
He takes a moment to notice each kitten. To stroke it.
I ask why he does this.
He smiles. He says a word. I do not understand this word. So he spells it on the back of a business card: “καλοσύνη.”
“What does it say?” I ask.
“Kalosýni,” he says.
“What does it mean?”
He laughs. “English is not so good.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
The man smiles. He taps his chest. “The word mean kindness. To be good to someone who cannot give you anything.”
“I’m no expert,” I reply. “But your English is flawless to me.”
