No Name

Deeming that I don't have enough time to write about my great-grandfather (his expose demands true verbosity), I have decided to postpone that and other stories for other nights. However, I would like to tell the story of someone who really demonstrates what I stand for.

We were in Prague last winter, after a harrowing flight and short train ride. Stuck in the unfamiliar metro system of a region known for its pickpockets, my family and myself were utterly lost and demoralized as midnight approached and we still had not found a route to our hotel.

Out of the blue (or rather should I say the pitch black soviet era-looking terminus), a middle-aged woman came up to us. Poorly dressed, she had a very sinister aura about her, and we all felt wary as she approached us. Just a few feet away from us, she began speaking in broken English interspersed with what could have been Czech. I know how stereotyping people is bad, in short, but humans engage in it constantly, and I am human after all (I hope).

Though our brains were only paying half attention, trying to be alert in case we became the object of mugging, we understood that she was trying to say that she had seen us stranded here and that she was willing to offer her services.

Suffice to say, we relunctantly took her up on her offer. Traveling nearly four subway stations with us, she managed to maneuver us quickly through heavy crowds, and even helped us in purchasing some of the snacks they sold in the underground station platforms.At the fourth station, she simply pointed out the rest of the route (which had initially been confusing and full of switches). Without even pausing, she wished us a good stay and left on the subway going in the other direction, probably back to the station where she had been originally.

We didn't even get a chance to thank her properly or say goodbye, and we wondered what she had wanted. As soon as I got back to the hotel, I started checking if my money was still on me, and family members acted similarly. As soon as we realized that had everything on us, we started feeling ashamed for suspecting the helpful stranger.

That night, I reflected on the great generosity of a stranger to a group of tourists. She probably had spent a long workday before coming to the subway to go in a different direction. Our conversation was barely intelligible, so surely we could not have been of any interest to her. And yet, through her simple act of kindness, we discovered later that she had saved us an hour of needless travel by taking us through the shortest route. Human compassion is not dead after all.

p.s.

I re-edited some parts, even though this was published earlier in the evening.

She is One of My People