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Hope and Igor

A moment of kindness

By Lydia JonesPublished 3 years ago 9 min read
2

It was a crisp February day in Slovenia, and my friends and I stood at the edge of the glacial lake in the small town of Bled. We were resting at a ferry dock where a Pletna was tied off, a flat-bottomed, shiny wooden boat with a canopied cover. Only two other people, a couple, were in line in front of us.

We had walked almost the entire circumference of the lake, searching for one of the ferries that was still running during what was the off-season for tourism. I brushed some damp snow off of my coat from where we had gleefully taken a detour to make snow-angels. There hadn’t been any snow that year in Texas, where our university’s home campus was located.

“Twenty euros, it’s so expensive.” One of my friends sighed, a puff of cool winter air escaping her mouth.

“Definitely a tourist trap. All you do is ride the boat to the island, look around for a bit, and come back,” another friend said, but she was looking out at the church wistfully as she spoke.

During Christmas break I had worked twelve hour night shifts in the admissions department of the local rural hospital in my hometown, to save money for the semester abroad. Around three am, when there was a lull in patients, and the hallways became eerily silent, I would sit under the harsh fluorescent lights and look at pictures of Europe in travel guides with blurry eyes.

One night, scrolling through National Geographic worthy pictures of far away places, I saw an image that looked straight out of a fairy tale. Beautiful, snow capped mountains surrounded a glittering lake. In the center, rising up from a small island, was a baroque style church, it’s bell tower reaching up into the cloudless sky. Lake Bled, the caption read. Slovenia. I decided then that I had to go there.

Now, huddled around the small boat dock, we debated the pros and cons of taking the boat to the island. One of my friends was particularly worried about the cost. She was from a large family, and was paying her own way through college. Studying abroad at all was a financial strain. She didn’t have room in her budget for extra frivolities. “I’ll just stay here while you guys go,” she said, staring down at the dock, wood wet from melted snow. “I don’t mind, really.”

None of us wanted to go without her. We came together, the trip was about exploring and having fun together, not taking one boat out to one particular island. There was plenty more to do, that didn’t cost so much, and we told her so.

“Well—” she said hesitantly. I could tell she really did want to go on the boat. “I could just not go out to dinner with you guys tonight and save money that way. The boat would be fun. We should do it.”

“We can all skip dinner tonight!” Someone suggested cheerfully. “We have bread and cheese back at the Airbnb.”

It was decided— we would go out to the island and use the money saved from dinner to help cover the fare for our friend. We clamored into the boat excitedly, behind the couple who had already sat down at the front. A singular oarsman stood at the stern and began to steer us towards the church. We kneeled up on the slats that comprised the seats and stuck our heads outside of the boat. We watched the water which reflected like glass, rippling as we steadily glided across the water. After watching the landscape for a while, we finally sat back down, our noses and cheeks ruddy.

We talked amongst ourselves, about homework and class trips, and how beautiful Slovenia was. It was one of our first solo trips, a weekend away from Rome where we were spending the semester. We also chatted with the couple that was sharing the boat with us. Their names were Hope and Igor, also American, on the tail end of a skiing trip in the Swiss Alps.

When we finally got to the island it was small, and definitely a tourist trap. The church building was no longer even a real church. The mantlepiece inside was painted on the wall— a facade. The only other building on the island hosted a gift shop and cafe with expensive trinkets and even more expensive food. My friends and I weren’t terribly disappointed though, the island was still beautiful. We walked the entire circumference, and climbed up the stairs to the old church, looking out at the town of Bled. It was a 360 degree view of mountains, trees, and snow. On one snow topped hill sat a medieval castle, hovering over the whole village. The shoreline was dotted with cabins and resorts. It was like a scene from a Christmas calendar. Perfectly picturesque in every way.

The visit to the island only lasted about an half an hour, and then we were back on the boat, slowly returning to shore. When we finally docked again, we all began to dig in our purses and pockets for the money to pay the Plentnar, the man steering the boat.

“Oh, no.” He waved us away, smiling. “You don’t have to pay.”

We all stared at him in confusion.

“It’s already been covered,” the Plentnar said finally, he nodded at Hope and Igor, who were just getting off the boat.

We could hardly believe him. Twenty euros a piece! For all six of us! Why would they do such a thing?

“You were such polite young ladies,” Hope told us. “And we heard you talking about how you were worried about paying the fair.” She explained that it wasn’t too much of an expense for her and her husband. Igor nodded, smiling and agreeing with her.

We didn’t know how we could possibly thank them. Maybe one-hundred and twenty euros wasn’t as much for them as it would have been for us, but it was still a significant amount.

“Just enjoy your life.” Hope said. “One day, help someone else who needs it.”

We promised Hope and Igor that we would. That night we went out to eat in a nice restaurant right off the main square in the capital city of Ljubljana. We filled ourselves with hearty stew, potato dumplings with cream, fresh-baked bread, and rich red wine. We went back to our apartment cozy, full, and happy.

Two years later, during my Senior year of college, I was back in Texas. It was a cold winter day, late at night. It seemed even later than it actually was, the sun having set long before I left work for the day. I trugged past a gas station. The air was damp and heavy. Drizzles of not-quite rain appeared to hang in the air, illuminated by the sickly yellow glow of the lights above the gas pumps.

Exhausted, I thought about how much homework I still had to do when I got back to my tilting, raggedy apartment. I had barely slept the night before, and I had been on my feet all day. I’ll get home, and take a shower, and make some coffee and then I’ll feel better, I told myself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure come out of the shadows at the edge of the gas station. I tensed immediately, back straightening like a rod. Not tonight, I thought. I’m so tired.

“Miss!” A woman’s voice called out to me. “Excuse me, miss.”

I kept my eyes straight ahead, pretending I didn’t hear her. Trips downtown had taught me how to dodge aggressive panhandlers. I had learned quickly, and the hard way, that eye contact could be seen as an invitation, or an offer, in the big city.

“Miss?” The woman’s voice was just a little bit softer now, a sort of resignation in it. “Do you have a little bit of spare change for some food? For my kids and I?”

I didn’t know why, but I stopped. I turned, and actually looked at the woman’s face. She was young. Older than me, but maybe only by a few, hard-lived years.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any cash with me,” I said. It wasn’t a lie.

The woman’s head hung down just a little. I thought about the credit card in my backpack and glanced over at the gas station. You don’t know if she even has kids, cynicism whispered. She probably does drugs. Another voice butted its way into my mind— Does it matter? In this moment she’s hungry. Suddenly, for the first time since I left Europe, I thought of Hope and Igor. I thought of what Hope had said— Help someone who needs it.

“I do have a credit card though.” I told the woman. “I’m a student, I don’t have much money. But you can get whatever you want for ten dollars.” Ten dollars. A few days of drinking coffee from my cheap coffee maker in my apartment, an extra lining of grounds in the bottom of every cup, instead of buying a creamy, frothy cappuccino on campus. I could manage.

The woman’s face lit up. For the first time I saw her teeth, yellowed and crooked, but she was smiling. We walked into the gas station, side by side, making our way for the food aisles. She was elated, thanking me the whole time. She picked out food that was the best for the price. I thought she might have actually been telling the truth about being a mother. Her eyes were sharp, picking out things that were the highest nutritional value a gas station had to offer. I showed her some cheap Ramen noodles that weren’t half bad, that I had eaten several times myself. I helped her scoop up armfulls and carry them to the register.

We parted ways outside of the gas station, rain starting to drizzle a little heavier. I hoped she had somewhere warm to sleep.

“God bless you,” the woman said, sincere in her thanks.

“You too.” I said. I gave her a short wave as she walked away.

The food, it would only last a few days. Maybe a week if she really stretched it out. In the grand scheme of things, would it make that big of a difference? As I walked back to my car I wasn’t sure if it really mattered. Despite the cold, I felt warm inside, thinking about the expression I had seen on that woman’s face. It had been full of happiness, and for a moment, hope.

humanity
2

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