Small Change

At the bottom of the Spanish Steps sat little Yolanda Bologna. She was seven years old.

She sat as she had, daily, with her legs folded under each other quite unnaturally, making it obvious to anyone who passed her that she had been born this way. Yolanda didn't speak. She only held out a tin cup for the tourists who were checking off another must-see on their Rome adventure. For the Spanish Steps, Yolanda Bologna was just part of the scene, part of that adventure.

Yolanda remained mute except for her eyes of gratitude, flashing with each clink that sounded against her tin cup. She did smile, however, quite naturally. Her smile was more than the mere smile of gratitude — so much more than a courteous Grazie. It was a statement of a human connection, the interaction between one generous soul granting another desperate one a respite from the cruelties of the lotteries that had so capriciously determined their lives. As such, it was a hand-off between worlds, her world and the world of her benefactors who were the tourists who passed her way. As much as the tourists themselves, however, each smile she launched was fleeting.

The smiles came and went as quickly as the passers-by who made her tin cup sing. And made her eyes flash. And evoked her smiles, one at a time.

She eyed an American. Or was he a Canadian? People from America or Canada were the best when it came to Yolanda's childhood vocation.

This American's heart broke as he stood weighing the collisions of chance that had put him here looking for some small change in his pocket and her there, asking for it; waiting for it. Occasionally she glanced his way.

Would he come through? she asked herself. It was a fair question for Yolanda, and she silently broadcast it his way through the æther.

He noted that she was thin.

While many children were thin as their growth spurts waxed and waned during their childhoods, Yolanda's svelte body habitus agreed with her whole beggar's package on display — her bizarre, convoluted body language, the rags she wore, and all the other things, right down to the smudges on her face and arms.

There were various bruises on her shins at different stages of resolution. He wondered, Were these the typical blemishes that all children sport in the wear and tear of playful childhood? Could be, he supposed.

What she could not know is that this man had just sold his business back home, and this trip was a hard-earned celebration. He was here with his wife who had stuck by him during the hard fiscal realities that had tried to sink their ship. They prevailed through the storms and the self-doubts. He remembered well his shame when asking the bankers to extend the due dates on his loans.

Surprisingly, the bankers had come through, and he didn't even know why they had stuck their necks out for him. But that had all been in the past. Their struggling was now ancient history. Now his and his wife's future was all set up and, thanks to the way things panned out, it was set up sweet.

Behind his kindly staring at Yolanda were thoughts of how unfair it was that their future was a given of stability and plenty, while this little girl's future was one of uncertainty, hunger, and a cheated childhood.

He pocketed his hand and felt for any small change he might be carrying, but nothing jingled. What he pulled out was the only thing on him besides credit cards or travelers' checks: what he pulled out was a 50-euro note.

Yolanda saw his entire fishing expedition, and when she saw the bill, gave up on his doing anything other than walking past her without coming through.

Although it was only a little more than fifty dollars American — and even though he and his wife were well-fixed now for a leisurely retirement — it was still not an amount he could casually squander.

He surprised both himself and Yolanda when he folded the note and inserted it into her cup, along with the small change she had been collecting that morning. But she gave him back some change — a million dollars in resplendent gratitude. There is no smile more beautiful than a smile meant just for you. Especially from a child who will remember you her whole life.

Not bad for her day’s “work,” he thought to himself.

Bells somewhere struck the hour. In Italy, bells are always striking the hour, somewhere and everywhere, all skewed by a few minutes on either side of intended accuracy that creates a rolling symphony of tintinnabulation throughout this whole other world.

It was Yolanda's signal.

She abruptly put two fingers over her tongue and released a piercing whistle. As she began to unfold her stiff legs, another young girl strikingly similar to her—obviously a sister—ran up to her. Yolanda rose without difficulty and promptly went skipping off.

It was the change of shift!

The man was stunned even more — than by her running off — by her sister folding her own legs under her and assuming begging position. Both he and Yolanda knew how he had been fooled so, but only he could marvel at these small children operating the machinations of the adult world.

That night, back at the pensione, he told his wife the story. He had always felt she had a bigger heart than him, so he was a little surprised when she asked for his take of the whole episode, hinting at disapproval.

"Well, big spender,” she asked, “are you sorry you gave her so much? Or anything? Fifty euros!"

He thought for a moment and realized the same world spun for both them and Yolanda. He smiled. "No. I'm not sorry at all,” he answered.

“Oh?”

“After all’s said and done, to my way of thinking, ” he added, “it turns out today was a very good day." He and Yolanda agreed.