Christmas on Liberty Square

by

Zoltan Bartok 

The old man stopped. The pain in his knees was getting so unbearable, he just could not continue walking. If one could call his movement walking at all. It was more like a shamble as he tried to slide one foot in front of the other. Carrying two large plastic bags in his hands did not help.

He pulled off the sidewalk onto a patch of ice and leaned against a wall. He did not want to be in the way of other people who were hurrying to catch the next underground train to be at home on time for the Christmas Eve dinner with their families.

He looked toward the station and moaned as if he had doubts he would ever be able to make it that far. His glance remained glued to the backs of the passers-by for a while. There were times in the past when he could move just as freely, just as fast. In fact, when he was an active soccer player in his twenties, he could outrun all his teammates. He sighed as the memories of his youth almost managed to paint a faint smile onto his wrinkled face. A harsh voice brought him back to the present. A young man who could have been his grandchild shouted at him: “Hey man, can't you be more careful?! Pick up your garbage before I smash everything with my boots.”

While the old man was lost in his memories, one of his bags turned over and dumped some of its content onto the sidewalk. An almost empty plastic bottle, a plastic cup with a broken handle, a few plastic spoons and knives were now forcing people to watch their steps.

“Sorry,” the old man said in a hurry, “I'm very sorry.”

While the young man was watching him, not caring about the pain he felt in his joints, he leaned down to pick his things up.

“Better,” said the young man after the last piece was back in the worn bag and then he left.

The old man adjusted the bags to make sure another accident would not happen and then he tried to squeeze himself against the wall as tight as possible. That way the narrow shadow caused by a part of the roof under the streetlight almost completely hid him. He pulled down on his not so new Russian-style military cap to cover both his ears entirely because the temperature had dropped a lot after the sun went down. Even with sunshine during the day it was well below freezing and with the clear sky the night was going to get bitterly cold.

Now if people on the sidewalk glanced at him, they could only see his dirty bags and his shoes. He looked at those worn shoes for some time. The shadow did not cover them; he could see well that the crack on top of his right shoe had become longer.

He started shivering so he pulled on the rope around his waist to keep his thick winter coat closer to his body. Although that ragged coat reached all the way down to his ankles, it could not keep his legs warm. He had a woolen scarf wrapped around his neck. The ends of the scarf were held down over his chest by the only button on the winter coat.

He was not only cold, he was hungry as well. He had not eaten all day. He left the homeless shelter early in the morning because when he woke up, the money that he had in his pocket was stolen while he slept. The menacing glances he saw on the faces around him were very convincing; he knew he should leave immediately… and never return.

He stood there in the shadow until the number of people passing by dropped significantly. He picked up his bags and continued his slow walk toward the station.

The rush hour was over, the platform was almost empty by the time he got there. Soon after he arrived, a train pulled into the station. He saw a row of five vacant seats on one side of the car he got into. He hesitated for a while but then he lowered himself onto the middle seat and pulled his bags as close to his legs as he could.

He did not look at the passengers but he felt that they were looking at him. He knew he was not a pleasant sight. He also knew he did not smell too good; it was long ago when he last had a chance to wash himself.

It felt good to sit, to rest his aching knees, but he was prepared to vacate his seat in case someone getting on at the next stations would sit next to him. This way he could save himself from the embarrassment of seeing that person sniff at him and then take another seat.

If I could just make it to the station near the Parliament Building without any trouble, he thought and sighed slowly through his nostrils.

After he got off the train and was finally up on the sidewalk, he rested for a while. He looked around. As he did not see anybody in the street, he began to feel more at ease. He put down his bags and rubbed his hands together because the few fingertips that the ragged gloves did not protect were already half frozen.

As he moved on, he tried to estimate the time he needed to get to Liberty Square. He realized then that the question in his mind was actually not about time but rather whether he can reach the square at all. The cold sucked what little strength he still had out of his fragile body.

Not too long ago, he could have walked that distance in a few minutes.

He saw the number 2 tram arriving at the stop. A small group of noisy teenagers got off. After the tram left, the youngsters tried singing some kind of folk song but they were too drunk to succeed. When they quieted down, one of them ran across the street. The rest followed and soon they disappeared behind a corner.

The old man sighed with relief. He was glad the youngsters did not see him.

He trudged on dragging his bags on the concrete. His arms were numb from the cold and he did not even realize that he was not able to lift those bags anymore.

While crossing the street, one of the bags got hooked by a dry branch of a bush sticking out from the ground near the curb between the sidewalk and the edge of the street. The bag split open and most of its content fell out. He felt it when the bag slipped from his hand so he stopped. He looked at his stuff on the ground and the almost empty plastic bag. First he thought he should pick his things up but then he shook his head. “Doesn't matter now”, he mumbled, “and the garbage collectors will clean up the mess in the morning.”

By the time he reached the square, he was totally exhausted. He found the bench he was looking for and sat down.

After resting for some time, he stood up and placed his bag on one end of the bench. That part of the bench was in the dark as a flag hanging from the lamppost cast a shadow over it.

He looked around and sighed again. He could see the moist air leaving his mouth shining in the streetlight. Like small clouds, he thought, full of ice crystals.

He sat down positioning himself in the middle of the bench. With one of his hands he patted the bag just like he used to pat his pillow to assure himself a good night rest. His hand stopped for a second as he was searching his memory. How long ago was that? When was the last time he had a real pillow under his head? Well, he thought then, makes no difference anymore. He lifted his legs and stretched out on the bench.

After lying on his side for a while, his hip bone began to ache so he turned onto his back. This way his head felt more comfortable as well.

This bench was his favorite one on Liberty Square. He came here often when he was younger and rested on it for some time whenever it was not occupied. The only thing he did not like on the square was the large Soviet monument in front of the American Embassy. It just did not belong there, he used to think.

The pain in his knees subsided or he just did not feel it anymore because both his legs were numb from the cold. However, his fingers and parts of his face where the skin was exposed to the freezing air were burning.

He spotted a faint star in the sky. He looked at it for some time until his vision got blurred. Was it from some tears in his eyes? Probably not, he concluded. His emotions died long ago.

He could not keep his eyes open any longer.

As the Earth turned, the star slowly moved on in the sky until it disappeared behind a building.

“Daddy! Daddy!” the old man heard a cheerful voice.

“Rita! My beautiful daughter!”

“Daddy, what are you doing on this empty square in the middle of the night?!”

“Just resting, my dear… Just resting.”

“Resting?! Dad, it's at least five below zero… and… and it's Christmas Eve.”

“I know, my dear… I know… but what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in sunny California with your family?”

“I had to come, Dad… I had to come.”

“My dear Rita, what happened? You've been so very happy there with your rich American husband… You haven't even sent me a letter since you married him… and that was so long ago… You telephoned me once just to tell me how busy you were with the kids and how much you traveled with your man… More than ten years passed since that call. I tried to call the number you gave me many times but all I got was a full voice mail box, and later that number was disconnected.”

“I know Dad… I know… and I am sorry about all that… Let's forget the past… I am here to take you home now… We have a warm room for you… and there is a very special present with your name on it under our Christmas tree.”

The old man opened his eyes.

“A present for me under the Christmas tree?” he mumbled barely able to move his frozen lips. “And a warm room?”

He glanced at the sky looking for the star he saw before falling asleep.

“Gone already… It must be past midnight… Christmas Day already.”

He tried to adjust the bag under his head but he had a hard time bending his arm. When he wanted to lift his head a bit, he found that his neck was too stiff. After a few attempts he just gave up. 'It doesn't really make any difference now anyway,' he thought and closed his eyes again. 

***

“Here, Robert, have another one!” the waitress told the man and handed him a glass of red wine.

Robert smiled at the young girl and reached for the glass.

“I shouldn't really drink this,” he said. “The first one already got me drunk because I very seldom drink.”

“Oh, come on!” the girl said with a seducing smile. “Drink it! You deserve it… winning all that money.” She waved toward the roulette table with her free hand. “I've never seen anyone winning so much… Just look at all those chips in front of you!”

......

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