Good Samaritans

The rising moon shown in the man’s eyes, beating him further with its chill air than his dreary legs wanted to bear. His only cloak being the massive sack held over his shoulder, near only a quarter full with its contents gathered down at his bum.

A passing merchant stopped his cart, only to have the man look up at him with an uneasy query.

“You, there! My good Sir! Why is it that your feet feel heavy, and your burden is so large? Your eyes are that of a young man, yet your walk and body appear that of an elderly.”

The burdened man's face changed to annoyed distrust.

“Can’t you see I am trying to do as my master commands? Please, leave me be.”

The burdened man carried on.

“What is the bidding and who is this master? Everyone in this province is a free man.”

The burdened man stopped, turning, and looked up against the groans of his hunched back. “Why do you bother me so? Why aren’t you at the brothel, bothering those women? At least they would get paid for their troubles!”

“Troubling you is not what I am after. I am merely after an answer.”

“And I tell you, there is naught to be had.”

The merchant turned the cart, following the man.

The burdened man’s shoulders drooped, and he slowly turned with small steps to face the man behind him.

“Why is your burden so heavy, yet so empty? Why are there not straps on that bag to even the load over both your shoulders instead of one, and where has the food gone for many moons that should have been resting in your belly?”

“There are no straps, because the sack is not meant for them, regardless of how large it may be. There is no food to have filled my belly. I have not known a full belly in recent memory. I have known naught but hunger. Now please, let me be.”

“But I have food. Here,” the merchant leaned down into his cart. “Take it.” He held out a loaf of bread.

The man’s stomach groaned, and his mouth flooded with saliva. He nearly reached for the food, but then realization of indiscernible intentions struck him.

“No, sir. No. I cannot take that. My master would not be pleased and I do not wish to upset my master.”

The merchant’s arms dropped in sorrow.

“Who is this master that he would let you go like this? I must have a word with him.”

The man with the massive sack scoffed, pointing over the hill he’d come.

“He lives in the city?”

“He is the city.”

“Why haven’t you left?”

“I have no place else to go. I know no other occupation, and I have no other means. So, tell me. How am I to merely go?”

The merchant rubbed his lips in thought.

“You could sell what you have and buy anew, and then sell that, and continue until you have risen.”

The man looked down at the rags covering only his waist to his knees.

“And who would be willing to buy these? You burden me with your words of wisdom. I have naught to do with them.”

The cart started moving as the donkey found some grass, and the sack was shuffled higher on his back as the man again stumbled down the lane. The merchant looked after, and then headed away.

***

The moon had asserted herself in the sky, and gone was any remaining warmth of the day. His eyes darted as the howls shrieked from the beasts that ran amid the fields outside the city, far closer to the road than normal. His hands held tightly to the empty sack.

A creaking and bumbling sound came towards him along the lane. He gave naught to look up from his thoughts among the stones of the road, instead shuffling off the road, only to hear a donkey protest at stopping before greedily pulling the cart slightly as he stepped to the road’s grass line.

“Here, I have bought these for you.”

The burdened man leaned back, his hunched back shouting as loud as his annoyance at his thoughts being disturbed.

“Nay!” shrieked the burdened man at the hands holding out beautifully colored garments.

“But I bought them for you. You now will have something to barter and begin to lift you among the classes.”

“They will not wait for an answer. Someone like me wearing something like that. Nay! They will kill me for sure. They will string me up! Nay! Leave me be! Please! Leave me be!”

The hunched man tried to shuffle away.

“Fine, then take this,” offered the merchant after having tossed the folded garments into his cart.

“A purse! You want me to take a purse? They would kill me for a garment, what then of stealing a purse! Someone like me could never afford the purse itself, let alone the bulging inside!” The hunched man scuttled away as fast as he could, his legs buckling as they desired not to go faster than need be. “Please! Sir. Please, let me be!” called the hunched man, bowing respectfully as low as he could, bobbing over and over.

The merchant angrily tossed the purse to his side and pulled on the reins. With the screaming donkey protesting, the creaking cart turned around in the lane and then bumbled over the stones as it headed back toward the city in the far-off distance. While turning around in the lane, the hunched man could have sworn the donkey had snarled at him with eyes of disdain as it pulled that last blade of grass into its lips.

***

It was deeper night, the witching hour, when the hunched man reached the city. Morning was only a few hours away and he’d have to be up before the crowing began. He walked to the communal, single room shanty where the others did lay and entered, too tired to care of the whispers being muttered by those up this late as well.

He opened the door and cried out. To his startlement, there stood the merchant. People around them jerked awake with their own cries of fright before they were peering and whispering. The haggard man lowered his head, defeat of misunderstanding descending upon his face. He turned and pressed his palms against the wall of the shanty. He braced for them. His mind cursed and frothed at this higher-class man invading his life as he had. Nothing happened. He blinked and tensed again, waiting. Nothing came. He dared not look to see if he was gone.

“What are you doing?”

“You are displeased that I declined you. I am prepared for the beating.”

“Why would I beat you?”

“Such is the way,” replied the tired voice, with a hint of malice twisting his last word, triggering a flinch and mental cursing at himself.

“No. I just want to help you.”

The hunched man turned.

“Help me? You have only hindered me. How did you even find me? Please, let me be…or give me the beating.”

***

With dawn not even yet twinkling at the horizon, he shuffled off to the granary, sack empty but still over his shoulder. At this hour, only a few others moved among the dozens that would swarm the granary yard.

***

Sometime later, the merchant entered the yard to find the man, and many others, dozens, picking up the scraps of grain and corn that were pressed into the mud and dirt. Once in a while, the men of the granary would kick or sweep a handful or so of grain, they didn’t desire to bend for, off the platform and down to the scavengers. They would laugh as the vagabonds would pull, push, and beat one another to get to the new grains. The hunched man did do some light pushing, more to remain standing than anything else, but would not pull or beat. He simply kept trying to pick up the grains the others had forgotten about and were now stepping on.

***

All day the merchant watched. Some had come to him and asked him his business. He showed them some papers, which had them scurrying off.

***

It was deep evening before the man had enough grain both to sell and take home. After getting the measly pence for the grain he could spare, he hoisted the quarter full bag over his shoulder and began the long trek.

The merchant followed him, but only as close as the burdened man could be hidden if the merchant lifted an extended thumb. He soon found that the man was bringing the grains to a small farm.

Children ran to meet him, and even with his wavering steps, he gladly let them crash into him.

A woman walked out of the small shack, a smile beaming on her face as he proudly shone her the bag of grain.

The children all took the bag and dragged it over to the whistling, tattered, nearly useless barn. They plopped down and began separating each grain by its type into marked and scarred barrels.

The woman handed the man a small piece of bread and a thin ear of corn.

The man smiled still as he haphazardly lowered himself to a worn, aged crate and wolfed the bread and corn down. He scraped his teeth over the cob getting every last kernel piece from the cob.

“Another to add,” commented the man as he held out the pence to the woman.

“One more pence closer to fixing our home and you possibly being able to stay home once more instead of going back to that dreary place.”

“I happen to enjoy my exercise, very much. Oh, and the stretches I get from bobbing like a chicken for grain, very good for my back,” remarked the man with mock seriousness betrayed by the twinkle in his eyes.

The woman laughed at him, and then pressed her forehead to his, embraced him, and then kissed him, before she called the children back to the shack.

They ran to obey, each getting a kiss on the head and a hug wrapped around by their father.

The man’s belly grumbled, but still he turned. He headed back down the lane until he met the road and would walk on to the city.

The merchant turned and urged the donkey on.

The man heard the sound. Looking up from the ground, anger and embarrassment shattered his face. He stumbled as fast as his legs dared, but yet the cart pulled further still.

***

When he reached the city, the merchant was not to be found. The haggard man looked everywhere he dared but his efforts were for naught. He reached the shanty, only to find the man was sitting and waiting by the door.

“Yo— You! You had no business following me home!” shouted the man, his raised finger shaking, tears rolling down his cheeks, and his knees threatening to buckle.

“I did not do it to spy or hurt you. I was merely curious.”

“Well go get a cat then! They’ll tell you all about what curiosity gets you!”

“If you have a farm, why do you toil in the city?”

“Well, I can’t work the fields no more, now, can I?” demanded the man, indicating his back. “So, what would you have me do to provide for my family? Sell their clothes?”

“If you worked the fields before and you have children that age, you cannot be as old as you appear. Were you injured?”

“My body betrayed me and revolted one day. What’s it to you!”

“Just randomly?”

“Yes! I dealt with a particularly cold day as I tried to mend the barn, and then the next I could not grip hammer nor hoe.”

“So, hard work was your craft, and haplessness is truly what did this to you.”

“Would you also like to know how long I’ve worn these rags? Or perhaps you have followed me to take my wife!”

The merchant nodded, accepting the man’s berating. He walked away, with the hunched man huffing in acceptance at his departure.

He glared around at everyone with a few blatantly staring, while others gave failing attempts to appear busying themselves with picking at their own rags. The haggard man entered the communal shanty, then shuffled off to a corner and laid on the floor.

***

A bit later, there was a pounding on the shanty’s ragged door. Everyone around him scrambled away from the door, except for the hunched man, who muttered and spat about barely getting sleep as it were.

“Have you no respect for a man’s slee—“ He yanked open the door to find a large man with a belly for two, standing before the shanty. “I— I— I swear—“

“I have been informed to bring you along with me.”

“But I haven’t done anything,” protested the man, his eyes wide with fear.

“Just come along.”

The large man grabbed his arm and there was naught he could do but shuffle along. He stared at the ground, thinking only of his family, of the barrels not near full.

***

Light shone and he looked up to find they were walking towards a building with music and laughter coming from inside. The large man opened the door and the smell of food wafted out to greet them. Confusion fluttered on the hunched man's face and his stomach growled, the kitchen’s scents driving a sharp pain into his gut and flooding his mouth with saliva.

The large man walked him up the stairs, slowed from the haggard man’s limited ability, for his legs could only ascend with each foot, to the same step, one after the other. The large man took him to a room, warm and bright, with a plate of food waiting in sight. The hunched man looked at the other in shock.

“It’s paid for, not by me. Just enjoy your meal and be out in the morn'.”

The large man shut the door, and the haggard man shuffled over to the small table.

There was no wolfing or stuffing his mouth. Each bite was slow and savored, licking his fingers between each one. His eyes darted periodically to the door, but there was no movement from it.

With stomach still rumbling and mouth salivating, he left the table and then tested the bed, sitting and patting, before laying down.

A moment later and he drug himself from the bed, groaning and holding his back. He lowered himself slowly to the worn plank floor. The cloth napkin, his plate had been set on, held more than most of the food. He drifted off with a smile on his face.

***

Early he rose, before a soul was awake. He hobbled down the stairs, and out the door. He held the napkin tight to his chest. The meat had soaked it with its juices, and he licked at it to not let a drop go to waste. Nothing he wanted more than to rush home, but this would merely be a treat for his family. He tied the napkin off to his waist’s rope and went to the granary yard.

***

Once he had the quarter of a bag full he took home each day, he called it a day early and rushed home, .

***

The sound was heard first, bringing confusion. As he reached sight of his home, he seen there were men climbing all over his house and barn, nailing boards and cutting wood. Shouts of orders, and laughter of merriment sent him shuffling as fast as he could. If it weren’t for muscle memory, he’d have dropped the sack. His eyes scoured the men as he neared, watching them hard at work.

“My home!” he shouted in horror. “My home! You can’t take my home! What are you doing to my home! Who has sent you? My family! What have you done to my family!”

The working men paused, looked at him, and laughed, turning back to their work.

“I brought them,” called a familiar voice.

“You! You! You had no right! Where did you send my family! You— You mon—”

“You still do not recognize me, aye?”

The burdened man’s brow furrowed

He heard the giggles. He looked to see one of his kids hanging from a burley man’s arm, who laughed and chuckled deep in his chest, the saw moving as if there were no pest dangling about. Another giggle caught his attention, a little girl sat aboard a plank, carried towards the barn by two men who sang a song.

The call of a woman’s voice brought the haggard man’s attention to find his other son dangling from the exposed rafters of their home, as old boards were pulled away, and new were nailed down. The woman waved and smiled, and the hunched man turned, bemused.

“Why? What is the meaning of this? What are you to me?”

The merchant smiled.

“A debt owed, is a debt burdened. A debt paid, is a debt freed.”

Inquisitive thought descended upon the haggard man’s face, slowly replacing its desperation.

“A debt from one so low, to one so high, is the heaviest of burdens indeed.”

Realization bloomed upon the haggard man’s face.

The merchant gave a hearty chuckle at his good Samaritan finally recognizing him.

Pride straightening his back as he stood straight for the first time in near memory, the farmer smiled.

“A friend in need, is a friend indeed,”