The Beggar

The old woman walked down the cobble-stoned street resting heavily on her cane. The sun was setting, and it case a red-orange light across St. Peter’s Square, which was her destination. Her progress was slow due to her clubbed feet, and the leather bag slung over her shoulder looked like it might drive her into the ground. She was small, not more than three feet tall, and hunched as if a heavy cross were on her shoulders. So small was her stature, in face, and so bent over was she, that her face could not be seen. Her clothes and her headscarf looked as worn out and tired as she did.

She proceeded slowly up the street towards St. Peter’s Square, like a weary pilgrim approaching the gates of heaven. Finally, she reached the square where tourists were throwing bread crumbs and popcorn to the pigeons in the glow of the evening sun. When the ancient woman became visible, a certain awe fell on the tourists gathered there, and many pointed and whispered. Some, moved by compassion at the woman’s great age and obvious physical deformity, immediately moved towards her and deposited some coins in her shrunken hand. A man with a camera, who looked very American with his baseball cap and fanny pack, began to follow the old woman, hoping for a good shot.

A middle-aged woman and her son stopped and knelt down and began to pray with the old woman. Surely one so old in years, who had borne a thousand burdens and said ten thousand Aves in the shadow of the Holy See must be close to the heart of God and the Blessed Virgin. After praying, they gave her a few small coins and stood solemnly. The mother whispered a few admonitions in the small child’s ear and crossed herself as they watched the old woman limp onward towards the center of the square. Pigeons flapped into a cloud around her.

She finally reached her destination–the steps of St. Peter’s Basilica–and knelt to pray. She knelt slowly and painfully, and placed her head on the steps as if she were kissing them. All the while, merciful passers-by were depositing coins around her, some crossing themselves. The photographer stood at a distance, snapping photos.

The sky above continued to draw down its blinds, and the people went about their business. In time, she rose slowly to her feet. She was so close to the ground when standing that it was not difficult for her to retrieve the coins and bills around her. She gathered them unhurriedly and placed them into the bag on her back. The sun had sunk very low and the horizon burned like glowing embers.

When she had finished collecting the coins, the old woman began the journey back to wherever she had come from. The photographer, obviously moved by the scene, still stood at a distance watching the old woman recede into the shadows. He had finally gotten a photograph that satisfied him, and he couldn’t wait to share it. “She comes here almost every day,” said a middle-aged Italian man with a silver mustache who had appeared by the photographer’s side, “She is very devout.” The photographer was startled from his reverie. “Yes, she must be. I wonder if she is a saint,” he said half honestly.

“Perhaps an angel,” said the other man with a twinkle in his eye. The old woman disappeared from sight.

After leaving the square, the old woman retread to a small, quiet side street where few people were. The sun was almost completely extinguished now, and a red glow on the horizon was all that remained. The shadows grew long. Finally, the old woman stopped. She paused, glanced left, then right, and disappeared into an impossibly thin alley. There was a man waiting in the shadows. He looked weary and aged himself, but he was not ancient. His silver mustache rose into a grin at the site of the old woman, and he asked, “How’d you do today, mi bambino?”

The old woman straightened up, removing the head scarf to reveal the youthful face of a dark-skinned, brown-eyed boy, about eleven or twelve years old. “Good Papa! I made 60 Euros today,” he said, beaming proudly and handing his father a handful of coins and a few bills. “Good,” said the man, placing his hand gently on the child’s shoulder as they proceeded deeper into the alley, “We shall eat well tonight.”