Escaping

Yesterday, when I carried my normal shopping bag on my left shoulder and an extra yellow plastic bag, which were actually doubled two bags , in my right hand, entering the bus, an elegant lady received the bag from my hand with simply a gesture, because she was sitting beside the luggage stand. I said 'thanks' certainly, and she replied, 'good, right?'

She was slim, wearing a green grass hat, which reminded me of 20's last century, matched her sleeveless top. From her shoulders, one could see some parts of the rim of her dark gray undershirt, which matched the short skin-skirt in the range between dark gray and black. She moved the big black travel bag towards her own side in order to give more space for my plastic bag. Other than this little distraction, she was reading all the way during my riding, crossed her right leg over the left.

Obviously, she attracted my attention, while I gave a smile to the old man, who signaled me for an available seat beside him, stared back to the young man, who stared at me, (who knows what's going on in his little head,) and looking at the notice screen and some other things mindlessly. She gave me very enjoyable impression, probably due the confident and energetic temperament which she spread.

It was not too hot. The atmosphere in the whole was light-hearted and nice. Nevertheless, probably because of the contrast, it brought back the memory of what I had experienced on the underground train some days ago . That was also on the way of my shopping tour. I missed the bus stop where I should take off, while my mind was wondering undisciplined by itself, therefore I had to take the underground train as the alternative option. Then there came a woman's singing voice attacking my hearing perception——Guantanamera.

The train was quite empty at that hour. I didn't turn my head back to check, but from the distance measured by the sound, I knew that she must be around the center of the compartment. Often enough, one might meet some crazy people murmuring or shouting or lecturing funny or not funny nonsense around the underground——on the platform or even inside the train. But the voice which I heard that time sounded absolutely sober, soft and beautiful. It disturbed my feeling. Difficult to name a reason, but that disturbance compelled me escaping from the scene. So I did.

I jumped out and got in from the next compartment, when the train stopped at the next station. That was begging, without slightest doubt, with the best one could do. It was different from those street-musicians who are offering their art and talent with joy and mental ease. That woman was not a professional musician. One could sense that from her inexperienced way of presentation. No self-introduction, no advertisement for her little show, no pleasing to her audience, but barely started to sing.

I was afraid of imagining the situation which that Spanish-speaking woman would have to stand. What if I were her? I gave up my singing career with disappointment once upon a time in my life, and I had once experienced financial helplessness too...

When I told my husband afterwards about what happened by then, he asked me why didn't I just give her some money instead of running away from her? Isn't she just the case which requires one to give substantial help? But the problem was that I felt that I was not the right person who could help her. How much money should I and could I give her? There are so many former managers, lawyers, engineers, and etc., who came to Germany from Africa, east European countries and so on, and became cleaning persons. That was not the single, isolated case.

The desperate thing was that she followed me to the next compartment and started over the same song. Then I was calling for God's help in my heart, to her, and also to me.

How good that my stop arrived when the train stopped again. So I could finally escape the scene, although without lightened feeling.