People and their stories

It’s a remarkable thing, I think, that there are over seven billion people in the world, and yet each one of them is significant. Often, I look at someone in the street and think, “You mean nothing to me. I wasn’t even aware of your existence until a moment ago, and in another moment’s time, I will have forgotten you. But from where you are standing, you are the most important person in the world.”

                                                                               

Sometimes I’m tempted to go up to people and demand, “What’s your story?”

Here are some of the people I have seen recently, all of whom have a story that I don’t know about:

1)      CONCERNED WOMAN

A lady and a gentleman of fairly advanced years were walking down the road. The gentleman was dressed in a jacket and tie, and the lady was dressed in an unflattering but formal dress. It was Sunday, so perhaps they were coming from or going to church. Suddenly, the woman stopped, swung round, glared at something on the ground behind her, and then carried on walking.

What had she seen?

2)      SUPERHEROES

This was one story I managed to resolve. I was having coffee with a friend in the city centre, when I saw a flash of blue and red out of the corner of my eye. I looked up, and there was Superman swooping off down the road, flanked by Batman and the Incredible Hulk.

We leapt up and ran after them.

“Hey!” we said. “What are you doing here?”

They beamed at us. “We’re recruiting,” they said. They went on to rattle off a litany of information regarding wages, hours, benefits and much else, without ever making it clear precisely what they were recruiting for, nor why the recruiting had to be done by superheroes.

But who was saving the world while all this was going on?  

3)      EMBRYONIC FOOTBALLER

The Janiculum Hill is one of the most enchanting places in Rome, with its magnificent views of the city and the feeling of tranquillity even so close to the pandemonium that is Rome city centre.

Two families were standing around chatting there, while their two little boys, who were in the initial stages of learning to walk upright, toddled around at their feet. Then one of the parents gave the little boys a ball. One child attempted to pick the ball up, but was thwarted by insufficient motor skills. The other staggered over, with that curious gait that toddlers have when they attempt to run, and gave the ball a determined kick, quite as if he were a professional footballer.

How does a child who probably can’t even say the word “football” yet know that a ball is to be kicked?

4)      MELON MAN

A man, unshaven, dirty and probably homeless, was sitting on a low step next to the pavement. He was devouring a melon, tearing it apart with his bare hands.

“I could judge him for eating like an animal,” I thought, “but I’m not the one who’s living on the street. If you don’t have enough to eat, table manners are probably not top on your list of concerns.”

That is what made me think that “culture” is a luxury not to be taken for granted in our society, since it is very much dependent on quality of life.

Had the man always been in such miserable conditions? If not, what had happened to lead up to this moment?

5)      MOLE CHILD

I passed a family going for an evening stroll.

“Excuse me, Daddy,” cried out the son, who must have been about six, in an imperious tone. “Where do moles live?”

“Underground,” the father replied.

“No, no,” said the boy, shaking his head. “I mean what region do they live in?”

“Lots of different regions,” replied the father, probably a little unsatisfactorily.

Why would a child find it so important to know in which parts of the country moles could be found?

6)      SPECTATOR SPORT

In the little hilltop town where I lived for a while, a group of old men would gather on the side of the road every evening – not outside a bar, as might be expected, but just outside a nondescript building. They would line up and lean against the railings, and wait for the bus to come past. Then they would raise their eyebrows at the driver.

Why did they stand at that particular spot? And what did they do for the rest of the day when they weren’t standing there? And did they know all the bus drivers personally?

7)      PINK LEOPARDSKIN GIRL

Outside a university, a girl dressed from top to toe in pink leopardskin – shoes, socks, miniskirt, crop top and headband – was dancing to a song blaring out from a CD player on the ground. At first I took her for a busker, but then saw there was no receptacle for money in front of her. I put it down to the popularity of arts degrees.

What was she trying to achieve and why? And, more importantly, where did she get all the pink leopardskin?

8)      TRUCK MOTHER

Crossing the road, I had to stop to let a lorry go by. This was not in itself unusual, but then I looked at the driver. It was a pretty, blonde young woman – and next to her was a booster seat containing a small child.

Where was she going in that massive vehicle? If she was working, then how did she end up in such a traditionally male job? And if she was just going out to do the grocery shopping, then why was she driving such a cumbersome vehicle?

9)      TORTOISE LADY

In another little hilltop town, there was an upstairs window looking out onto a little square. The shutters were always closed, no matter how glorious the day might be outside. Every day at about 5pm, an elderly lady opened one shutter a few centimetres. Clutching onto the underside of the shutter, she would peep out. She would stay there for about ten minutes, just watching people going past outside, and then withdraw once more, like a tortoise into its shell, and barricade herself in again.

Why did she keep the shutters closed? And what did she do once she went back inside?

10)  ORANGE BOY

A teenage boy used to get the bus with me every morning.  And he was always wearing orange.

Was he aware that his wardrobe was entirely orange, or did he just pick clothes that he liked, without realising that they were the same colour as everything else in his wardrobe?

11)  BEACH VENDOR

There were men walking up and down the beach selling bags, clothes and jewellery. One man stopped to try and sell a purse to my friend and me.

“It’s the first time I’ve done this work,” he told us. “In my country, in Bangladesh, I’m a nurse, but I couldn’t find work there, so I came to Italy. My wife came to Italy before me, but she’s in another city, and I don’t see her very often. I want to do a course to requalify, so I can work as a nurse here, but it’s very expensive. So for the moment, I’m selling things on the beach. You’re my first customers.”

What kind of a life is that??? How many people leave their countries because life is impossibly hard, and go to Europe or to America or to some other place where they think everything will be idyllic, only to find themselves facing just as many hardships there? And how many people judge these immigrants, thinking of them as faceless, uneducated masses, without realising that many of them were professionals in their own countries and have shown admirable courage in starting a new life in a foreign environment?