On a Tuesday afternoon, a voice lifts up from the street below. A man cries out in a broken voice - something between a prayer and a plea. I cannot recognize the language he speaks, but this is so secondary. On his knees, with a scrap of cardboard under them, one hand leaning against a cane he repeats his song as stray dogs are barking and a perpetual circular saw grinds away. He does not stop.
There are so many voices that come up from the street on any given day.
“Malina! Malina!” A woman calls, selling fresh raspberries early in the morning.
At about one in the afternoon the Jarti, the junk men make their rounds, some with bullhorns offering to cart off an old broken refrigerator or stove, a rusty length of pipe that has been stashed in a corner forever and a day.
But this man is an exception, a rarity.
I go to the balcony, looking down at the top of his head. There is no way to understand what he says, or why he says it, just that he is compelled to do this, and not for twenty seconds. A young man, that you might guess is his son or nephew stands close to him, distracted, detached. He is there only because he has to be, and does not take part - the reluctant chaperone.
Money for a funeral? Money because he lost his job? Money for orphans? It is all a mystery. Maybe he seeks to convert people to a school of thought, or religion. Maybe he is preaching to us about our failures.
The song ends.
The man walks a hundred meters, his feet dragging across the uneven asphalt, drops the scrap of cardboard and starts all over again, turning the back side of the buildings into his private theater. The song repeats and all that can be deciphered is the pain in his voice, the conviction, the plea. Whatever it is, he is a true believer.
On other balconies I see people appear, like little lights coming on. Children stand with blank faces next to their parents. But no one goes down, no one puts money in his outstretched hand.
The tone (breadshop) downstairs is run by some new people, after it sat empty for months and months. The owner slams the door shut, drowning out the man as he grows closer to his door.
Share this post