CREATIVE EVENTS

                                                                         The Wallet

                                                                                         By: Sayonsom Chanda

 

I had been a bit distracted lately. Business was slow, my employers hadn't called me back. I roamed around the city absent-minded, like a ghost, in this Seattle of a million other absent-minded people, thinking (or texting as they walk) about success, defeat, deceit, treachery, friends, fun, love, money or the lack of it. 
I pushed the heavy door to the entrance of my apartment, bending down to pick up the newspaper I subscribed to for daily employment news. All it did was add to the pile of my hopelessness, and to the heap of old papers in the corner of my living room. 

At that moment, a pale skinny man in a black coat and a black hat, patted me from behind. "Your wallet, sir. You had dropped it on the pavement."
I felt my pockets in a flash. Indeed my wallet was missing. How terrible would it have been had this kind bloke not returned it to me. 

"Thank you", I beamed with gratitude. "Thank you very, very much, sir. How kind of you!"
"Not a problem, sir. It is my pleasure to return it to you."
He took a bow, and quickly started walking away from me. 

What a great man, I thought. He looked hungry and poor, yet how kind was he! He had not removed a single cent from my wallet having over two hundred dollars in cash. The world still has amazing and kind people, such noble souls, I thought and smiled. 

But ... I froze for a moment ... this guy seemed strangely familiar. Where had I seen him before? Is he a toy seller at the Pike's Place Market? Or the ticket vendor at the taxi stall? Where had I seen him before. I felt more beaten the harder I thought.

The next moment, my memory struck like a bolt. Exactly three weeks ago, and also about two months ago too - it was this very guy, this damned guy with this damned pale face and the same damned black hat and the same damned coat, with the same damn smile of generosity ... had returned to me my wallet, which he claimed I had lost. How is that it is always he who gets my wallet? Thrice now!

I had to find this out. 

I ran after him. His steady pace in the thinning afternoon crowd was easy to beat. I nabbed him down.

"Hey man, how it is that it is that I lose my wallet and how it is that it is always you who finds my wallet and you return it, and you never took even a cent of money from it! Can you please explain this little game of yours?"

"Have I returned your wallet to you before also?"

"Yes.", I was getting furious there.

"Oh man, my bad.", he spoke softly.

"Are you f-ing kidding me? Are you gonna tell me, or I'll let the cops do the talking for me", I held his collar, glaring down his bright deep sunk button eyes.

"Easy . . . its my profession", he said with his smile.

"What's your profession?"

"I pickpocket purses and wallets of people, and return it to them." 

"Why the heck would you do that?"

"When I return it to the people, they feel very happy. Their faith in humanity, human kindness is restored. They think there are still good people in the world. I restore their faith in world. I rebuild their trust in fellow citizens in this man-eating-man world. Tell me, sir ... did you not feel good every time I returned your wallet, did you not feel happy? Did you not feel moved by the kindness of a stranger? I couldn't become a Jesus Christ or any such prophet or guru, but I pretty much do the same thing - I give people a reason to smile and believe in others & not lose hope in the world or humanity. Tell me sir, what's my crime?"

I couldn't speak anymore. I looked at him for a while, and let go of his collar. I turned around to walk back, ashamed and awe-struck. 

I felt my pockets again. This time, my wallet was still there. I clutched it close to my chest, as I walked back. My faith in humanity was restored.