A question for you, Gentle Reader.
Sleep in a bed last night?
I know now—if the question surprises you, you’re lucky.
I’m happy to say that last night I did. And this morning I chatted briefly with someone who did not.
I had a hankering, starting off on the trot, for a bit of Monteverdi. Perfect music for a Monday morning, and it had been years since I had heard the Selva morale e spirituale.
Well, it’s exalted music, and a fine performance. Beach was good too—the water surprisingly smooth after a week of rough seas. Then it was time to get back home and start the rest of the day.
Of course, I had to clean my feet first, because walking with sand pressed by the sock into your feet is annoying. Fortunately, though the showers installed by the government no longer work, the surfers have rigged up a little hose that provides no-doubt-bootlegged water.
So that’s where I saw the guy, my beatus vir.
The first rule of the day is to say hello to everyone. It’s something that was constantly adjured on us (to us?) at Wal-Mart, and though few people did it, I did. It brings you into contact with people you’d never interact with otherwise.
He had an El Greco face with one of those marvelous noses: thin, elongated, curved inward and then outward. Salt-and-pepper hair, thin, brown eyes. And sunken cheeks.
Oh, and he had a bar of soap and was busy applying it to his blue jeans.
The jeans he was wearing.
The jeans he was wearing.
Right—no washing machine.
Did the greetings, and he asked where I was from.
“Wisconsin…You?”
“Nowhere, really. I’m on the streets.”
“How long?”
“Two weeks and five days.”
OK—he’s never been homeless before, but now, yeah. And he’d been living with his mother, but she was in a project, and they have rules, see? Anybody living with her, and they kick her out. And she’s 86, and he’d die of shame if they kicked her out….
So he left.
Pretty hard, he says, to be on the streets. Went to Salvation Army this morning, but they couldn’t give him breakfast.
They only feed four people breakfast a day.
What about the place in Santurce.
“Yeah, La Fondita de Jesús? They told me to go there….”
I pass the hose back to him—feet are washed now. He wets his shirt, and starts rubbing the soap all over it. Logically, he pays special attention to the armpits.
“You know, I couldn’t get into City Hall to ask for help. They told me if I was homeless I couldn’t get into the building. Politicians—they come and kiss you when they’re campaigning, then they kick you the rest of the time….”
I put on my socks, and empty change and keys from one of the shoes. Put the keys in my pocket.
“If I can get out to Bayamón, I can stay at a place there. I’ve seen it. It’s real nice. They give you your own room. Like a hotel….”
Costs $1.25 to get to Bayamón.
I’m ready for the trot back home. He’s soaping his neck, now. I offer my hand, which he bumps with his elbow. It’s a Puerto Rican thing.
“Good luck,” I say.
“Hey, you left your change,” he says.
Duh….
“Take it,” I say.
“Sorry to bother you and all,” he says.
“You didn’t bother me, not at all.”
Nor did he. In fact, I felt honored. Honored to meet someone with the nobility to point out the dimes and quarters and pennies that had such terrible value to him and were almost worthless to me. A guy who moves to the streets so his mother doesn’t get kicked out. A guy who cleans himself painstakingly—I wouldn’t—and chats with a stranger and exposes his pain matter-of-factly and then apologizes.
I’m calling him a guy. Wrong—beatus vir.
Beatus vir
Beatus vir, qui timet Dominum:
In mandatis eius rolet nimis.
Potens in terra erit semen eius;
Generatio rectorum benedicetur.
Gloria et divitiae in domo eius;
Et justitia eius manet in saeculum saeculi.
Exortum est in tenebris lumen rectis:
Misericors, et miserator et justus.
Jucundus homo qui miseretur et commodat.
Disponet sermones suos in judicio:
Quia in aeternum non commovebitur.
In memoria aeterna erit justus.
Ab auditione mala non timebit.
Paratum cor eius sperare in Domino;
Confirmatum est, cor eius:
Non commovebitur,
Donec despiciat inimicos suos.
Dispersit, dedit pauperibus:
Justitia eius manct in saeculum saeculi,
Cornu eius exaltabitur in gloria.
Peccator videbit, et irascetur;
Dentibus suis fremet et tabescet.
Desiderium peccatorum peribit.
Translation
Blessed is the man who fears the lord:
He delights greatly in his commandments.
His seed will be mighty on earth;
The generation of the upright will be blessed.
Wealth and riches are in his house;
And his righteousness endures forever and ever.
Unto the upright there arises light in the darkness:
He is gracious, and full of compassion, and righteous.
Good is the man who is full of compassion and lends.
He will guide his affairs with discretion:
Because he will not be moved forever.
The righteous will be in everlasting remembrance.
He will not be afraid of evil tidings.
His heart is fixed, trusting in the lord;
His heart is established:
He will not be moved,
Until he gazes at his enemies.
He has dispersed, he has given to the poor:
His righteousness endures for ever and ever,
The strength of his soul will be exalted with honour.
The sinner will see it, and will be grieved;
He will gnash with his teeth, and melt away.
