A homeless individual rested on the pavement, concealing his face between his palms while a tattered blanket draped his shoulders. Nameless to most, people simply referred to him as “old Silas.” Passersby ignored him, treating him like another fixture of the urban landscape.
That brisk morning, however, a sophisticated woman paused before him. Her fitted dress elegantly accentuated her silhouette. Her stilettos clicked purposefully against the concrete, her lengthy tresses swayed in the breeze, and a subtle fragrance seemed to transport fragments of an alternate reality.
Silas raised his gaze, confused.
—I have no change —I mumble, trying to push her away.
She offered him a judgment-free smile.
—I’m not here to give you change. I’m here to buy you lunch.
Silas chuckles, humorlessly:
—Fantastic. After a banquet with the President, I’ll have dessert too. Now leave me alone.
Yet she remains motionless. I simply extend one hand.
—Please. Come with me.
A city official, observing the interaction from afar, drew near.
— Are you okay, lady?
—Yes, thank you —she replied calmly—. I just want to take this gentleman to lunch with me.
The official identifies her.
—Is she sure about it? This is Silas. He has lived here for years. It’s not mean but… it’s not easy.
She acknowledged with a nod.
—Just because of this.
Silas, grudgingly, allowed himself to be persuaded. They entered a luxurious bistro, featuring expansive stained glass and flawless service staff. The manager hastened to intercept them.
— Excuse me, Madam, but… that man can’t stay. Killing the vibe.
She regarded him with resolute gentleness.
—Do you know the Allure & Co. company?
He faltered.
—Sure… is one of our most important clients for events.
—Good. I am Helena Diniz. General Manager.
Director’s face pale.
—Sorry, I didn’t know…
She interrupted him with a tranquil gesture.
—Now he knows. I hope you also know this: humanity is not measured by who enters, but by how you are treated when you leave.
I’ll be sitting down. Silas was pooped, he didn’t know where to put his hands. Helena looked him in the eye.
—Do you remember me?
He rolled his eyes.
—No… the voice is familiar but…
She did smile.
—Twenty years ago, a hungry girl walked into this same restaurant. She was curled up in a corner, trembling from the cold and didn’t dare to ask for anything. She was a waiter here. And he was the only one who noticed me.
Silas stayed still.
—She brought me a dish hidden from the kitchen. He paid for it with his own tips. And he said, “Today is on me. But do not forget: carry on.”
Silas looked down. Tears were welling up in the eyes.
—Eri tu?
— Yes. And now I’m here… to tell you that the good we do, even when we forget, God remembers it.
From his purse he would extract an envelope.
—There’s a ticket in here. Go to this address. Ask Mr. Murilo. He’s already waiting for you. There’s a room for you, a hot shower and a possibility.
Silas was sobbing softly.
—Why so? Why are you doing all this for me?
Helena hold his hand sweetly.
—Because you did it for me. And why …. I have never forgotten the taste of that dish, nor the respect with which you treated me.
Before going out, he watched the police officer.
—Thank you for allowing this to happen.
He smiled, moved:
—Lady… thanks to her. I have seen a miracle today.
