The Wandering Beggar
By: Ravisuth Chutintaranond
“I lost my wife, I lost my son, and now I’ve lost my life.”
I was looking for something new, something that other people wouldn’t see. The Phutta Osot soi had many things to see but all of them were things that were seen everywhere else as well. After walking through the soi for a little under twenty minutes, passing by various coffee shops and side of the road restaurants, I stumbled across an old man sitting on the side of the street. A beggar.
The beggar was dressed in a dirty greenish-grey looking shirt with long kaki pants. He didn’t wear a hat and his hair was a mess. You could tell by looking at him that he was in despair. His eyes were still, focused on the 7/11 cup placed in front of him. It must have been a slow day for him because his cup was practically empty.
The sun was blazing, like it was on most days. You could see the sweat dripping from the bottom his chin onto the dry street. I stood in front of him for a few minutes just starting at him, wondering if he would look up. He didn’t even bother moving. After another minute or so I decided to sit down next to him.
“What do you want?” he mumbled.
I gave a brief introduction of myself and proceeded to ask him if he was free to answer a few questions.
“I’m always free, I just sit here in the sun waiting for someone to come along and give me something.” His lips barely moved as his dry voice said those words.
I realized my mistake in the question and hoped that I didn’t offend him with the question.
I began with simple questions asking for his name and age.
“My name doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Neither does my age.”
I didn’t want to push him to answer, so I continued the interview. I began asking him about why he came to this area and if he was here every day. He replied by telling me that this was his first time here and he decided to come here because it seemed like a quiet place. He had been in the more hectic areas of central Bangkok for the past few days and wanted a day where he could sit in peace.
Sitting in the heat was harsh so I asked him why he doesn’t sit in the shade. Right next to us there was a shadow of a building that he could comfortably sit in.
“The sun will move. It doesn’t matter anyway, I’m used to this heat,” he said still staring at the cup.
We continued talking for a while, he would answer in short sentences, not really elaborating much. After about 15 minutes, he turned his head and looked at me. His face was wrinkled and full of spots. His dark skin was shiny from his sweat, and he looked tired. His eyes however, wide and dark, were staring directly at my face. Right then and there I could tell, he was in pain. He asked me a question, “Do you actually want to hear my story.”
I nodded and gave him a smile. He turned his head back to the cup and began.
He used to be of the middle class, living a happy life with his wife and son. He had a job and enough money to put food on the table. His wife was a stay-at-home mom; her only job was to take care of their son. To him, life was perfect and he could not be happier. He didn’t care much about money, he just wanted his family to be happy.
It was his son’s birthday and he wanted to take his son somewhere special. His son always wanted to go see the dam at Karnchanaburi, it was also their first road trip together. During the car ride out to the outskirts something grave happened. His son was horsing around in the back seat and fell off the seat, hitting his head on the floor. His arm accidentally got stuck under the seat or the passenger and he started to yell out for help. His mother was sitting in the passenger seat and tried to reach back but wasn’t able to get him out, so this man turned around from the wheel and attempted to yank his son out. He lost control of the wheel and the car spun out of control.
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