Marina

I'd never had a better excuse for being late for church than when a beautiful little lady in a pink quilted coat came up to me with hopeless tears streaming down her face.

No matter where you are, any such encounter is cause for concern. But this woman's emotional display particularly stood out in Latvia, where I had already witnessed so many people walking the streets with emotionally closed faces. She opened her mouth a little and then attempted to still her quivering lip as I stood, momentarily frozen, in surprise and concern. 

"Please," she wept, wringing her small hands in distress. "Help me, they took my money."

My ears registered her broken English, the words harsh and unfamiliar in her mouth, as my eyes danced over her burgundy hair, sticking up from under her hat in endearing scruffy spikes. A plea for mercy rose in her crystalline blue eyes as she sniffed wretchedly and begged again, "Please - "

"Who took your money?" I made an effort to speak slowly and clearly, hoping to calm her down, and praying she understood.

"Twenty euros," she sobbed.

"Who? Who took it?"

She choked in her misery, raising her hands as she struggled inarticulately to speak. "I don't know," she said finally, eyes brimming with tears. She gestured vainly towards the bag hanging from her shoulder. "Some person - some person, I had my bus money, and for food, and some person took..." She trailed off, at a loss for words, and simply stared at me in a numb kind of shock.

I reached out to grasp her thin arms through the padding of her coat. "It's all right," I said. "It's going to be ok." Her tears slowed to a miserable trickle, and I wished for a kerchief to wipe them off her cheeks. "What is your name?"

"Marina," she managed.

I looked at her sweet, puckered face and began to dig in the breast pocket of my parka. "How much was the bus fare?" I asked, pausing to watch her features. I had planned to travel to the suburbs, and had only brought a small amount of money to pay for my bus fare and a meal.

"Ten euros," she sniffed.

"Ten euros?" I asked. That was a ridiculously large bus fare - if she was telling the truth, she must have travelled from a long way away. If she wasn't...

"Yes," she nodded. "For my child and I."

My heart froze within me. For her child? 

"You have a child?" I asked her. And she needed bus fare for both of them? "Where is your child?"

"He is at the bus station," she said. The red was fading from her face. "I must work, so..." She trailed off again and clutched at her thin fingers.

Good Lord.

"Here." I pulled a ten euro bill out of my coat, and tucked it into her bare, trembling hands. She gasped, her eyes brightening with hope, as I said, "Take this for your bus fare."

She fumbled the folded bill open, life flaring across her features, but it died when her eyes landed on the number. "It was twenty euros," she said, her head shooting up in panic. "They took twenty euros..."

"But you should be all right for the bus fare, right?" I asked her. I did not have much more to give.

Her eyes turned glassy with tears again. "Ten euros," Marina said, a tremor running under her fragile voice. "I...not money, for food for my child..."

I looked at the shivering, terrified mother before me, and almost couldn't take it anymore. "What is your child's name?" I asked her gently. The bitter Sunday morning cold became meaningless as the whole world narrowed down to the precious woman before me, to whom desperation had granted the courage to cry out for my help.

"Ilmarks," she said.

"All right," I said. I fished out a five-euro bill; I knew you could get a cup of soup in quite a few cafés for €2.35. Marina opened her mouth in a silent plea as I handed it to her, and already I could see the word forming on her tongue.

"But - "

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling helpless. "I have to keep some money for myself." Not out of selfishness, but it is unwise to wander around a foreign city without at least something in your pocket. She closed her mouth and nodded mutely, her head hanging down.

"Come here," I said, and reached out, wrapping her in a hug. Surprised, she hesitantly raised her arms, and I gathered her thin frame closer. "It will be all right," I whispered to her. "Don't be afraid, everything will be all right." I stepped back a little and ducked my head to look her in the eye. "I wish I could do more for you," I said. "You should go to this church, you can get a good meal there if you need one." I told her the address, carefully pronouncing it as best as I could, and was rewarded when a watery smile broke through on her weary features.

I smiled back, and hugged her again. "God bless you, Marina," I said into her short, spiky hair. "May you know the blessing of the Lord that makes rich, for He adds no sorrow to it."

She sniffed and managed another smile. She looked down at the money in her hands for a long moment, and suddenly, a brilliant smile split across her face, glistening far brighter than her tears. She turned her shining gaze up towards me and lifted her small palms towards the heavens. "God is good," she said, her voice quiet but steady.

Instantly my heart was smote within me, and I found myself completely humbled before this beautiful little lady and her utter sacrifice of praise."Yes, He is," I could only agree. I gave her a gentle, encouraging push. "Go!" I urged her. "Go work, so you can go back to Ilmarks and get him something to eat, and go home with him to rest."

"Thank you," Marina said, her face aglow. She carefully tucked her money away, and I absently adjusted my camera bag as I watched her walk in the direction I had come from. When she was the size of a doll, I convinced myself somehow to continue on my way, going down the long street I was on before turning the corner towards Krišjāņa Valdemāra iela. 

And only when I was safely around that corner did I allow myself to slip into an alley, take a deep breath, and finally break down and cry.