(Paris)

Heading to the metro at Place de Clichy,
I crossed to where shops and buildings
were offering a respite of shade.
I was basking in the warmth of that June afternoon
when a man appeared,
coming towards me,
on the same side of
rue Batignolles.
He wasn’t far when I spotted him —
the only outcrop on that level street.
I couldn’t help but stare as we
approached one another.
It was about half past three,
seemed strange – his stride foreshortened,
three inches, if that…
a clipped shuffle after shuffle without pause.

We kept shortening the distance between us,
bit by bit,
and finally, when we were just about even,
I got a closer look at his feet.
Out of all the sounds rising up from the street
that day,
the only one I could hear was scuff-scuff…scuff-scuff–
his shoes like an onerous load
scraping along pavement.
I tried to catch his other features:
tall, fiftyish, copper-colored skin,
five-day-old beard,
clothed top to bottom in drab olive-green.
And there I was, totally clothed in shame–
well, how could I not be taken aback at discovering
a deformity beyond his control
had botched his ability to walk?
Hence his abbreviated pace — scuff-scuff…scuff-scuff.

What sickness had mangled his feet and legs?,
I wondered.
What merciless god had hurled
this crippling curse down upon him?

We kept going in opposite directions, stretching the space between us.
And when my feet delivered me to the metro
(sunshine filling the plaza),
I felt the gates of compassion
swing all the way open.
And right there, on that day,
a voice rose to my lips:
in the name
of whatever goodness is out there,
may no man bully
or mock him on account of his portion in life
for all the rest of his days.
In the name of whatever mouthful of sustenance comes his way,
may it always be enough.

Later that day,
when I was sitting in a bustling café,
the voice spoke again:
in the name
of all the holy waters in the fountains of Paris,
may he never feel thirst, may he be relieved of his sickness
may he live long; may he always,
sooner or later,
get to wherever it is he needs to go.

Translation: Lisa Horowitz