I have touched the face
of a young boy
(10-13 years old?)
whose face had been so badly burned...
just one nostril hole
and one small (1 cm...or less) hole
for a mouth
We fed him the rice soup
through a straw
His face--it felt hard
like one solid piece
Touch the right cheek
and all moved
"He can't talk," they said
But, even with my poor language skills
I discovered he could
After gently wiping his face
putting on some antibiotic cream
He said (muffled), "duzi tong."
"What?" "Your stomach hurts?"
(Is that when we sent someone for the rice soup?)
After eating
that pain seemed to ease
Later..."shou tong"
And I looked at his hand...
The burns or scars
had curled it
We rinsed off the dirt and soot
in the warm water
Were those bones I saw--sticking out through the skin?
We gave him some pain killer...
(nurse-friend and teacher-friend came well prepared!)
popped 1 or 2 through that small mouth opening
followed by liquid...
I got angry at the crowd standing around
(Not 'ranting angry' or 'yelling angry' but...)
They slowly gathered
a quiet semicircle--10, 20??
I asked if they wanted to help?
No response
And I think I eventually invited them to leave
suggested they should
if all they were doing was standing around to watch.
And I remember trying to point out
"No, he can talk..."
I wished they could see him as a person,
worthy of compassion.
I didn't live in that city
Just got to be a part of a few hours
in the ongoing story.
I couldn't not get involved.
Just a short time before, in my town, I had held back
not gotten very involved
and a different homeless man had died.
Earlier
others had tried to help this homeless boy
find him a place to live
But he didn't want to stay there
Then they heard about the fire and the burns
It was cold, it was winter
It seems he had been pushed into the fire
that several had made to keep themselves warm
Later
They continued to try to help
Kept taking him food
Tried to get him to a hospital,
but the hospital wouldn't take him in,
without family to sign for him
One day, some official department
came for him in a truck
He was loaded into the back
(and I can't write how it was described...tears come)
My friends tried to follow up
were generally brushed aside
Until, one day
they heard a "fantastic" story....
He had been sent on a train to where his family was
Everything was great
The boy had told them so many things
The story...so 'fantastic'
we suspect
the opposite had happened
Why do I tell this story? Why today? (It is a story from the fall of 1996.) I don't know. Maybe just because I remembered, and I'm processing. And maybe because...he deserves to be remembered, his life is worth remembering. I wonder who else remembers him. I wonder about his family. I wonder...
There is so much sadness to this story. And yet there is beauty too--several people stepping in, doing what they could, seeing a person, looking into his eyes, speaking, offering compassion and dignity. It didn't seem to end the way we had hoped. But we were, and we are formed and blessed in the process.
I had the privilege of touching his face that day, of looking into his eyes, of talking with him, of trying, along with others involved, to love him as best we could. The incredible privilege of that day...
