Ravi had made his plans and talked Sammy into joining him that morning. They snuck away from the garbage dump unnoticed and headed for the street corner where they had both been rudely deposited by Mr. Shah.
From across the street they could see a little boy holding a can in his right hand. He had no left arm, just a six-inch stump protruding from his shoulder and wrapped with fresh bandages. He shook the can and stepped in front of the people walking by.
“That’s him; that’s Kumar. Mr. Shah cut his arm off,” declared Sammy.
Ravi motioned for Sammy to follow him across the street, and they crouched behind a parked car. Ravi motioned for him to come. The beggar boy, wearing a torn blue t-shirt and dirty shorts, kept walking.
“Come here. We can rescue you. Mr. Shah had us, too, but we got away.” The boy heard Ravi, but didn’t slow from approaching pedestrians.
“Why isn’t he coming?” whispered Sammy.
Ravi shrugged and tried again.
“Hey you, Kumar, come here. We can help you escape.” A pedestrian finally took pity on the one-armed beggar and tossed several rupees into his can. It did nothing to alleviate the intense look on his face.
“Remember me? Come with us. We can get you food,” tried Sammy. Kumar paid no attention. After trying several more times, they finally gave up.
“Why wouldn’t he listen?” asked Sammy.
“I don’t know; we can try again later. Let’s go back to the alley so we don’t miss our food. At least it’s a little cooler there.”
The boys passed the time chatting and pitching small stones to see who could get them closest to the far alley wall. When they heard Julie’s voice, they both looked at each other and fell immediately “asleep.”
Julie smiled down at them.
“OK, sleeping beauties, I have some food for you today.” She sat down and pulled out sandwiches, apples, and juice boxes. Sammy made a lunge for them, but Julie was too quick. “Nope, manners, manners.” Ravi pulled Sammy’s hand back then folded his own hands in his lap.
“Well, aren’t you the gentlemen today? I’ll reward that behavior every time.” She handed Ravi his food. Sammy quickly folded his arms and received the same response. Ravi ate half his sandwich and wrapped the other half. Then he spoke to Sammy, who at first looked like he’d been slapped. Sammy grabbed his apple and clutched it to his chest. Ravi motioned to his own wrapped sandwich, and Sammy reluctantly lay the apple aside. They both drained their juice boxes.
“Well, what’s going on here? Not too hungry today?” Ravi grabbed his sandwich and stared at Julie. Sammy clutched his apple.
“I’m not going to take them from you.” She shook her head in confusion and then pulled out two multivitamins for each of them. Ravi said something to Sammy, who looked dismayed again and ate just one.
Surely Ravi isn’t using Sammy to get more food. He seems so sweet, but he did steal my purse. Maybe he’s capable of more than just thievery. Could Sammy be in danger? I’ll have to keep an eye on him.
With a renewed urgency, she looked at Sammy.
“I wish you would come back to the dump.” She held out her hand to Sammy, who looked immediately to Ravi, who shook his head no. She let out a big sigh. I tried. I don’t know what to do. I can’t drag Sammy back. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” She tried to sound encouraging as she left. “I hope you’re both good and hungry then.” She flinched. What a stupid thing to say!
“Sammy, take your apple and sweet and let’s go.” Sammy was still hoping to eat his food, but reluctantly agreed. Ravi had to constantly slow down. Sammy’s limp kept him from running.
In a few minutes they were crouched between parked cars again waiting for Kumar.
“We’ve got food for you,” said Ravi, holding up his half sandwich. He nudged Sammy, who held up his apple with two big bites removed. Ravi stared at him, and he grinned his gap-toothed smile back.
At the sight of food, Kumar came immediately and crouched between the cars. While he devoured the sandwich, Ravi began his spiel.
“Come with us. We get food every day. I promise. We will help you.” The boy finished the half sandwich and began immediately on the apple.
“I’m Ravi.”
“Kumar,” he said as he finished eating the core.
“I’m Sammy! Remember me?”
Ravi dug in his pocket for his vitamin and handed it to Kumar, who didn’t stop to examine it before eating. Ravi turned to Sammy and held out his hand. Sammy dug through one pocket and then the other and with a chagrined look, shrugged his shoulders when he could produce nothing.
I think I’ll be the food carrier tomorrow, thought Ravi.
“Come with us, please.”
“I can’t. If I don’t earn enough, I’ll get beaten or…something else.”
“What else?” piped Sammy, as if he might be missing out on something fun.
“I have to get back to work.”
“We’ll bring food tomorrow. I promise,” said Ravi.
Julie had never gone much past the grocery store. Today she decided to walk farther. In eight more blocks, she came to an area that was more prosperous. These were actual stores, full buildings with locking doors, much more westernized than the primitive shops in Julie’s neighborhood.
When Julie had first arrived in India, all the vendors tried to coax or even pull her into their shops. A white woman spelled money. Now ambling down the street, no one noticed her. She stepped into a clothing shop and came face-to-face with her reflection in a full-length mirror. No makeup, greasy hair, her flesh with a thin coating of dust. Her dress was worse. The green designer purse was scuffed, dusty, and stained. Bags under her eyes and five pounds lighter. She recoiled in shock.
What’s happened to me? I look haggard, like a homeless person.
Julie was aware the sales clerk was staring at her with the same look she’d given those people reaching for their potato-filled plate back at the homeless shelter. She wanted to explain:
I’m not usually like this. I would be a good customer. I dress well. I value hygiene. I have a good job in America. This is due to circumstances beyond my control. This isn’t me. I’m not like this. But today she was. She no longer stood out in the crowd; she was just another poor person to be ignored, looked down upon, or discarded. No wonder I’m not getting assaulted by beggars anymore. She exited. Across the street was a barber/beauty shop. The front window had a large drawing of a pair of scissors and written in English were the following services: haircut, facial massage, shampoo, manicure, pedicure, shave, and ear cleaning.
“Oh my gosh, why didn’t I think of this before?” Julie felt a little twinge or check when she thought about entering. If anyone deserves this, it’s me. She squelched the feeling and burst in the door with such enthusiasm that all the clients and workers stared. A look of disgust spread over all the faces. Shame urged her to turn and run, but vanity kept her firmly planted.
Julie walked to the desk, stared at the ground, and waited. She tried not to notice the beauticians looking toward each other hoping someone else would wait on her. She felt her face flush.
Finally an older woman approached, but her act of acceptance was not believable. Julie pantomimed shampooing her hair, painting her nails and toes, and washing her face. The woman motioned for her to sit in an empty beautician’s chair and wait.
I’m surprised they even let me in the shop. I’m a disgusting mess. Julie spun the chair away from the large mirror in front. It was too close, too big, and revealed too much.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a flushing toilet. She jumped up, which startled everyone, and almost ran toward the sound. A door opened, and a well-groomed, 40-ish man exited. He walked a wide berth around Julie and entered the back of the shop. Without waiting for permission, she ducked in the bathroom and locked the door.
How long has it been since I’ve used a sink and a western toilet? To her surprise the hot water spigot worked. She rinsed the sink out then dumped about five tablespoons of hand sanitizer on a coarse brown paper towel and scrubbed. There wasn’t a stopper so she wadded the paper towels and plugged the drain. Then she filled the sink with warm water and washed her face.
Look at how brown the water is just from my face. What a luxury. I wish I had some of my Himalayan moisturizer. How can warm water feel so good? Oh thank You, Lord, for warm water. After giving her face a more thorough washing than it had ever had, she drained the sink, refilled it, and began on her hands and arms.
Even though she pushed her sleeves up, they still absorbed a lot of water along with the front of her dress. Julie watched as the dirt reluctantly released from her elbow creases. I’m really a white person after all, she mused.
She refilled the sink and managed to lift a foot high enough to plop it in the bowl. After washing up to her thighs she used all the paper towels trying to mop up the water splashed all over the back of the sink and the floor.
The toilet, wonderful! I can’t believe I’ve always taken it for granted. It just feels good to sit here. To sit instead of squat holding my dress up around my neck. Thank You, Lord, for this toilet. It’s the nicest one I’ve ever used.
Julie didn’t realize she was actually engaged in worship over plumbing fixtures, but that was exactly what she was doing. But it all came to an abrupt halt when there was a knock on the door. “Just a minute,” she cried out in her happiest voice. She hurriedly applied lipstick. It smudged and when she tried to wipe the excess, it didn’t come completely off. The more she rubbed the redder the area around her lips became. Her newfound excitement plunged. I look like Bozo the clown. There was a harder knock on the door and a stern voice.
Julie exited and all eyes were on her and her glowing lips. She took a deep breath as her cheeks turned the same color as her mouth. The beautician’s badge said Indu. She led her back to her chair. Julie lay her purse down while Indu placed a plastic smock on her. Indu led her to the shampoo bowl and began vigorously shampooing.
Ouch, ouch, ouch, thought Julie as she tried not to squirm. I had so planned to revel in this experience, but this really hurts. After rinsing, Indu rubbed in conditioner, set her up abruptly, and wrapped her hair in a towel. Julie forced a smile to say thanks. Unable to see the lipstick on her front tooth, she didn’t understand the beautician’s smirk.
Indu led her to another chair and gave her a selection of four different nail polishes. Not a wide selection, but the shrimp-colored one isn’t bad. Indu reclined the chair and put a fabric mask over her eyes. Julie felt her feet being lowered into warm water. Next a soothing cream was rubbed on her face while the beautician started on Julie’s hands and nails.
Julie luxuriated in the experience. She pretended to be back in her regular spa, except this one lacked the wonderful fragrance that wafted through the air. For the first time she noticed the soft Indian instrumental music playing. That’s kind of nice. She took a few deep breaths. I promise to luxuriate in every second of this wonderful experience. As a matter of fact, this part of today will be perfect when I leave here and buy several sets of new clothes. This dress needs to be burned. I can’t stand it for even another minute.
She remembered the styles in the Indian magazine and pictured herself in each one. I probably don’t need anything designer, though before I leave I might buy some outfits to wear out on the town once I get back. My coworkers will be so jealous.
Her pedicure was done and Indu started on her fingers. I’m in heaven. The face cream was starting to get a little warm. Maybe it’s because my skin has been neglected for so long. Maybe it’s a spice or exotic ingredient that automatically warms the cream when it is triggered by body heat. That’s fun. Maybe I can buy some to take back with me.
She went back to her fantasy about new clothing. I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to a shopping trip more than this one and that’s saying something!
The face cream was still heating up, but it wasn’t painful. It must be a really deep, deep moisturizer. Julie felt the second coat of polish going on her fingers and was disheartened that this divine experience was almost over. Oh, they’ve still have to cut my hair, she remembered.
The face cream was getting uncomfortably warm and Julie pointed to her face several times but Indu ignored her. Finally, Julie grabbed a towel, ruining her manicure, wiped off the cream, and looked in the mirror. Where the eye mask had covered was her normal skin color. The rest of her face was a ruddy, dark red. Indu, not used to treating white skin, was unaware the Indian cream would burn Julie’s fair complexion.
“I look like a raccoon in reverse,” she yelled at the beautician, who flailed her arms and yelled back. Julie leaned in close to the mirror and came up yelling again.
Another beautician joined the skirmish. It was two against one and Julie couldn’t understand a word.
“My face!” She pointed with both hands. “You BURNED my FACE. BURNED—MY—FAAACE. LOOK IT’S BURRRNED.”
She leaned in closer for them to see this terrible injustice and the second beautician gave her a shove. Julie stumbled, but was saved when she landed in the beautician’s chair. She had never fought before, but the emotional nosedive from euphoria to anger was whittling away her will power. She was on her feet again.
“BURNED—IT’S BUUURRNED. CAN’T YOU SEE? ARE YOU BLIND? YOU BURNED MY FACE.”
At this point, the well-dressed man emerged. He looked at Julie and to his employees, who both shouted and pointed to her. The man nodded and with a soothing tone of voice put one hand on Julie’s back and the other on her elbow and started escorting her to the door.
“I can’t believe this. My face—look at what they did to my face.” He nodded, but kept walking. He pushed open the door and motioned for her to exit. In a huff she stepped onto the sidewalk. At that point, Indu pointed to Julie and yelled to the manager. He gave a nod. The man leaned toward Julie as if he were going to tell her something and motioned for her to do the same. Finally, they’re going to take care of me. When she leaned in, he plucked the towel off her hair and slammed and locked the door.
“NO, NO, NO,” she shrieked and then realized all the people on the street were looking at her and her wet hair plastered to her head and her dirty torn dress with water spots all over and her red face.
“Aaaaargh! How can such a good experience go so bad? It can’t get any worse! It’s impossible.” She turned to leave and realized she’d forgotten her purse. She pounded on the door, but no one moved. “MY PURSE. YOU HAVE MY PURSE.” When an employee glanced her way she pantomimed the strap over her shoulder. “IT’S GRREEEEN! BY THE CHAAAIIR” she screamed while pointing.
People stopped and stared.
“Who speaks English? Does anyone here speak ENGLIIISH? I need HELP. HELP.” A young Indian man about 16 stepped forward.
“I speak English.”
“Oh, thank goodness. Thank you, thank you,” she grabbed his hands as she spoke. “Well, first they burned my face,” she leaned forward to give him a good look and he leaned away. “And then they threw me out of the shop, and my purse is still in there. I have to get it. Can you help me?”
“I’ll try.” He knocked several times.
“Please keep trying. I have to get it back.” After several minutes of knocking, the manager returned. The young man spoke in Hindi and the manager nodded.
“MY PURSE,” Julie yelled at him for good measure.
The manager returned with her purse, handed it to the young man, who handed it to Julie. She clutched it to her chest like a newborn.
“My purse, how can I ever thank you?” The young man glanced toward her purse and held out his hand. “Oh, of course. You earned this reward.” She rummaged for her wallet. She caught her breath and dug frantically. “IT’S GONE. THEY STOLE MY WALLET. FIRST THEY BURN MY SKIN, AND NOW THEY STEAL MY WALLET!”
Everyone was staring again.
“DON’T GO TO THIS SHOP. THEY’RE CROOKS. THEY WILL BURN YOUR FACE AND THEN STEAL YOUR WALLET. HELP, POLICE. HELP, I NEED A POLICEMAN.”
The young Indian said, “Madame, you need to calm down.”
“Where’s a police station? I need to get my wallet back. They are dirty thieves and incompetent beauticians! Can you take me to the police? Oh, do you have a cell phone? We can call 9-1-1. Do you have that here?”
“Madame, the police will not help you get your wallet back.”
“But I know exactly who stole it. I can bring them right back here.”
“Madame, that is not the point. The police do nothing without a bribe, especially from a white woman. If you have no money for a bribe, they will not help you. You are also a hysterical foreigner. Why would they believe you over their own people?”
“Because they stole my wallet. They really stole my wallet.”
“You cannot prove that, Madame, and even if you could, you have no money for a bribe. No bribe—no service, that is the way it is in India. You must be new.”
Julie felt like she would explode. If her face wasn’t already bright red, it would have been.
“I’m new here, and I have no money. Please just take me.” The young man held out his hand. Julie felt sweat beading on her forehead. Her heart pounded in her chest. She rummaged through her purse in desperation. “I can give you… a bottle of kids’ multivitamins,” she said, holding up the white bottle with the cartoon bear on the label. The young man’s countenance dropped.
“Don’t go. I’ll find something.” She pulled out a plastic Bic® pen. “It’s an ink pen. I brought it all the way from America. It writes blue.” He rolled his eyes, and she began to cry.
“OK, I don’t have anything to give you. I have nothing. I’m totally at your mercy. Please just help me.”
“I will take you there, but I will not go in.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you.” She grabbed his arm, and he pulled away. The young man walked her three blocks back toward the dump.
“Here,” he motioned to a nondescript building. “This is the police station.” He held the large wooden door open. Her lip twitched. She clenched her fists, took a deep breath, and stepped inside, which was one big room. Two walls were lined with old green file cabinets. About eight policemen in grey uniforms sat talking at their desks. When she entered, silence fell, and all eyes stared at her.
Why do I feel like I’m on trial here? “English? Does anyone speak Ennngliish?” they eyed her suspiciously. “I just had my wallet stolen,” she pointed in the direction of the shop.
Two officers responded simultaneously. A 30-ish officer in the corner and a plump, older gentleman with a seemingly permanent scowl.
“I speak—” began the muscular officer in back.
“I speak English,” interrupted the chief, a gruff older man, to the frazzled woman with wet hair, wet, dirty dress, red face, and lipstick on her tooth.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Julie ran to stand in front of him and talked a mile a minute.
“It’s my wallet. I went to the beauty shop, and they burned my face, and then they threw me out, and then I asked for my purse back, and they finally returned it, but my wallet was gone.” She opened the purse and held it close so the officer could look. He didn’t. He remained silent.
“Aren’t you going to arrest them? They’re thieves. We can go right now, and I know they still have my wallet! It just happened a few minutes ago,” she pointed at the door.
The stoic officer translated, and when he got to the last sentence he mimicked Julie’s frantic voice and pointed toward the door. Laughter exploded.
“But, you have to help. You’re the police, right? OK, I won’t press charges because they burned my face, but I have to get my wallet back. I’m trying to take care of some orphans, and all my money was there. I won’t be able to feed them or me. Please help me.”
“Why should I help you, a foreigner? There is much injustice done to my people. Can you pay me?”
“No—YES! Yes, I can pay you when I get my wallet back. We can go now. Let’s hurry.” She took several steps toward the door.
The chief translated and all the officers burst into laughter again, except for the muscular officer in the back.
“Young lady, if they really did steal your wallet—”
“But they did steal it. Just a few minutes—”
“Young lady,” his voice was stern. “If they had your wallet, the money is gone by now—”
“But I know exactly how much was there. I had my credit card—oh, my gosh my credit card. I have to figure out how to cancel those—and I had exactly—”
“YOUNG LADY,” his tone caused Julie to jump. “You’re not listening. I said we can’t help you. We have many cases stacked up.” He pointed to the manila folders on his desk. “We are short of staff. I cannot take this case. I suggest you leave now.”
Yeah, you look like you’re all over the crime problem in this city, you schmuck! You probably don’t ever get out of that chair until it’s time to go home. “But I’m an American, and I have rights, and I know those rights, and I demand you to act on my rights,” she said, her right fist pounding into her left palm.
“Then I encourage you to go back to America immediately to find your rights.”
Julie turned to go. She was glad the tears didn’t begin to flow until she was out the door. Too humiliating to cry in front of this bunch of animals. She rummaged through her purse looking for her migraine medicine.
As the officers laughed again at Julie’s dilemma, the muscular officer in the back did not.
Julie was boiling. She paced the sidewalk, her fists clenched.
“Just when I thought nothing could get worse, then the bottom drops out. My face is burned, and my money is gone, and no one will help me. What am I supposed to do?” She fretted over and over about the ordeal in the beauty shop, then the police station, then back to the beauty shop until she was so frustrated she was ready to punch something. My head is throbbing.
Julie, you need an adjustment in your expectations. You live in a fallen, imperfect world. Stop expecting an easy life. Trials are the norm. Ease keeps your focus off of Me. Put another way, “Smooth seas make useless sailors.”
“Lord, You don’t understand.” Pedestrians stared at Julie talking to herself.
I understand, Julie. It’s you who needs an adjustment in perspective. Don’t waste your time fretting about the circumstances or wishing them changed. You are in an impossible situation. This is the exact place that I want you to be— totally dependent on Me.
Trust Me to work on your behalf. Depend on Me for your every move. When I am active, you can be secure in a season of rest. In this world you will have tribulation, but be of good cheer for I have overcome the world.1 Remember, this is a great time to take all these intruding thoughts captive; you’ve just been worshiping the devil.
Julie got the last words in. “But my face is burned, and my money is gone!”