The Beggar's Birthday, Javier Dell' Avo [best short novels of all time .txt] 📗

Today is his birthday, or at least that's what he told me on the day I finished school. Old Marlowe is not the kind of man you'd like to hang around with. He's a poor man who spends all his days on a park bench begging for coins and for a little attention. Even though I live just three blocks from the park, I haven't paid him a visit in two months. Shame on me. He seems to be a kind man. Whenever I'm in trouble, he'll just remind me there's no need to suffer, since "life's much nastier to other fellows". And he's right. I've got a caring family, a cosy room, and all the clothes and food I need. On the other hand, old Marlowe became a widower three years ago, and he hasn't been able to get off that bench ever since.
He loved Martha with all his heart, and after she lost her fight against cancer, all he did was quit his job and become a beggar. Now that Martha is gone, old Marlowe can't find a single reason to smile. That lady was all he had in the world and all he cared about... and now he feels lonely and lost.


I think I'll get him a present for his birthday. At first I thought it'd be enough just to come up to him and wish him a "happy birthday", but I guess he deserves a little more than that. I'll take some money from my savings and get him an interesting book. I think he once mentioned he loved thrillers.
Right now I'm at the bookshop, just opposite the park where I'll meet him. I'm leafing through a thriller when, all of a sudden, I hear a siren wailing through the streets. I put the book back on the shelf and dash out of the shop to see what's going on. Two paramedics get out of an ambulance and rush into the park. I cross the street rather carelessly and then I start following them, until we come across old Marlowe. He's lying on his bench, his chest covered in blood. There's a gun on the ground and a sheet of paper next to it. One of the paramedics picks it up and finds out it's a letter addressed to me, his "dear Mark".
I'm not going to copy it down here. I really don't feel like going into detail about the appalling situation he was going through.


To be honest, I'll never forgive myself for having let old Marlowe die on that bench. We sometimes talked to each other, but I'd never been too interested in keeping him company. He didn't have a job, not even a bed to sleep in... but he had a beautiful soul, and I'd never noticed.

Publication Date: 02-05-2013

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