Xalapa, Ver., Mexico
On the west steps of the Parque Juarez sits a man on a piece of cardboard. Day in and day out this man sits sheltered from the hot sun, under the trees that line the steps. Well, he doesn’t so much sit as lean on the stairs behind him. Inclining forward and sideways only to reach out his hat in your direction, his eyes turned upwards.
If this is your first encounter with the man on the stairs, upon meeting this man, you might only see a person in need, in distress. You might be so inclined as to reach into your pocket and pull out the pesos within. You might be so bold as to look into his eyes, your eyes filled with something akin to sorrow mixed with empathy mixed with guilt. But, if this is not your first encounter, you might see something more. His eyes don’t plead as much as silently ask the question, “So will you give me something today?” And if you pass by often enough and walk determinedly enough, his eyes may not meet yours at all.
If you pass through the park early enough before the sun has warmed the steps, before the park is filled with people sitting, taking a break from their jobs at surrounding offices, stores, or the capital building and long before kids get out of school and sit around the park and in the nearby cafes in their uniforms, you will not see the man sitting there.
He is a relic. His face worn by age and sun and hard work. His body bent and haggard. He is wise, the cardboard working to support him as he spends the day sitting, a form of work that many know and many more wish to ignore, to shut out from their vision.
On occasion, you will see the man with a sandwich. Given to him by the woman who sells sandwiches next to the man who sells newspapers by the library just down the steps and around the corner from the man on the stairs. He’ll take a break and sit there, eating breakfast before the day begins. Other times he has companions. Joined by small children as they dance; agilely moving from person-to-person, looking from face-to-face as their companion plays music to accompany their movements. Little hands gripping hats just down the stairs from the more wisened fingers that do the same.
A child and an older man. Two different people at two different places on the timeline of life and the one thing they share is that look.
That question in their eyes.
Caia Rose 