Some people are not only obtuse, but they won\u2019t even let you help them,\u201d I complained. Tubs made himself comfortable and began:<\/p>\n
Once there was a little shack\u2014a hovel, really\u2014on the outskirts of the city. In the front was a little workshop with a few tools and machines, and two bedrooms and a kitchen, and out back there was a very basic bathroom. But Joaqu\u00edn, who lived there, never complained. For the last two years, his carpenter\u2019s shop, called Number Seven, had become well known in town and he earned enough that he didn\u2019t have to use up his meager savings. One morning, like every morning, he got up at six thirty to see the sunrise. But he never made it to the lake. On his way, some two hundred yards from his house, he nearly tripped over the body of a wounded young man who looked to be in quite a bad way. Quickly, he knelt down and pressed his ear to the young man\u2019s chest. He heard his heart beating weakly, struggling to hold on to what was left of the life in his filthy body, which was covered in blood and grime and reeked of alcohol. Joaqu\u00edn rushed to find a stretcher and carried the man home. When he got there, he laid him out on his bed, cut off his tattered clothes and washed him carefully with soap, water, and rubbing alcohol. The young man, in addition to being drunk, had been brutally beaten. He had cuts all over his hands and back, and his right leg was fractured.<\/p>\n
For the next two days, Joaqu\u00edn\u2019s life centered around the health of his unexpected guest: he tended him and bandaged his wounds, put his leg in a splint and fed him little spoonfuls of chicken broth. When the young man finally awoke, Joaqu\u00edn was by his side, looking down on him with tenderness and concern.
\n\u201cHow are you?\u201d Joaqu\u00edn asked.
\n\u201cO.K., I think,\u201d the man replied, looking at his body, now cleaned and cured.
\n\u201cWho took care of me?\u201d
\n\u201cI did.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d \u201cBecause you were hurt.\u201d
\n\u201cIs that the only reason?\u201d
\n\u201cNo. I could also use an assistant.\u201d
\nAnd they both laughed heartily<\/p>\n
Having eaten well, slept well, and not had anything to drink, Manuel\u2014for that was the young man\u2019s name\u2014 recovered his strength quickly. Joaqu\u00edn tried to teach the young man his trade and Manuel tried to avoid work as best he could. Time and time again, Joaqu\u00edn attempted to instill in the young man\u2019s head\u2013which had been wasted by his dissolute life\u2013the advantages of hard work, a good name and an honest life. And time and time again, Manuel seemed to understand, but then, two hours or two days later, he\u2019d fall asleep on the job or forget to run the errands that Joaqu\u00edn had sent him on. Months went by and by this time Manuel had recovered completely. Joaqu\u00edn had ceded to Manuel his bedroom, a share in his business, and the first turn in the bathroom in exchange for the young man\u2019s promise to dedicate himself to his job. One night, as Joaqu\u00edn slept, Manuel decided that six months of abstinence were enough. One glass of wine in town wouldn\u2019t do him any harm, he thought. In case Joaqu\u00edn woke up in the night, he locked the door to his room from the inside and went out through the window, leaving his candle lit so as to give the impression that he was there.<\/p>\n
Well, after one glass came a second, and then a third, and then a fourth, and then many more . . . He was singing with his drinking buddies when the fire engines drove by the front of the bar, sirens blaring. Manuel didn\u2019t put two and two together until, in the wee hours, stumbling, he arrived home and saw crowds out on the street.<\/p>\n
A few tools and machines and a wall or two were all that could be salvaged from the fire. Everything else had been destroyed in the inferno. A few scorched bones were the only remains of Joaqu\u00edn they recovered, and they buried them in the cemetery under a gravestone that Manuel had engraved with the following epitaph:<\/p>\n
I\u2019ll do it, Joaqu\u00edn, I will!<\/p>\n
It took a lot of hard work, but Manuel rebuilt the carpenter\u2019s shop. He was lazy, but talented, and what he\u2019d learned from Joaqu\u00edn served him well and enabled him to bring the business back. He always got the feeling that Joaqu\u00edn was looking down on him from someplace, encouraging him.
\nManuel thought of him with every achievement: his wedding, the birth of his first child, the purchase of his first car . . .<\/p>\n
Three hundred miles away, Joaqu\u00edn, alive and kicking, wondered if lying, deceiving, and setting fire to his sweet little house was justifiable, in the name of saving a young man. He decided that it was, and he laughed just thinking about the local policemen, who\u2019d confused pig\u2019s bones with human bones . . . His new carpenter\u2019s shop was a bit more modest than the previous one, but it was already becoming known in town. It was called Number Eight.<\/p>\n
\u201cSometimes, Demi\u00e1n, life makes it hard to help someone we love. But if there is one difficulty that\u2019s worth taking on, it\u2019s helping another human being. This is not a \u2018moral\u2019 duty or anything of the sort. It\u2019s a choice we each make about our lives when the time comes, to go in whatever direction we want.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy personal experience has led me to believe\u2014through what I\u2019ve gone through myself and what I\u2019ve seen\u2014that genuinely free, self-aware human beings are generous, supportive, friendly and able to take equal pleasure in giving and receiving. So when you meet people who are navel gazers, don\u2019t despise them: they do a good enough job making themselves miserable on their own. Whenever you find yourself being stingy, mean or petty, use it as an opportunity to ask yourself what\u2019s going on. I guarantee that somewhere along the way, you went off course.<\/p>\n
\u201cI once wrote this:
\nA neurotic doesn\u2019t need
\na therapist to treat him
\nor a parent to care for him.
\nAll he needs
\nis a teacher to show him
\nwhere he lost his way . . . \u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Image: Eszter and David Photography 2013 www.eszteranddavid.com<\/span> | https:\/\/s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com\/originals\/2a\/b4\/0d\/2ab40db650c8c0a3d8382a4c1b6eb00f.jpg<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Some people are not only obtuse, but they won\u2019t even let you help them,\u201d I complained. Tubs made himself comfortable and began: Once there was a little shack\u2014a hovel, really\u2014on the outskirts of the city. 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\nLet Me Tell You a Story<\/strong><\/em>
\nJorge Bucay<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n