A man driving his spotless, luxurious-looking car stopped in a small port town, stepping out almost unwillingly. His appearance was that of a true gentleman, impeccable, yet his expression was oddly stiff and complex, a mess of emotions stiffening his facial muscles. He walked with long, decisive strides in a direction that suggested familiarity, pacing down a road riddled with holes and little cement left. His posture was erect, head and spine straight, but his eyes were downcast.
The man's long, straight legs halted abruptly at a worn-down house. He looked uncertain and out of place, his clothing a stark contrast to the humble dwelling. Slowly, he opened the creaking wooden door as if wanting to enter unnoticed, but a small, old, wrinkly woman quickly appeared. Her appearance was poor and frail, yet she wore a wide, joyful smile, missing teeth notwithstanding.
"Welcome home, my dear son!" she said happily.
The man's expression grew even more complicated and furrowed. "Yes, hello," he replied hastily. "I came just for a quick visit, like you wanted. I can't stay long; I need to get back to work." His tone lacked politeness, as if he were annoyed.
The woman promptly invited him in and offered him a seat on a plain chair in the dimly lit, disadorned but spotlessly clean living room. A small, opaque window at the back offered little light.
"Can I get you something to drink or eat?" she asked.
The man, eyes fixed on the floor, replied coldly, "No, nothing. I just came to quickly see you because it's been six years." He added with a joking tone, "You said it's too hard to come to my place, so I came."
"I am happy you came," the overjoyed woman said calmly, then explained, smiling, "My hips aren't too well these days. You know, aging."
"Well, I see that other than your hips, you're doing just fine," the man replied rapidly. "I'll see myself off unless you want me to do something." He continued in a lower tone, less harshly, "I suppose you would be pleased to be helped with some kind of difficult job."
The woman carefully sat on a similar chair opposite him. "You are always so quick to leave. I know you don't see this place in a positive light, but it would be good for you to, at least, go around and say hi to your old acquaintances." Then she asked, "Why don't you do some grocery shopping for me? So I can rest my old bones."
The man's eyebrows twitched, and his mouth smirked. "Sure, mother," he replied, annoyed, "but I thought I was clear enough on not wanting to have anything to do with this hell hole." He exploded, his voice rising, "Also, I don't have no acquaintances in here, I have no relationship with anything in here whatsoever. I severed my ties to junk long ago." Almost screaming, he continued, "Everybody in here is hopeless and of utmost ignorance. No hope, goal, or ambition you people have in here." He slowed down. "I can't stand it; it is my hell. You are all resigned to how things are and stuck in the past."
The woman looked stunned for a moment but quickly regained her composure. "Sorry, this is what we are, I guess," she replied calmly. "We are not ambitious bourgeois. But you are being unfair, young man; we are not much more lost souls than the riches uptown." The man still had his eyes on the floor. "We might be illiterate, but we do have knowledge, a different kind but still knowledge." She added firmly, "You can't start judging others just to protect your fragile ego. You can't forget or erase your origins. Don't be like your lost father. I know and understand your feelings, and I am happy you got rich. You got away from a reality you don't like, but you can't put all the blame on others or a place for your own sadness and disappointment."
The woman concluded, got up slowly on her shaky legs, and moved away into another room.
The man suddenly stood up and murmured, "This is why you ended up like that, it's because of your own stupidity and lack of ambition that Father left you like a useless used rug, spitting on you, his debts. You see good where there is none. You deserve it; it is your fault."
The woman sluggishly returned and told him what she needed him to buy. "That is all," she said. "Make sure not to rush, enjoy your visit for as much time as you can." Then she added abruptly, "Even if we can't talk, remember that I love you."
The man swiftly raised his eyes, staggering momentarily before regaining composure. He stormed out with long strides, resuming his brisk pace down the road. The humidity and odor pervaded him, drenching his clothes. His senses were consumed by the recurring past. He was walking there again, among neighbors where the sun seemed to neglect, between gray, crumbling buildings devoid of its light and warmth. He walked, mindless, or perhaps so engrossed in the past that the present eluded him.
Arriving at the village center, he headed towards the market and overheard four rough, laughing voices. A quartet of puffy, red-faced men sat at an oily, round, wooden table, a deck of cards scattered among dripping liquid. They were half-intoxicated, their legs almost on the table, a constant fixture regardless of season or climate. These four old men sought happiness in the bottom of a glass, drinking to laugh, forgive, forget, and ignore how life and others mistreated them. Their conversations were a litany of complaints about wives, weather, religion, or politics, punctuated by lurid jokes. The man scorned them and continued walking, his polished shoes now dull with brownish dust from the unkempt sandy road.
As he looked at his shoes, a man in an out-of-style suit rushed past, his mustache impeccably groomed. He looked purposeful, and the man realized he too had to hurry back to work. He gave his wife enough money to keep her occupied for the day, avoiding too many questions about his absence, knowing her appetite for spending.
The little market was dark with few working lights and sparse shelves. He bought milk and eggs, then paused near the bakery for bread, the fresh scent a rare pleasantness in the city, momentarily eclipsing the stench of poverty. Perhaps he missed this. Suddenly jolting back to reality, he quickly packed his purchases. The vendors and cashier watched him like an alien, refraining from questioning such a distinguished figure. No one recognized him.
On his way back, he passed the bar and saw the man in the suit pacing nervously in front of a door, one hand in his coat pocket, the other gnawing on his nails.
The four men at the bar croaked again:
"Ahh, look at the doctor, always at the front of that prostitute's door," said the first man on the left.
"He is back again to spend this month's money," continued the second.
"Every time at the end of the month he comes back, and if he is not satisfied, he won't receive anybody for three days," added the fourth.
"During the day, he says all high and mighty that she is the 'public wife', and I agree, but look how every time he is back," the third man coughed and interjected.
"Yeah, he goes all high and mighty, but then she is the only one that can teach him a lesson." The second man laughed and moaned, "Ohh my darling, no no gentler, ahhh yess."
The third man continued, "Yeah, it goes like that, you know," before breaking into an uncontrollable laugh and cough, unable to finish his sentence.
The man on the road stopped, glancing back at the door where the doctor had been, but he was gone. As he turned to leave, a crystalline clear voice called behind him. It was a woman, a woman now but a girl he once knew. "Is that you?" she muttered.
The man froze, his blood rushing as he paled. He neither turned nor walked away. The woman came in front of him, smiling. "I knew it was you! I could recognize you anywhere. You're looking nice! What brings you here? It's been ages..."
Startled, the man stood still, then slowly muttered, "Maria."
Sunset was near. Between the shambled buildings, the gray sky now held hints of warmer red shades. It was getting colder.
Snapping out of his reverie, the man decisively regained his senses. "Yeah, I know. I worked hard and finally got out of this hell. I've built myself a good life. Sometimes I don't recognize myself for how far I've come. I'm back for a short visit. My mother hasn't been too well, so I'm doing some grocery shopping for her." He looked uncertain, as if his words weren't entirely true, but he couldn't retract them. He stared at her, his eyes searching her figure, which held a withering beauty. Her proportions were still exquisite, her lips plump, and her figure full but not excessively so. Even the oldest grayish clothes couldn't diminish it. Her eyebrows were straight, and her eyes were just as he remembered them, a reassuring blue sky.
Maria felt his gaze and giggled. "I'm still here, working at the bar down the street. If you want, come in. I'll serve you something, and if there aren't too many clients, we can talk. I really want to hear from you!"
The man replied abruptly, "Oh, I can't, Maria," spelling her name softly, "I can't stay here. I need to go back. I don't have time to waste like those men," indicating the four drunk old men.
Maria turned with a twirl, her skirt floating around her. "You haven't changed a bit!" She smiled, a hint of disappointment in her eyes. "Still looking down on everything and everyone. Go chase your dreams, leaving everything behind, big man. I'm here, and I like it here. I'm honest with myself."
Stunned, he moved towards her angrily. "And I thought you had better dreams. You were always too good for this place, and you know it." He sighed. "We could have gone together, but you preferred to stay in hell for no reason. What are you now? A barista? Serving these four toxics looked better than coming with me? We could have been great, but you have no judgment."
Maria's eyebrows furrowed. "You're still as shortsighted as ever. There's more to life than money and status. This town may not be fancy, but it's home. It's where I'm happy." Irritated, she continued, "No judgment!" She laughed. "Well, you have judgment for two!"
"How can you think you're better?" he retorted. "You're better than those four men? Don't you also search for happiness in wealth, intoxicating yourself with coffee and smoke to work as much as you can? Aren't you also running away from life, hiding in nicer things? You're selling your soul to the money Devil. A slave of money."
The man began to argue, "So now I'm a slave? I do find comfort in being well off. You're just too blind and plain stupid to see. You have no hope or ambition."
She dictated these last words clearly, almost singing them, "You are no better."
He recoiled as if struck. "How dare you compare me to them! I made something of myself, built a real life!"
"And was it worth it?" She held his gaze unflinchingly. "Was it worth losing your way? Your soul? Because that's what I see when I look at you now - a man who's so lost himself that all he has left is to judge and look down on others."
His mouth moved, but no words came. She shook her head sadly.
He returned to his earlier observation. "In here, even the doctor..."
Maria interrupted him, "Even the doctor what? You have a wife, don't you? Let me guess, don't you also treat your wife like a prostitute? I'm sure she's all serving you just to get some money and status from you. You just pay to be with you and be good."
She paused, catching her breath, her eyes tearing, then continued, "Is that different? Are you better than the four drunk men who search for happiness in alcohol? Are you better than the doctor who searches for comfort and loves one who only cares about money and uses him?"
She shook her head. Even through tears, her voice was clear. "Let me reply to that for you: No. You can go back, but you won't change. Go back to judge, but you will never be different from us. Judge, but you are no better. Your dirtiness is just not out in the open, not even closed in the closet in your house. You just keep collecting it in your heart, and it transpires in your judgment of others. You became rich enough to earn that. Nobody looks down and inquires of your sin. We are just honest idiots because we are honest. You are just projecting your own sins on others; you think that you are better because your own sin is nowhere to be seen. You are just hiding it, but you know it, so you see it on others. You judge because you know what's wrong, and you know because you are just the same."
Maria freed herself from his grasp and walked away. The man also wandered back, his once impeccable shoes no longer pristine. Darkness fell. In a backstreet, a bruised Kid was slowly singing. A pure, small, mindless smile on his deformed face. Truly foolish.