佚名 /Anonymous
At f irst glance she looked like any other old woman. Plodding along in the snow, alone, neglected, head bowed. People passing on the busy city sidewalk averted their eyes, lest she remind them that pain and suffering did not stop to celebrate Christmas.
A young couple, smiling, talking, laughing, arms loaded with Christmas presents, took no notice of the old woman.
A mother with two small children hurried by, on their way to grandmother's house. They took no notice.
A minister walked by proudly carrying his Bible in his right hand, like a well armed Christian soldier. But his mind was stayed on heavenly things, and he took no notice.
If these people had noticed, they would have seen that the old woman wore no shoes. She walked barefoot in the ice and snow.
With both hands the old woman gathered her worn buttonless overcoat at the collar to keep out the wind. She stopped and stood bent and bowed at the bus stop. A red and blue scarf covering her head, she waited for the downtown bus.
A gentleman carrying an important-looking briefcase waited near her, not too closely. After all, she could have something contagious.
A teenage girl also waited for the bus. She glanced repeatedly at the old woman's feet, but said nothing.
The bus arrived and the old woman slowly, painfully boarded. She sat on the side-ways seat just behind the driver. The gentleman and the teenage girl hurried to the rear. The man sharing the seat with the old woman shuff led uneasily and twirled his thumbs. “Senile,” he thought.
A little boy pointed at the old woman.
“Look, mother, that old lady is barefoot.”
The embarrassed mother slapped his hand down. “Don't point at people, Andrew. It's not polite to point.” She looked out the window.
“She must have grown children,” a lady in a fur coat suggested. “Her children should be ashamed of themselves.” She felt morally superior, because she took good care of her mother.