“Ma’am, could you help an old woman?”
Sarah stopped. Sitting against the building wall was an elderly woman in a worn coat and a headscarf. In front of her, on a piece of cloth, lay a few small trinkets.
“Buy something from me,” the old woman continued, holding out a trembling hand. “It would mean I could eat tonight.”
Sarah looked at the woman. Her face was gaunt, her eyes weary. An empty cup for donations sat beside her.
“Are you hungry?” Sarah asked softly.
“Haven’t eaten much in three days,” the woman sniffled. “My pension is small, and it all goes to medicine. A person’s got to eat.”
Sarah opened her purse and took out her wallet. She didn’t have much money, but she couldn’t just walk away.
“Wait here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Five minutes later, she returned with a bag from a nearby deli. Bread, cold cuts, cheese, milk, a couple of apples. She handed it to the old woman.
“Here, take this. And keep your trinkets, I don’t need anything.”
The old woman grabbed the bag with shaking hands and started to cry.
“Thank you, dear, thank you. God bless you.”
Sarah was about to leave, but the old woman suddenly grabbed her arm. The strength in her fingers was surprising.
“Wait,” she whispered, looking Sarah directly in the eyes. “I need to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Sarah tried to pull her arm away, but the woman held on tight.
“Quit that job tomorrow,” her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “But before you do, you need to do one more thing.”
Sarah frowned.
“What are you talking about?” she looked at the woman more closely. “How do you know about my job?”
“It doesn’t matter,” the old woman shook her head. “What matters is that you need to quit. Tomorrow.”
“Why would I quit?” Sarah was bewildered. “I just got hired.”
“Do as I say,” the old woman pulled her closer. “But first, you need to record them.”
“What?” Sarah tried to wrench her arm free, and this time the old woman let go. “What are you talking about?”
But the old woman had already turned away, pulling the bread from the bag. Sarah stood there for a few more seconds, then walked away quickly.
“Crazy,” she decided. “Just a hungry, crazy old woman talking nonsense.”
But the words stuck in her head like a splinter. Sarah walked down the street, replaying what she’d heard. Quit? After she’d spent so long looking for a job? It was absurd. Completely absurd.
And yet, she found herself stopping in front of an electronics store. In the window display were phones, tablets, headphones. And small digital recorders. Sarah bit her lip. This is stupid. Completely stupid. But what if the old woman was right? What if there really was something wrong with this job?
She went into the store. A young salesman with an earring approached her with a smile.
“Hi, can I help you with anything?”
“I need a voice recorder,” Sarah said, surprised at her own words. “A small one, something that can be hidden.”
“For recording lectures?” the salesman asked.
“Yes, for lectures,” she lied.
He showed her a few models. Sarah chose the smallest one, the size of a matchbox, with a magnetic clip.
“Up to eight hours of recording time,” the salesman explained. “The sound quality is excellent, picks up even a whisper.”
Sarah paid and left the store, clutching the bag with the recorder. This all felt insane. She had a good job at a respectable company. Why did she need a recorder? Why was she listening to some rambling old woman? But a vague sense of unease was growing inside her. A gut feeling told her the old woman wasn’t so crazy after all.
Sarah woke up before her alarm. Her heart was pounding with excitement—her first day of work. She put on a new white blouse and black pants, pulled her hair into a neat bun, and applied a neutral shade of lipstick. Before leaving, she opened her purse and looked at the small recorder she had bought yesterday. This is silly! Absolutely silly to take it with me. But the old woman’s words had been nagging at her all night.
“Alright,” she muttered, moving the recorder to an inner pocket of her bag. “Just in case.”
Her mother was already in the kitchen when Sarah came out.
“So, off to work?” Elizabeth looked her daughter up and down. “Try not to embarrass yourself on your first day.”
“I’ll try,” Sarah replied dryly, pouring coffee into a travel mug.
She arrived at the office fifteen minutes early. Irene met her at reception with a folder of documents.
“Good morning, Sarah. Glad to see you. Come on, I’ll show you to your desk…”
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