Moving to the edge of the steps, the boy ate with the kind of desperate hunger you only see in someone who has gone without too often. He hunched over awkwardly, trying to hide the meal from view, clearly embarrassed by how fast he was eating. Out of courtesy, Eleanor looked away so she wouldn’t make him feel worse. She stepped inside the church, but this time she broke from her usual routine.
Stopping just inside the doorway, she turned and watched him from the shelter of the entrance. Her eyes stayed fixed on the boy outside. Even though the square was nearly empty, his whole manner suggested deep stress, as if he expected someone to mock him or take the food away.
His body language said everything: shoulders tight, neck drawn in, back rounded. Then she saw him quickly wipe one cheek and then the other with his sleeve. The sharp sniffle that followed left no doubt. The boy was crying while he ate, the way children do when they’re trying hard not to let anyone notice.
Something tightened in Eleanor’s chest. Tears rose to her eyes again, but this time for an entirely different reason. Just days earlier she had been consumed by her own grief. Now all she could feel was pity for this lonely, hungry young man. Even at a glance, it was clear he tried to keep himself neat and presentable despite whatever he was going through.
What had happened to him? Who had failed him so badly? How poor did a person have to be to depend on handouts from the local priest? Holding a large apple in both hands, he bit into it quickly, as if afraid someone might snatch it away. Suddenly Eleanor remembered that her own grocery bag from that morning was nearly empty.
At the bottom of her purse was a piece of dark sandwich bread. She no longer needed to buy loaves the way she once had. For her own small needs, that one piece would have lasted days. But the situation in front of her changed her plans at once, and any thought of saving it disappeared.
Acting on impulse, she turned and walked straight toward the steps where the boy was finishing his meager meal. When she reached him, she pulled the bread from her bag and silently offered it. He looked up, his eyes wide with alarm and surprise. The clear blue of them, and the defenseless look in them, cut straight through her own sorrow.
Embarrassed by her own sudden boldness, she shifted her attention to the bread in her hand. “Go on, take it. It’s fresh. Picked it up this morning. Whole grain’s better for you anyway,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Don’t be shy.” She nudged the wrapped slice gently toward him.
The boy glanced at the food, but suspicion still lingered in his face. His fingers reached for it hesitantly, as if he expected a trick. Not giving him time to refuse, Eleanor pressed it into his hand and then rummaged again through her bag. At the bottom she found a couple of hard candies and added those too to her modest offering…
