The Man in the Park
I sat down on one of the wooden bench seats in a small park off Valovaya Ulitsa. Surrounded by a mix of old soviet buildings and modern office towers it was a small sanctuary in the centre of Moscow. Well-dressed office workers, young mothers with small children, homeless people sleeping on the grass and scruffy looking street dogs all shared the space. It was a hub of activity but no one really seemed to notice each other as they walked through the park or sat down to each their lunch.
Across from where I was sitting I saw a man with a worn out Russian army shirt and faded kaki trousers. I thought him to be around my own but the dark bags under his eyes and the clothes hanging from his thin gaunt frame made him seem somehow older. Unlike the others in the park he seemed to notice everything. As soon as someone would put an empty can on the ground or throw a plastic bottle in the bin. He would dart out and grab the item stuffing it into a plastic bag that he clutched with one hand.
I sat and watched him slowly fill his plastic bag with cans as I ate one of the cheese pastries I had purchased from one of the small bakeries at the crowded Oktyabr’skaya metro station. In a city of high unemployment this man had found a way to make a few rubbles to sustain himself. I finished my drink and motioned for the man to come over and add my can to his collection. He gladly took my can and turned to walk back to his spot.
I had one cheese pastry left and I held it out for him. He looked at me suspiciously but I again motioned for him to take it and he grabbed it quickly. Retreating back to his spot where he could watch for cans. I noticed he was taking small bites and once he had eaten a quarter he placed it in his pocket. To me the pastry was nothing but a cheap snack but to him was a meal to be savoured and not be consumed all at once. For a brief moment I saw the park through the man’s eyes and it made me appreciate the life I have.
