Ordinary Men

Most days he would stammer by the window. He always was clothed in the same outfit of filthy jeans, a once white shirt, and his trademark-a pink long-sleeved shirt he wrapped around his head. Consequently, he was “Turban,” nothing more.  His eyes, deep set brown stones, gleamed back at whomever he leered at. I wouldn’t know. I couldn’t look him in the eye. It’s funny how this homeless man, deprived of nearly every essential nutrient to his existence, struck such a deep fear in me. I doubt he could tear a paper bag, let alone do any harm to me.

It didn’t matter, however, because the nonsense that came from his mouth scared me enough. In between his daily stints of vomiting and rummaging, he would shout. What he was shouting about I had no idea. But it scared me to death.

                People like this exist everywhere, minds that have lost contact with the rest us. They’ll shout, spit, curse, mumble, and everything else that seems out of the norm. It’s the only way they know, and rarely do any of us stop to help.

                Elizabeth, the central character from A Question of Power isn’t much different from the “Turban.” She was loud, unruly, and extremely unapproachable. Her mind, lost deep in a soul search, seemed beyond repair. She wasn’t.

                Tom, a missionary, did not share the fears that I am afflicted with when in the vicinity of a lost soul. Tom, a man of incredible compassion, did not hesitate to spend time with Elizabeth despite her trials. Frequently he would sit through the bouts and fits she would pitch, never hesitating or waning. His therapy of speaking with her and being with her, showing compassion, did monumental amounts of recovery for her soul.

                It’s true that it wasn’t the one or only healer in Elizabeth’s journey, but it isn’t beyond doubt that he was instrumental. “You can call me any damn thing you like-bastard, member of the Klu Klux Klan-I don’t care,’’ explained Dan on his relationship with Elizabeth. Showing her a compassion that few are unable to gave her hope, which in turn revived her from her trials.

                I wish I had the courage that Tom displayed in the novel. For me, facing the “Turban” was too much. The only act of kindness I ever displayed to the man was offering him a cup of coffee, which turned into an incredible experience. The “Turban” turned, looked at me in the eyes, and asked lowly and slowly if he could have more of the powdered crème for his drink. I said yes without thinking, trying not to gag from the strong aroma of vinegar he gave off. I watched as he poured the powder, until it seemed that there wouldn’t be any coffee, but a paste. The giant amount confused me, but on reflection I think that he just wanted to squeeze every bit of nutrients from the opportunity that he could. If only people like me would have given him more and talked to him more, he wouldn’t have to have found nourishment in that way. We could use more Tom’s in this world.