When I was 18, I went to
“Thank you, girl. You’re very kind!” he
said, smiling at me with bright, gentle eyes.
“Can I walk with you?” I asked. “I’m afraid
the apples might fall out again.”
And that’s how my friendship with Mr. Burns
began. He had a warm smile that reminded me of my father. I carried the bag of
apples while Mr. Burns leaned on his cane, dragging each step with difficulty.
When we arrived at his house, I placed the bag on the table and made tea. I
asked if I could visit him again sometime. The next day, I returned and helped
him make tea. I told him about my life as an orphan, living with relatives, and
studying abroad to become independent. He showed me two photos on the table –
his aunt Mary and his daughter Alice, both of whom had died in an accident six
years ago.
I visited Mr. Burns twice a week, always on
the same days. Each time I arrived, I found him sitting in a big chair with his
cane beside him. Seeing me always made him happy. Though I believed I was
bringing joy to a lonely old man, in reality, I was the happiest one. It was
simply wonderful to share and have someone listen to my confessions.
After two months, I decided to visit Mr.
Burns on a different day than usual, without calling ahead, thinking it would
be a special surprise. I saw him in his garden, walking, bending down, and
looking up easily, without his cane! Was this the same Mr. Burns who always
leaned heavily on his cane? He suddenly looked up and saw me. Clearly noticing
my confusion and surprise, he waved me over.
“Come, my dear, let me make you some tea
today,” Mr. Burns said, leading me into the house.
“I thought…” I began.
“I know what you’re thinking, my dear. The
first time we met at the market, my knee did hurt. I bumped it into a door…”
“But… when did you start walking normally
again?” I asked, bewildered.
“The next day,” he said with a twinkle in
his eye.
“But why…?” I was still confused.
“The second time you visited, I realized
you were sad and lonely, and you needed someone to lean on. But I feared you
might not come back if you knew I was healthy.”
“And the stick?” I asked.
“Ah, a good stick! I often use it to block
the fence doors.”
Mr. Burns had pretended to be in need to
help me feel useful and strong. It was his way of healing a young and sensitive
girl like me.
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