The wretch

Timothy was not a man of wealth, but he was a man of conscience.
He knew the difference between what was right and what was wrong.

Most of the time, life had dealt Timothy an average hand. He won some,
and he lost some, but he always had enough.

Now, it so happened that one day, Timothy needed to travel for business reasons.
As was his usual fate, life had dealt him a meager but modest hand in this too.
His boss, sending him to pick up the new equipment, had arranged for a coach
to take him out to the countryside (about half the distance). He would then
have to take a ferry (also paid round trip) to obtain what the business needed.

Timothy didn't really know the details about what he was supposed to retrieve, but
he knew enough to know it was a fairly large bit of machinery. He was going to have
an escort back, though, so he wasn't terribly concerned.

Packing with him a handful of homemade biscuits, a summer sausage, and a wedge of
hard cheese, he prepared for his trip. Timothy figured he wouldn't need to worry about
much in the way of provisions. He was sure that by being an honest and upright person,
he would have no difficulty making such a simple trip.

The coach arrived in the small town with Timothy, and came to a stop.
"Have yerself a safe trip, mate." The middle-aged gentleman stated with a tip
of his hat as he departed. Timothy gave a brief smile and wave.

The first half of the journey had been harmless. A nice coach, not decadent,
but certainly not some bargain box-on-wheels. The ride had been so quick, it was
still morning when Timothy arrived. Deciding he could still make it to the port if he
were to hurry, Timothy ate his lunch while making the walk to the shore.

"NO! Please! Why me? I have caused you no harm!" came a frightened yell from over
a hill. As the sound reached Timothy's ears, he felt propelled into action to save the
innocent man from whatever was assailing him.

Upon reaching the apex of the hill, he saw two gentlemen using their canes to beat a
poor fellow who lay at their feet. Timothy, rushing to the defense of the bystander
brashly pulled them away.

"You, sirs, are quite the terrible bunch! How dare you attack an innocent man!"

The men, regaining their posture, scowled at the insolence of this traveler. At once,
Timothy began to second guess his decision to stop them. One man was dressed in
fine linens, and wore an opulent cross around his neck. The attire suggested that he
was a man of high standing in the church, and Timothy wondered if perhaps the
man who lay silently on the ground were truly innocent.

The feeling of being in the wrong sank in even more deeply when he realized that
the other man was none other than one of the patrols whose duties included that of
guarding the roads from suspect individuals who sought to be unscrupulous.

"I say, there, chap! What are you doing? Have you never heard of minding your
own business? What has you out here at this time of day, interfering in matters that
are not your own?" The patrol asked.

Timothy confessed that he was simply traveling to the port where he was to do his
assignment.

"Ah, yes. I was told that there would be a man in need of an escort sometime
tomorrow or the day after. I will not be that escort, but I did let my comrade know
that on his duty as a patrol, he was to guard the man and the cargo with his life.
Seeing you now, however, I wonder if perhaps you would merely endanger him!" The
patrolman responded. With a large huff, the patrolman walked off with the minister
following closely.

"Thank you, so greatly, you good, good sir. I owe you a debt of great gratitude.
Surely you have saved my life this very day." The wretch at Timothy's feet cried,
tears streaming down his dirty, bloodied face.

Timothy swiftly turned upon the man.

"What terrible business did you have that caused them to attack you so?" he asked
audaciously.

At these words, the wretch on the ground looked as if he had been visibly stricken.
His face glowed red, and the tears streaming from his eyes began to flow even more.

"If you must know, sir, I did indeed have business with them. I swear it upon the grave
of my late grandmother, that the business I did have was not of ill intent. For many
years, I have been alone. An outcast from my village since the time of my
grandmother's passing. For you see, I have little strength, and so it is difficult for me
to move on my own power, sir. So I have wandered the countryside, attempting to
make even one friendship that would last. But I failed, and I fear that this has been the
last time I shall ever have a chance to do so. Even the holy man of the church, whom
I approached has cast me down as evil. I had heard that the friendless would find
friends, and that the hopeless would find hope because of the one in which the people
of the church believe... and yet, I find this minister has turned me away." The wretch
gestured to his legs.

"As I approached, the minister yelled for help, saying 'alas, a robber is upon me, please
lend me your aid!' to the patrol. And before I even had the opportunity to ask that I be
helped to a place where I could rest, I was set upon by them both... and now I fear that
my legs have been broken."

Timothy saw that the frail and thin legs of the man were indeed contorted in directions
they should not bend, and were covered in bruises. Feeling a pang of his conscience,
Timothy offered the man some assistance in getting to the port town. The wretch smiled,
but it was clear that the smile was done through great anguish.

Timothy spent the night at an inn after taking the ferry to the other side of the river,
leaving behind the wretch he had met on his way. The following day, he retrieved the
machinery from the warehouse district which had produced it, and began wheeling it
with him back to the ferry. After a moderate ride back, he came across the wretch,
left exactly where he had been the previous day.

Timothy was shocked. Surely someone would have helped this man by now!
But when he casually made his way toward the wretch, he noticed that the man now looked
even more hurt than he had the previous day. Timothy, feeling obligated to do the "right" thing
got a doctor nearby to help the poor man, giving up what little he had, and promising more
later to compensate for the treatment.

Shortly before he met up with the patrol which was to escort him back to a nearby station,
the wretch started speaking to him. The words which came from his mouth were shaped
by sadness, and Timothy could feel the longing contained within them.

"Why did you help me? I don't understand. You should have just let me die.
I am clearly of no worth. No, look, I've even been of great cost to you. I just
cannot comprehend why you would ever care."

"I did what needed to be done. All people have value, and I have my morals."
Timothy replied, but as he did, he remembered how quickly he had turned on the
wretch when he had seen the patrolman and the minister. "Why would you say that
I should have let you die?"

"Is it not obvious?" The wretch said in a voice that quivered with the sound of
sobs being held back for years, "Once you are gone, I will be alone again. I have not
a soul who cares for me. The more merciful thing would have been to kill me.
Then, perhaps, I would not have to endure the suffering of this mortal coil."

Timothy, so saddened by the thought that the life of this man was so poor, could not
bring himself to reply. So, he continued down the path. After a while, Timothy saw
the patrol, who was a kind young man. The patrolman helped Timothy transport the
machinery to the station, where it was loaded upon the car to be shipped via train
the remainder of the way to the business.

Timothy left the wretch behind, having no means to care for this man as well.
But the words of the wretch haunted him, and Timothy eventually found himself
back in that same town. He never discovered what happened to the wretch.
He did see the minister, however, preaching about the wonders of the church
and a "God" that loved every person, no matter where they were from...

Timothy let out a mirthless laugh. He had seen the true face of the friends to the
friendless, and the ones who truly suffered. Timothy was never the same again.
He never again felt short changed, even when the hand life dealt was more meager
than usual... and he continued to wonder what happened to the poor wretch.