Four4Him

I was walking home from a friend's house. I chose the slightly more round-about route. Maybe because the direct way was slick with mud, maybe because I just wanted a little bit more time to think. I started up the steep street contemplatively, hands in my pockets.

I'd just passed the dirt pile that serves as a traffic barrier when I saw her. She was standing on the sidewalk, seemingly undecided as to whether to continue up the steepest part of the street or to turn back. She held a small bag and a cane in one hand, and with the other, she clutched at the little branches that poked through the fence on the side of the road. Once, she grabbed the fence, but quickly retracted her hand. It was barbed wire. She tottered a bit and took a few more shuffling steps forward. I wanted to help her, but would I even be able to communicate? What if--?
I was next to her now. I smiled at her and stopped. She smiled back. "Ai fost la colt, da? Ai cumparat doua paini?" (You were at the corner [store], weren't you? And you bought two loaves of bread?) I wasn't sure which store she was referring to, but I had gone out the night before and purchased some bread. "Poate ca da." (Maybe.) She smiled and repeated to herself, "Poate ca da." It was easier to communicate than I'd expected.

"Pot sa va ajut?" (Can I help you?) I asked her, but she said no and took a few more steps, as she chattered about the corner store, her husband, and whether or not she should just go back. She asked me where my husband was. I told her.

She reached for the fence again, so I repeated my question--"Pot sa va ajut?" This time, she agreed, and I took her arm. She was hungry and wanted to go to the cofetarie (cafe) at the top of the street. The cofetarie in question is a matter of meters from my house, so we walked together along the street until we reached it, her arm in mine. She pointed out the tulip leaves shooting up in the neighbors yard and talked of Sibiu, where she'd grown up. I tried to understand what she was saying. She asked why I was so quiet.

"De fapt, nu vorbesc asa de bine romaneste," I told her. (Actually, I don't speak Romanian very well.)

"Ah, nu-i nimic!" (It doesn't matter at all.) She kept on chattering, now something about the beautiful house, now about my family--where were they, anyway?

We reached the cofetarie, and I left her at the door. "Multumesc, domnisoara, din suflet." (Thank you from the bottom of my heart.)

Va multumesc si eu, bunica.