The smile of gratitude

As I nodded at familiar faces, I noticed a man struggling with an unruly dog. I slowed my pace, waiting for them to pass when an elderly lady approached me. She mumbled something that sounded like “Therese-Giehse-Allee.” After asking her to repeat it several times, I deduced that this was where she needed to go. She looked tired but had a striking face. Given her age, the place she mentioned was too far to walk. I pointed her in the right direction and resumed my walk home, making sure the dog and its owner were out of my way. A few moments later, her face flashed in my mind, and I turned around to find her struggling a few meters away.

Would she make it home alone? In the spur of the moment, I decided to follow her.

She seemed bewildered by my reappearance but gave me a weary smile. “Do you want me to walk with you?” I asked. She nodded. As we walked, I watched her closely. She was elegantly and properly dressed for the weather and carried a cotton bag that didn’t seem heavy. Despite her exhaustion, her smile never wavered.

Communication was challenging between us due to her very limited German and my less-than-perfect command of the language. I often messed up German articles in my sentences and spoke too quickly to cover up my mistakes, a trick that worked well with non-proficient speakers. Though she was very responsive to my queries, her answers were not in German but in Polish.

Why was she walking? Did she not have money for the bus? Or was she too uncertain to travel alone?

My mind wandered with thoughts and assumptions. We stopped at a Turkish Kebab shop, hoping someone there spoke Polish, but we had no luck. We continued at a snail’s pace, both unsure of our destination. I wanted to drive her home but couldn’t convince her to wait while I fetched my car. She started glancing at me nervously; the fear, tension, and despair could be read on her face. She occasionally tapped her upper thighs.

What was she trying to convey? Were her legs hurting?

After a few moments, she uttered, “Therese-Giehse-Allee 23,” including the house number. Elated, I called my daughter, urgently requesting her to bring some money. While my daughter suggested involving the police—a sensible idea—I hesitated for obvious reasons: my phone battery was nearly dead from watching useless YouTube videos, and I didn’t want to embarrass the lady by calling the police and having her ‘kidnapped’ off the streets. My husband quickly joined the call, prepared to come over. Relieved, I used gestures to reassure the lady that help was on the way.

My husband parked the car nearby and gave us a sign to quickly get in, but she seemed unsure and hesitant to follow me. Then it hit me—she was probably terrified of his thick, bushy moustache that dangled  some extra inches downwards. She must have thought he was some kind of villain. After a promise that we weren’t part of a moustache-twirling gang, I finally managed to coax her into the car. As we drove, my daughter Malu tried to communicate with her using a translator app on her phone, which wasn’t very effective though. Finally, we reached the address, but unfortunately, the person the old lady was looking for wasn’t living there. Our tension grew with each passing moment.

We decided to involve the authorities and headed to the nearest police station. After ringing the doorbell, we patiently waited. Upon the officers’ arrival, my daughter swiftly recounted the events in German. Seeing the police inside, we observed the poor lady visibly relieved, her face brightening with a smile again. I was glad to see how comfortably she engaged with the police. She slowly retrieved the identification document from her tightly clasped cotton bag. While the police were verifying it, one officer mumbled, “sie ist 85 Jahre alt” (she is 85).

Surprisingly, the police didn’t request any of our details, and we were asked to leave after being assured that she was safe with them. As we turned to leave, I stole one final glance at her, knowing deep down that our paths would never cross again. I felt a pang of sadness as the massive door closed between us, but I saw her smile at me again—that smile of gratitude.