The Coin by Kateryna Udovychenko

I didn’t always have a reason for hating coins.

In fact, I wouldn’t have minded them at all, if that one June day hadn’t haunted me since. 

It was one of those lazy summer mornings when not many people rushed to work. Quietly, I strolled through the lonely park. Sunlight dappled the path under my feet, and for the first time in weeks I felt truly happy.  After a ten minutes’ walk, I finally got to the metro station. At the entrance, a filthy man caught my eye. Begging, he sat, his hands cupped. Everyone passed by, avoiding his gaze. It pained me to see him – his eyes betrayed intelligence, his posture was of a dignified man, and yet his clothing was nothing but rags. Feeling obliged to help, I offered him a coin. The man’s face brightened.

‘Thank you, my son,’ he spoke hoarsely. I started at his raspy voice. I nodded hesitantly, entered the building, and headed to the cash desk to buy a ticket.

Going down the escalator, I couldn’t help but think of the man. Clearly, he looked homeless, his grey beard unshaven for months and his hands black with dust. A faint tension filled the air around him. But there was something in his countenance that told me he wasn’t just an ordinary beggar – and for some reason, I knew that giving him money was the right thing.

Having reached the platform, I walked towards its edge. I tried to plan out my day, in vain – my mind still clung to the man. With a sigh, I looked at the clock above the train tunnel. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around. There he was – the homeless man, right in front of me. He must have followed me.

‘Here, keep the change.’ He slipped a different coin in my palm.

‘Oh no, never mind, you need it more,’ I mumbled.

The man shook his head and folded my hand over the money. ‘I insist.’

‘Why?’

‘You see, Mr …’ His rough voice trailed off.

‘Mr Bilyk.’

‘You see, Mr Bilyk, it is a matter of principle – not to take more than necessary. This is a thing one learns only after years of hardship.’ A smile touched his lips, though in his pupils, I saw a shadow of a hurt and lost dog.

His expression confused me. I wondered who he really was. I opened my mouth to ask him. The roar of the coming train filled the station. The headlights blurred my vision. A dark shape leapt into the white glare. Then, chaos.

A scream tore the air. The train brakes whistled. My eyes focused. The insides of the old man were smeared across the tracks. His contorted arm protruded from under the wheel set. I tried to fight back nausea. Dizzy, I stepped back. The floor swayed beneath my feet.

Someone pulled me to the side. I heard a woman’s voice, soft and calming. I caught my reflection in her glasses. Seeing my bewildered face, I gasped in horror.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I gave him money,’ I said weakly, a lump in my throat. 

‘What?’

Ignoring the question, I glanced around. A crowd had gathered at the grotesque scene. Nearby, a spark of light flickered on the coin I had dropped. Panic rose in me. The last words of the homeless man echoed in my head. Suddenly, the world darkened, and I sank into oblivion.

                                                                        ***

Years have passed, and there are still no coins in my wallet – just paper bills inside.