Fiction

It's All An Allusion

by Cheryl Toepfer
11/15/14
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             "Sir, I understand you were in a position to watch these events unfold this afternoon. Can you please tell me exactly what you saw?" she asked.

             "Well, I was three stories up on the scaffolding at the construction site where I work, when all of a sudden I heard a terrible commotion coming from the street below.  There was a gang of about four or five fellas beating on a man walking down the street.  They beat him up bad. Took his wallet and packages, too. Left him there bleeding," he lamented.

             "Then what happened? Did you call for help?" she questioned.

             "Yeah. Got on my cell phone right away. As I was talking to the 911 dispatcher, I saw this guy drive up in a real nice SUV, roll down his window, and take a look at this guy. Then he just drove away."

             "He didn't get out to help?" she inquired.

             "No," said the witness, "he just seemed in too big a hurry to get out. I was shocked."

             "So, what transpired next?" she asked.

             "Well, as I'm still on the phone to dispatch, another guy in a suit walks over from the church across the street. Takes a look and just saunters back to the church. Not even in a hurry to get help. I don't get that--was he just curious or something? I mean, this poor guy needed help!" he insisted.

             The reporter then asked, "So what do you think were the extent of his injuries at this point?"

             "Can't say for sure. He was bruised and bloody, though." The construction worker was eager to tell the reporter the rest of the story. "The strangest part of this was that there was another guy that showed up right after that fella returned to the church."

             "Really? Why was that strange? Do you know who he was?" she queried.

             "Well, he was on foot. Not dressed too nice at all. In fact, I've seen him 'round this part of town before. People say he's a drunk. Some say he's homeless. Could tell he probably ain't got much," he recounted, "but he stopped, bent down to speak to the injured guy. He stayed with him. I saw he was looking around to get help. He didn't have a cell phone. I hollered down," he continued, "that I had called for help. He still stayed with this guy. It was like he was trying to comfort him or something," he added.

             "Then what happened?" the reporter asked.

             "When the cops and ambulance came, he talked with them. Then I saw him pull somethin' out of his pocket and give it to the cop in charge. The way he motioned towards the injured fella, I could tell it was money to help him," he elaborated.

             "Hmm. It's interesting," stated the reporter, "that two well-to-do men would turn their heads on an injured, helpless man, and yet a vagrant would stop to care for him, even giving what little he had to help him. Thank you for taking time to share your story with me."

             The reporter returned to her desk at the office that evening, ready to type up the story for the little hometown newspaper she worked for. This was her chance to do the day's big story! She was sure this wasn't just a feel-good, human interest story--this was front-page news!

             But there was something in the back of her mind she just couldn't get a handle on. She knew she'd heard this story before. When she was a little girl, she remembered Someone else had reported this same story in a big Book her grandmother used to read.

              But...Who was it?