Friday, 15 January 2010

The Street Philosopher (#fridayflash)

(The old people I work with tell me all kinds of stories.  With Alf, when I mentioned I study philosophy, the conversation got round to the meaning of life. 

"The only man I ever met who knew it was a homeless beggar," Alf said.

"What did he say it was?" I asked.

"Oh," said Alf, "he never got round to telling me."  Alf's eyes sparkled.  "But I'll tell you the story anyway.")


I saw him on my walk to school, standing on the street corner behind an empty table.  It was his eyes I noticed first. Icy blue, cold like the winter air.  He was staring blankly into space.  Billows of steamy breath puffed out from his nostrils.  His red knitted hat was fraying at the edges, his blue coat dirty and torn, a pocket falling off.  He shuffled from foot to foot to keep warm.

On my way home from school he was still there. 

"What're you staring at?" Mother asked, then looked over to see the man.  "Come on," she said, trying to hurry me along. I stood there, transfixed. 

"Alright, alright," Mother said.  "Here, give him this."  She opened her purse and handed me a thrupenny bit.

As the man saw me approach, his face broke out into a kindly smile.  "You're my first customer of the day," he said.  "What can I do you for?"

I held out the coin.  He shook his head.  "You couldn't buy nothing here with that," he said.

"What're you selling?" I asked, looking up and down the empty table.

He leaned forward.  "Here, I'll tell you a secret."  He looked around to check no-one was listening.  "I'm selling the meaning of life. To one patron only."

He looked at me expectantly, then he gave me a wink.

"How much is it?" I asked.

"To you young sir, two pounds."

Two pounds would take me weeks of pocket money.  I'd never managed to save that much. 

But the meaning of life.  I'd asked Dad about it before.  "Tell me when you find out," he'd said, laughing.  Mother had scolded me and told me to focus on more important things.  "Like what?" I'd asked.  "Like school, your education," she'd replied.  So I took the question to school.  Mrs. Walker said I would get out of the habit of asking such awkward questions in a decade or so.  Then she had put "decade" into next week's spelling test because I'd asked what it meant.  It seemed to me grown-ups didn't much care about the meaning of life.  And yet here was a man offering it for sale.

As I stood there thinking, Mother came over and dragged me away. 

"What took you so long?" she scolded.  "I told you not to talk with him, just to give him the coin."

"But he knows the meaning of life."

"Oh does he now?  Very good."  She said "very good" in the same way she did when Dad said he was going out to the pub.  She hated him going out, I could tell, but all she said was "very good".

The next day the man was gone.  I asked Mother why.

"The police must have asked him to move on.  They like to keep the town centre clean of beggars," she said.

I knew better.  They must've moved him on, yes.  But it wasn't because he was homeless.  It was because grown-ups couldn't cope with having someone in their midst who threatened, at any moment, to explain the meaning of life.


  1. Excellent piece! Your description of the beggar was so vivid, I saw him!

    Laughed at the teacher adding "decade" to spelling test. Teachers are evil that way!

    Lovely last paragraph. I wish that I knew myself the meaning but there's still time.

  2. Decade. D-E---Ccc-A-D-E. decade. I hated spelling in school. Thank god for spell check.

    You really have me wondering what a beggar/vagabond would say the meaning of life is.


  3. This is a great piece. You've managed to combine a little whimsy with some veiled but scathing commentary Really well done!

  4. Agree with Elizabeth, nice combination. The beggar may have something profound to say only a child might stumble upon. Nice story.

  5. Very nicely written. Gives us something to think about when talking to those inquisitive kids who ask big questions and get little answers.

    I wonder what the beggar would have said, too. It works well this way to leave it to our imagination.

  6. Wow! Don't know if anyone has the meaning of life really defined or that we can truly comprehend it ... so leaving it open was a great touch.
    Lovely story!

  7. A lovely story, David with a Saint Exupéry feel. Your first paragraph in particular is special.

  8. So many layers to this story. The innocence and curiosity of youth stands out against the calloused and hurried adults. The reader wants to believe the bum knows it, but, the important part you have captured here is that blind faith that children have in what could be, in the possibilities that live under red hats with frayed edges. Terrific writing.

  9. Ooh great story. So much truth buried in there. Thanks for the comment on my blog.

  10. I was afraid it would wind up costing two pounds of flesh. That was a relief.

    It's most interesting to me that the child (much older now) reflects back thinking he'd moved on because he was forced out rather than that he died or wandered along crazily. I like that. To me it means the boy is looking for that answer now.

  11. I too laughed at the decade interjection!
    I wonder whether the beggar chap ever sold the meaning of life to anyone in the end?

  12. At least he's learning early that the meaning of life isn't easy to come by. Good story!

  13. Wonder what the price would be today, adjusted for inflation? I like the opening. The flashback form works well.

  14. Lovely little piece of writing, and the spelling tests...yes, I remember them well.
    Not sure I really want to know the meaning of life. Imagine no more surprises.
    I'm happy to learn on a daily basis, small wonders and an unending supply of them.

  15. I wonder what the beggar would have said. I'm sure I have two pounds around here somewhere. Nice short!