"Mother, it's market day today. Let me accompany you to carry the groceries."
"Yes, sure. We'll go by 11 a.m."
In Egemed's hometown, one day each week was set aside for the special market. On that day, the entire town came alive. People crowded the streets, buying food, vegetables, and all kinds of goods. Though shops remained open on other days, none could match the energy and excitement of the weekly market. It was the busiest and most cheerful day of the week.
The market also followed a unique cycle: one week it was on Monday, the next week on Tuesday, and so on, skipping Sundays entirely, when the town rested in quiet stillness.
As Egemed followed his mother, searching for groceries, he noticed beggars along the roadside. Some were children, some adults, some blind, others missing limbs. Some even breastfed their own infants while begging. The sight pierced Egemed's heart, filling him with grief so deep it almost brought him to tears. He reached into his pocket for money to give them, but his mother stopped him, seizing his hand.
"Why, Mother?" he asked, dazed.
"Don't be too kind, Egemed. Don't you see how dirty they are? They have hands and legs to work and earn their living. Why waste your money on them? If you try to be kind, they'll take advantage of you. Won't it embarrass you if they start following you?"
Egemed felt as if an arrow had pierced his heart. He could not speak, only follow his mother, watching the beggars as she dragged him along.
After a long silence, he spoke again.
"Mother, some don't really have legs or hands… some are blind."
"They have families. Why bother with their lives?"
"But what if they truly don't?"
"That is their problem, Egemed."
"I don't think it's right to judge them, Mother. What if I were like them?"
Her brow furrowed. "Are you mad, Egemed? What are you trying to say?"
"Yesterday, you said it's better to be a beggar than a thief. So why do those beggars even exist? Don't you think some might become thieves if no one helps them, even when they beg in fear?"
"Egemed, you're ridiculous. Nonsense. Some people will help them."
"Then can't we help too, Mother? We have enough to survive. Can't we share a little so they can survive?"
"Just let them die—so there will be no more beggars."
"But Mother, that will never happen."
Irritation flashed across her face. Egemed pressed on, gentle but insistent:
"What if they really have nothing? No one to support them, no job, no home—not even land to work? I'm sure many are illiterate too."
"You talk too much. Go be a saint already," she snapped.
Egemed smiled softly. "Mother, don't you think they beg because they have no choice? They strive to live, sitting there with fear and shame. They might even get kicked or cursed while begging. Can't we show kindness, Mother? How beautiful it would be if someone still cared…"
Before he could finish, his mother slapped him.
The market fell silent. Whispers ran through the crowd. Why did she slap him? Isn't he her son? They had ruined their day.
Egemed, keeping his composure, spoke up:
"Sorry, sorry. It's no big deal. I happened to make my mother angry, and she slapped me to bring me back to my senses. She's the kindest person I've ever met—please, don't mind us. Things like this happen in families."
The crowd resumed its chatter, bargaining, and laughter.
"I'm really sorry, Mother. I didn't mean to upset you. I just… I just felt for those beggars. You're right—I shouldn't interfere." Deep down, he was hurt, embarrassed, and sad, but he smiled, trying to smooth over the situation.
"It's okay. Just carry the groceries and follow me," she said.
"Mm."
Near a fruit stall, a young man in his twenties approached. Egemed didn't notice him, lost in thought.
"Is he your son, Mother?" the young man asked, smiling.
"Yes, he is. Are you here alone?"
"My mother is with me, but she's at the hospital for a checkup. She'll be back soon."
"I hope she gets well."
"Your son is very handsome, Mother. He looks calm and kind."
"My Egemed… what are you thinking about?"
"Oh, sorry, Mother. I was just watching the busy people."
"See? Someone admires your handsomeness," she teased.
Egemed blushed, embarrassed by the compliment. The two young men exchanged smiles.
"Egemed, nice to meet you. I must go; my mom is calling me. Bye, Egemed—take care."
"Ah, okay… bu-bye."
Egemed didn't get a chance to ask his name, but something about the young man's smile and the words "take care" lingered. Did he see me get slapped? Did he know me? he wondered. Ah, let it be. We probably won't meet again.
"He seems nice and wanted to talk to you, Egemed. You should have said something," his mother said.
"I'm sorry, Mother. What is his name?"
"I forgot to ask."
"Now everything is done; let's return home, Egemed."
"Hmm, 'kay."
A day passed. Egemed spent evenings waiting for his father, happy to carry his belongings home.
Yet that night, sleep eluded him.
His heart ached, replaying the market scene over and over. Why is Mother so indifferent? Was I truly wrong that she had to slap me?
Since fourth grade, he couldn't recall a time she had raised her hand against him. The sting on his cheek was nothing compared to the sting in his heart. Did I really say something wrong?
He laughed bitterly. "I think I'm an idiot… I create my own problems."
Then came the silence—thick, suffocating, full of unspoken words.
Egemed lay tangled in guilt and sorrow. He loved his mother deeply and never wished to hurt her, yet his view of the world clashed with hers. To his mother, beggars were lazy and greedy. But Egemed saw differently.
He never looked at their rags or grime; he saw quiet sorrow in their eyes. He saw the "what ifs" behind every weary face. He never judged their condition—he felt it. Mercy filled his heart where others felt disdain. Love spoke in his silence before he even spoke.
He saw not filth or failure, but eyes that had forgotten hope. Hunger, shame, fear—things most people pretended not to see. Every tired face carried an "if": What if their parents were sick? What if they had no food? No home? What if the world gave up on them? What if their families cast them aside?
Yet empathy brought pain. The world did not share his sight, nor understand his heart. He never despised the beggars; he pondered their stories.
He imagined their suffering—the fear, the shame, the trembling hand stretched out for survival. They had endured so much, yet the world turned its back.
Egemed's heart softened. He pitied them—not for weakness, but because the world was cruel. He wanted to comfort them, to let them know they were seen. But he knew the truth: kindness often whispers where cruelty shouts the loudest. The world was unkind, and mercy often went unheard.