Him

By Zary Fekete

Previously published in Bright Flash Literary Review.

He came from nothing. His parents were dead. He grew up on the streets. Now a young man, he stood on the corner day after day, begging. Though he was grimy, he had a fine head of hair and bright eyes. He whispered words of appeal, giving shining smiles to whoever happened to look upon him while they dropped their coins in his waiting cup.

One day, in an impulsive moment, he snuck into the station and stowed away on a train bound for the capital. He sat in one of the box cars, swinging his legs in the breeze as the country unfolded before his eyes, hopeful for something greater.

The train chugged into the final station, and the enormity of the glass and steel surrounding him made him quiver in fear. He almost resolved to stay on the train and wait for it to depart again for the countryside, but, having come this far, he took a deep breath and hopped from the car. He followed a crowd as they departed through the double doors and was soon on the dusty street, amazed at the clamor of horses and buggies coming from all sides.

Looking around, he found a corner and sat. A look of practiced entreaty came over his face as he held out his cup. His eyes were on the ground as he murmured from time to time, “Please, sir…Dear, madam…”

Suddenly a pair of feet stopped before him. Fearing he had been caught for some unknown discrepancy, he started to apologize, but when he looked up, he saw a middle-aged man who was looking down on him with astonishment in his face.

“Why, how can it be?!” the man said.

The young beggar looked around, uncertain what to do. “What, sir?” he asked.

The man reached down and gently took him by the shoulder. “Stand up, please.” The young man stood, and the older man immediately turned to the passing crowd around them.

“Look, it is he!” 

First one, then another, and then perhaps the entire sidewalk stopped and looked at the young beggar with amazement. A young woman hurried forward and cupped the young beggar’s face in her hands. “But how?” she said. “A miracle!”

A moment later he was propelled forward with dozens of hands on his back and arms. The crowd ushered him down the street and across many city blocks. People who saw him cried out in astonishment, and at each turn the crowd around him grew until it seemed as though the entire city was following at his heels. 

Suddenly a strange hush fell over the multitude. The young man looked up. A large edifice rose before him – a magnificent building. Carpeted stairs rose upward. The crowd urged him on, so cautiously he put foot after foot forward and was soon surrounded by the cool stones of the central hall, with various doors and hallways on every side from which many more people poured out to stare at him. 

The original middle-aged man who had stayed by his side this entire way, led the young man to a staircase. Guards stood at the top of the stairs where a massive wooden door opened. The beggar stepped up the stairs, the guards drew aside, and the crowd moved him forward into the inner chamber. Heavy curtains concealed something on the wall before him.

One of the guards hurried to the side of the curtains and pulled on a plush cord. A moment later an ornate portrait was revealed. The beggar looked up at the painting. It was a young man with a fine head of hair and bright eyes.

Zary Fekete grew up in Hungary. He has a debut novella (Words on the Page) out with DarkWinter Lit Press and a short story collection (To Accept the Things I Cannot Change: Writing My Way Out of Addiction) out with Creative Texts. He enjoys books, podcasts, and many many many films. Twitter and Instagram: @ZaryFekete Bluesky:zaryfekete.bsky.social