by Manfred Koehler

"Here they are! Red, plump, ready to burst in your mouth. Hurry, hurry, hurry!”

Eleven-year-old Seth could sell tomatoes like no one alive. He was so good, he once pawned off a whole bushel on the mayor. But as the market slowed, he took his donkey and cart to peddle leftovers in another part of town.

His 8-year-old sister, Stella, sold cucumbers. She sliced samples with a pocketknife and handed them out as people passed. She didn’t say a word, but after tasting, everyone decided to buy.

Seth now tapped the donkey with a stick to guide it down a cramped alley.

“This looks like a poor neighborhood, Seth. Why’re you taking us here?”

Seth gave his sister a sideways look. “People gotta eat here, too,” he said. “I bet they ain’t never seen tomatoes and cukes like what you and I are about to bring ’em.”

Stella shivered as she looked around the muddy area. The narrow streets seemed dark, even in full daylight. Mangy dogs sniffled through scraps of garbage. A rat skittered up a drainpipe.

“There’s the spot!” Seth announced, pointing. “Look at all the tomato lovers traipsing by! We’ll be rich.”

Stella followed his finger. At the end of the road stood a gray building. It covered an entire block, surrounded by a wide sidewalk and thick grass. A statue of a lion sat at the corner of the walkway. People hurried back and forth.

“Come on. We’re setting up right in front of that lion.” Seth poked the donkey so it would hurry. “We’ll be finished selling by two o’clock.”

Moving Along

Stella fought to keep up. Reaching the statue, she found Seth, hands on hips, staring at a crippled beggar boy. The beggar smiled at them. He looked a little older than Seth, though much smaller. A battered felt cap lay on the sidewalk before him. A few coins were sprinkled inside.

“You finished yet?” Seth asked, glancing at the cap. “We’ve got vegetables to sell.”

“No, but you’re welcome to set up beside me. Lots of room.” The beggar’s smile didn’t fade.

“No way, you’ll scare off business.” Seth stepped closer, his shadow hovering over the beggar. “Can’t you move?”

The boy’s eyes clouded over, his smile sinking. Stella tugged on Seth’s arm, hoping he’d be nicer. Seth pushed her away.

Finally, the beggar moved. Crawling with just his hands, he slithered off, feet dragging. Stopping at the sidewalk’s edge, he sat on the grass, legs crossed awkwardly under him.

His cap lay forgotten.

Seth picked it up, jingling the coins into a small pile. Stella looked at the beggar. The boy’s head was tipped back, his lips quietly moving.

“He doesn’t even sell anything,” Seth muttered. “He doesn’t deserve this money.”

“Give me that!” Stella insisted. “It’s not ours.” Her hand shot out, reaching for the cap.

Seth shrugged and let her take it. Pulling the donkey into the vacant spot, he began to set up the stand.

Speaking Up

Holding the cap with both hands, Stella ran to the beggar. The boy’s lips were still moving, his eyes closed. Two tears trickled over dirty cheeks.

Stella wanted to cry, too.

He smudged the tears away with his hand and opened his eyes.

“You forgot your cap,” Stella said.

The boy smiled. Then he took the cap and set it neatly in front of him. He spread out the coins with his thumb.

“Why were your lips moving?” Stella felt rude asking, but she wanted to know.

“I was talking to my Father.”

Stella frowned and looked about. She could see nobody who might be the boy’s father. “But you weren’t making any noise,” she said.

“True. I don’t need to. He hears my insides.” The beggar’s eyes closed again. His smile grew bigger. “What’s your name?”

“Stella. What’s yours?”

Suddenly, the beggar hollered, “Thank you, sir!” as a coin fell into his cap.

The boy held the newly arrived coin to the sky, lips moving for a moment. Placing it back into the cap, he looked at Stella. “Most people just call me The Stone Lion Beggar.”

Stella glanced at the lion statue, long enough to see Seth excitedly doing business with two ladies. His hands were full of tomatoes, and the cart was almost empty. She shook her head in disgust. “I’m really sorry about my brother. He gets bossy at times.”

The beggar nodded, his eyes on the sidewalk. “I’ve forgiven him. I don’t think he realizes what he did.”

“Naw, all he thinks about is selling stuff. He wants to be rich.” Stella paused. The beggar just kept nodding. “Are you poor?” she asked, then wished she hadn’t. No rich person begged. Not even poor farmers begged. This boy had to be really poor.

“Depends on what you mean.”

Stella crossed her arms. She wondered why this beggar would not answer her questions the way she expected. It made her want to cry again.

Instead, Stella ran back to her brother.

Giving Is Better . . .

Seth was putting away the vegetable stand, his donkey patiently waiting.

“Tomorrow we’re coming back,” Seth said, his face determined. “Making money is easy here.”

Stella nodded, still thinking about the beggar’s strange ways. “That boy talks with his insides,” she said.

Seth gave her a strange look and kept working.

From out of nowhere, a crowd of small children appeared. They surrounded Seth’s donkey. Street urchins. All of them reached to stroke the animal, their hands and faces grimy. Stella could smell their stale clothing.

“Hey, get out of here!” Seth dropped his vegetable crate and began shoving the urchins away. “Leave my donkey alone.”

Two children fell to the ground. Stella ran to help them, upset that her brother was so mean.

The kids began shoving each other. Several yelled, “Leave my donkey alone!” Others giggled, fingers pointed at a red-faced Seth.

Suddenly, the urchins stopped and gazed at the beggar. He beckoned them to come with a wave and a smile. The kids ran and sat hunched before him.

The beggar held out one hand, telling the children to do the same. Then, one by one, the beggar placed a coin from his cap into each palm. The street urchins gasped with delight.

Stella looked at Seth.

“He’s giving it away,” Seth whispered. “That beggar is giving away all his money.”

The kids finally ran off, yelling their thanks as they went.

Seth turned and loaded the vegetable stand without a word. Finished, he took another long look at the beggar.

“Follow me,” Seth said. He walked toward the beggar, his mouth stern with determination. Stella trailed behind.

The beggar watched them come, his face blank. Seth stopped in front of the empty cap and reached into his pocket. Catching up, Stella peeped around her brother’s shoulder. Seth pulled out a large silver coin and held it stiffly before him. The beggar glanced from Seth to the coin to Stella.

“Here’s something to take home with you.”

The beggar reached out, accepting the gift. His hands trembled slightly as he held it to the sky, his lips moving. Turning back to Seth, he grinned. “Thank you, sir.”

God Talk

“Where do you live?” Seth asked, his voice softer than Stella had ever heard it.

The beggar pointed to the poor neighborhood through which Seth and Stella had come. “Down there about four blocks.”

“Do you live with your father—the one you talk to with your insides?” Stella’s own voice was soft now, too.

The boy’s head turned, looking over the rooftops. “I was talking to my Heavenly Father.”

Seth and Stella exchanged glances.

“You talk to God?” Seth asked, as eager now as Stella to understand this beggar.

“Yes, all the time.” He gazed at Seth, his smudged face more relaxed. “His Son, Jesus, opens the door for me to talk to Him anytime I want.”

That answer was absolutely not what Stella expected. “Are you poor or not?” she blurted. Stella had to find out. “And please don’t tell me, ‘It depends on what you mean.’ ”

“I’m richer than the mayor of this city.” The beggar smiled his biggest smile. “And if you come back to sell vegetables, I’ll tell you why.” The boy held his hand out to Seth. “My name’s Horatio by the way.”

Seth shook Horatio’s hand, his smile no longer forced. “I’m Seth. You come here every day?” The two boys began to talk.

Stella pouted. Richer than the mayor of this city? She still had a lot of questions. Listening to her brother and Horatio chat, Stella suddenly smiled. There would be many chances to ask her questions—if her brother would ever stop talking. In the meantime, Stella looked into the sky, wondering about the One who could hear her insides.

	Q: What do pigs write letters with? A: Pig-pens. Alejandro P., 12, California Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe