Poverty An unforgettable encounter with a homeless man in Romania
Shortly after midnight at the Cluj railway station in Romania. The night train to Targu Mures fails. There is no information about the reason or a replacement train. With my fragile Romanian I can find no further information, because the switch for "international information" means only because here tickets are sold to Budapest or Vienna, not because of the language skills of the staff.
The next train leaves at 5:30, so the search for a place to stay is not worthwhile. After walking through the station building several times bored, I go out onto the platform. It's cold there, but that helps against the tiredness.
There is not much going on here at this time. The usual shapes you see hanging around stations in the world after midnight.
After a while, the foreseeable happens. One of the tramps speaks to me, asks politely for a cigarette. Unfortunately, I can not serve that. My limited Romanian is also noticeable to him, because he asks if I would prefer to continue the conversation in English. I approve, and am surprised. Sebastian, he imagines, speaks faultless and very good English.
"Where did you learn English so well?" I ask, awaiting the story of a previous work in England or studying in the USA.
"From the television. I like to watch action movies. "He is very excited about the Transporter series. I can not quite believe it because his English goes far beyond these stupid movies. He is probably secretly watching documentary films on the BBC, but has internalized the anti-intellectual sentiment in Romania from June 1990 and does not want to admit it for fear of marauding miners.
After I've talked a bit about myself, I have to question him politely as well. That's how I find out that he is indeed homeless. His two legs have been damaged since an accident, so it's hard for him to find work. He gets a small pension, less than 50 € a month. He was in jail for two years. In the supermarket he had stolen food worth 10 €. "But if you steal a few millions, nothing will happen to you." This is not just the relativization of a convicted person, but consensus in the corruption-ridden Romania. A few hours ago I sat with a defense lawyer for dinner together, now I discuss with a former prisoner on proportionality in criminal law. So at least the night passes quickly.
"And, where are you sleeping?" I ask half stupid, half caring. I miss the conversation experience with homeless people. He sleeps in the station. This is actually forbidden, he explains, "but with me they make an exception, because I never cause problems. I do not drink alcohol, I'm not loud, and I'm gone in the morning. "The failed night train means, however, that the warm waiting area is now occupied by travelers and he will not get a night's rest. During the day he moves through the city, through the parks, and if his roommate's roommate is not at home, he can sometimes wash himself in his apartment.
That the station staff tolerates him, I like to believe, because Sebastian looks poor and battered, but not neglected. And he is very polite. From time to time he pampers a cigarette from passers-by and is so unobtrusive and quiet that some ignore him and most like to help.
Even the ladies who work in the station café know Sebastian. As they step onto the platform for a cigarette break, they listen to our conversation for a while and ask in disbelief: "Do you speak English?" He smiles shyly, "yes, sure." "No! You're kidding us. You pretend to us. "The cafe and sandwich salespeople can not believe that the poor man, to whom they give shelter every night and, hopefully, a piece of cake, is polyglot. Their mouths are so open in amazement that the Orient Express could pass. One of them turns to me: "Is that true? Does he really speak English? "" Oh, yes, very well, "I eliminate all doubt with the stranger's authority. "Incredible, incredibil" they mumble to each other, while they throw over a furtive look over to us again and again. Once, when the looks of the more attractive of the two shop assistants and the homeless ones meet, she shakes her head approvingly and still incredulously, but smiling, as if to ask, "What else do you have in store for surprises?" And he can shake his pride not completely hide.
The Jason Statham films, as a source of English, become even more dubious when he explains to passing birds that these are nocturnal as opposed to diurnal. I need to ask to find out that these are the technical terms for nocturnal and diurnal.
Unfortunately Sebastian asks me how old I am. This conversation is always equally depressing in such situations. "I'm 40." He says, "You look much younger. Like 30, for example. "I'm not saying anything because I want to bury the topic. He asks unasked: "I am 29." Unfortunately, I can not return the compliment, because of poverty, illness, prison, homelessness and any other strokes of fate, which he does not want to tie a stranger on the first encounter drawn, he sees actually older than 40 out. These are the moments when I realize how lucky I have been in life.
"Do you want a coffee?" He asks suddenly, to immediately postpone: "I invite you." Stirred and indignant, I refuse. Instead, I offer to buy him something to eat. "Oh, that's not necessary, thank you. I have already eaten today. "
When the train arrives, we bid farewell to each other, thankful for the company we have provided. "Andreas," he calls after me, as I am already on the way to the car, "watch the train on your bag. There are a lot of thieves here. "