Tabaco Katowicka Opole

BOX
DAFFODILS
We saw leaving the Institute, sitting on the floor. All around, a well-worn bags with what we thought were their belongings and is always tight in his hands, a box of metal, rectangular, very nice. I had to set me several times to see detail without appearing intrusive. It was not too large, was about 25 centimeters long by 15 wide. A border wavy, silver, decorating the outline and the rest of the box, looked on light blue background, like a sky, a yellow and white daffodils seemed finished blooming. I would have said that in his original point, was filled with chocolates or cookies and besides it was pretty, I was interested in that box by a desire not to drop the beggar of his hands, which made me wonder about its content.

- What will be inside ...? Money ...! - Eduardo said, my dinner companion at the Institute, one day I mentioned my curiosity - These old begging but the aunts are lined ... they have more rooms than a bullfighter - said contemptuously.

The old beggar, always occupied the same place next to the school fenced wall, waiting a few coins in the cardboard box that looked to his side. He had a dignified and inexplicable. It was something special that emanated from his person, the aura, the energy ... The hair thoroughly White, one could say that relatively hair, pale face surrounded by a very clear-eyed, not knowing if they were blue or green because they barely got out of those hands that held fine, like a treasure box of daffodils. After studying for several days, I concluded that this woman had been in his day, a beauty. And this detail encouraged my curiosity about the box of daffodils.
One evening, on leaving the Institute, when the cold was felt, it started raining. The fellow we separated each to its destination. Some went in the car with the father who had come to look, others went to the bus stop and I went to the nearest Metro station.
As I walked, I saw the beggar in front of me and instinctively slowed to observe. I watched as he moved with difficulty, very slowly, and going down the stairs to the Metro station, grabbed the railing to help. Some passengers hurriedly hid his vision and I suddenly heard the screams and commotion. I went and the floor beside the double doors of entry to the platform, was his body. Security Guard, called by the portable radio and heard his partner say: "I think he's dead. Gives the message "Your bags remained together
her hands and escaped the box of daffodils that I thought I was offering. While the Guard was trying to bring order to avoid the melee by the body, took the opportunity. I took the box and opened it. I was surprised. A wilted rose with red petals and dry leafless, was inside next to a sepia-toned old photographs which showed the image of a man in uniform old-probably the first world war-and long mustache guides . Almost invisible, below, on the right side of the picture, I could read: "To my beloved Ruth. With all my love "
do not know why I took it but did not seem like a theft. That memory should not die, but must be perpetuated over time. I still have things in my beloved. A loving memory of a stranger. MAGDA.