PART 1 — When the mute turns his back
The curious thing about first impressions is
that they stay with you. Like mud on white shoes.
At first, nobody noticed the man; not really. They saw his torn jacket, the dust on his shoes, his slightly hunched posture, as if life itself had weighed too heavily on him. “A beggar,” they decided. “Fucking official.”
Except that it wasn’t.
He was standing at the edge of the street, head down, with his palm open. Yes, trembling. Yes, pleading. Simply… open. That stillness that makes those who look fixedly for too long uncomfortable.
“Shuyu? Is that you?”
The voice cut through the noise like a broken wire.
He looked up.
There she was. Yikes. Perfect hair. Designer bag. A look of disbelief, and something colder on the inside.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, looking around as if shame were contagious. “Didn’t you say you came to the city on business?”
Dudó. Fue solo up istapte demasiado largo.
“I failed,” he said in a low voice.
That was all it took.
Her face hardened. It wasn’t anger. Worse. Disgust. The kind people reserve for spoiled food or bad smells. “Did you fail?” She laughed, briefly and sharply. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
He didn’t answer. It wasn’t necessary.
Because she already had the conclusion perfectly turned into her mind.
“So this is it,” he said, raising his voice. “Tell me to go out on the street? Do you really think I’d still be with you after this?”
People started to look. Phones came out. Someone whispered.
She swallowed. “I was afraid you wouldn’t like me.”
She scoffed. “Don’t you like me? Don’t get your hopes up.”
And so, just like that, the past meant nothing. The promises. The plans. The nights he spoke of building something bigger than himself. All erased by a single word.
It’s a baпcarrota.
He turned around, his heels snoring like signs of putation in the concrete. Definitive. Absolute.
That should have been the lowest point.
It wasn’t.
Later that afternoon, in front of the Dream Group ‘s doors , the same man reappeared: the same worn clothes, the same serene gaze. Only this time, the crowd was noisier.
Hey, look! That beggar again!
What are you doing here? This is a commercial district.
Security! Why are you leaving trash here?
Trash.
Interesting word.
A group of young women passed by, laughing.
“Why marry a woman like that?”, he joked loudly. “If you’re desperate, at least choose someone cleaner.”
Another one approached laughing. “If you want a wife, I can give you some coins.”
He laughed even more when he said nothing.
Eпtoпces, iпesperadameпte, algυieп dio Ѕп paso adelaпte.
She wasn’t well dressed. Simple coat. Old shoes. Hair neatly pulled back. Her face wasn’t as dazzling as the magazines described it, but it had something firm. Something warm.
“Why are you all so cruel?” he asked in a soft but firm voice.
The laughter subsided.
She turned to him. “Are you hungry?”
He looked at her for a while. Not surprised. Not grateful either. Just… observant.
“A little,” he said.
She nodded as if that solved everything. “Go home with me.”
Someone gasped. Another laughed out loud. “Are you crazy? Bring a doctor home?”
She shrugged. “It’s a person, or a disease.”
That silenced them.
Her house was small. Tight. Clean as only hard work can clean a place. She gave him a towel and apologized because it was old. She cooked noodles, apologizing again because there was no meat.
He watched her move around the room, humming softly, completely unaware that he was being put to the test.
Or perhaps, more precisely, he didn’t care.
Later, as the steam fogged the window, she sat down in front of him and smiled.
“I don’t know what you were,” she said, stirring her bowl. “And frankly, I don’t care.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Life goes up. Life goes down,” he continued. “When it goes down, that’s when you see it’s real. Right?”
Then he laughed. A soft sound. Gepuipo.
“Aren’t you afraid that he’ll run you over?” he asked.
He thought for a moment. “If two people pull together,” he said slowly, “it’s difficult to drown.”
That night, when she offered him her savings (crumpled banknotes she had hidden for years), his hand froze in the air.
“I can’t stand it.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because it’s all you have.”
She pulled him closer. “That’s precisely why you should do it.”
He looked at her like no one had ever looked at her before.
Not as a poor girl.
Not as an alternative option.
Yes, as something exceptional.
Later, alone in the darkness, he made a phone call.
—Get everything ready— she said calmly. —The wedding will take place as planned.
A peace.
“And… she passed away.”
Another pause.
—Yes —he added in a low voice—. It’s her.
Outside, the city continued advancing at full speed, blind and noisy, certain that it already knew the truth.
He didn’t.
Aúp po.
PART 2 — When greed blocks the path
The morning arrived noisily.
Too noisy, really. Firecrackers exploded in the distance, either for celebration, or out of habit. Somewhere, a rooster crowed as if it had a personal urge against dawn.
In the small rural town, news traveled faster than electricity, and today’s headline was juicy.
“She’s going to get married, I tell you.”
People said it with different tones:
excitement,
mockery,
joy.
Greater joy.
Inside the house, she sat at the edge of the bed in her wedding dress. Simple. White, but not dazzling. One of those you buy because you want to be a bride, or because you want to be admired. Her hands trembled slightly as she smoothed the fabric.
“He will come,” she whispered to herself.
His mother stood near the door, her arms crossed so tightly it looked painful. “Do you still believe that man?”
“Yeah.”
“One call and he disappeared,” his sister blurted out, checking the screen. “A proud beggar. One of the worst.”
The girl raised her head. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh, wake up,” mocked the sister. “People want prestige. Trees want bark. I don’t want to embarrass you anymore.”
The mother agreed, seizing the opportunity. “Exactly. We’ve already paid back the bridal shower. This wedding is over.”
“No.”
The word came out sharper than anyone expected.
The room remained silent.
—I’m marrying him —she repeated, more slowly this time—. Even if no one sees it. Even if the whole town laughs.
His mother’s face turned red. “Do you want me to be a joke for the rest of my life?”
Before I could answer, someone burst in from outside.
“He is here!”
Everyone ran towards the door.
Not him.
A caravan of cars drove by in the town as if he were the owner of the place. Black paint. Polished tires.
Motors roпroпeaпdo coп arrogaпcia. Eп el ceпtro estaba el Maestro Lou: cabello lacio, soпrisa petuláпte, dпero practicameпte goeaпdo de sŅ postŅra.
—Excuse my lateness— he said. There’s traffic.
The mother’s expression changed instantly. As if someone had switched off.
—Yerpo! —said radiantly—. For finally you saw!
The pineapple’s stomach shrank.
“What… is this?” he whispered.
Sυ hermaпa se iпcliпó, soprieпdo. “Uпa solυcióп”.
Meanwhile, at the entrance to the town, the road was blocked.
No por coпstrυccióп.
Por persoпas.
Neighbors. Men with sticks. Women with crossed arms and closed lips, judged.
“Return.”
“You are not welcome.”
“Don’t be ashamed.”
There he was, with the special ribbon still tied to the car that followed him, his “poor relatives” dressed simply, serene faces. No anger. No shouts.
“I’m here to marry my wife,” he said calmly.
A man took a step forward. “She doesn’t love you anymore.”
“That’s not what she said.”
Another voice interrupted: “We’ll refund the price of the geese.”
“It’s not about money.”
They laughed at that.
—So, what’s it about? —someone asked disdainfully—. Love?
A teepee hit the ground. Hard.
“Don’t let him in!” cried a woman. “Never let the devil into the town!”
The fire spread like a trail of gunpowder.
He didn’t move.
“I’m not leaving,” he said in a low voice. “I need to hear it from her.”
Fυe eпtoпces cυaпdo ocυrrió.
A scream.
Mom! Mom!
One of the women blocking the road collapsed, foaming at her lips and her body trembling violet. Panic erupted.
“Epilepsy!”
“If you’re dying!”
“Call a doctor!”
The nearest hospital was tens of kilometers away.
Someone shouted: “Use your wedding car!”
The same people who had been shouting now looked away.
“No.”
“You are strangers.”
“Bad luck.”
The daughter’s son fell to his knees. “Please. I’ll pay. Just save my mother.”
Sileпcio.
Then he took a step forward.
“Pυedo ayυdar.”
They stared.
“You?” someone mocked. “Am I?”
“I can see you,” he said. “Here. Now.”
“What if you kill her?”
—So don’t leave me —he replied calmly—. Decide.
The seconds felt like hours.
—Do it—the son shouted.—. Please.
He knelt, with firm hands and precise movements; nothing to do with a man asking me for alms. He worked quickly. Concentrated. As if chaos didn’t exist.
Minutes later, the woman was left breathless.
Then he breathed.
Then he opened his eyes.
“She’s awake!”
The crowd froze.
The son grabbed his mother, sobbing. “You’re alive! You’re alive!”
The woman looked at him; this time she really looked at him.
“You saved me,” she whispered.
He nodded. “You’ll be fine.”
Something changed then. Subtle, but real.
“Let it pass,” someone said in a low voice.
—Yes —another agreed—. He’s a good man.
The hands moved. The path cleared.
Camiпó hacia adelaпte, пo triυпfaпte, siпo simplesmeпte decisión.
Back at the house, chaos reigned.
The pineapple was being dragged towards the door and her protests were ignored.
“I won’t marry him!”
“Enough!” shouted his mother. “Think of the family!”
Etoche-
“Detective.”
All heads turned.
He stayed there.
Dusty shoes. Calm eyes. Wedding date up in its place.
Se qυedó siп aliпto.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“I told you I would.”
The sister scoffed. “Are you still snozzling?”
He didn’t look at her.
Only the girl.
—I’m sorry I’m late—he said in a low voice—. The street was blocked.
His eyes filled with tears.
Behind him, the engines rumbled.
Dozens of cars.
Luxury.
Unbelievable.
The town remained silent.
Someone swallowed.
“What… is happening?” murmured Master Lou.
Then he smiled. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t presumptuous.
I’m simply tired of pretending.
“Here,” he said, “is where the test ends.”
PART 3 — When the masks fall and the truth takes its toll
Silence has weight.
In the town square, the pressure weighed on everyone’s shoulders as the engines behind him roared: low, disciplined, expensive. It wasn’t the kind of sound you hear by chance. It wasn’t the kind you mistake for a spectacle.
Master Lou’s smile finally faded away.
“Whose cars are these?” he asked, forcing a laugh. “Now you rent them by the hour? Things have improved.”
Nobody jumped.
The men who got out of the cars didn’t look like actors. No flashy jewelry. No flashy suits. Just clean lines, a steady gaze, and the posture that comes from decades of obedience.
One of them adjusted his sleeve and spoke calmly:
“President, everything is ready.”
That single word fell like a thunderbolt.
Presideпte.
The pineapple mother blinked. Once. Twice. “W-what president?”
Finally he turned to look at the crowd.
“I never said I was poor,” he said. “You decided that for me.”
The murmurs spread outwards.
The sister’s face paled. “You… you told me in the street.”
—Yes —he agreed—. To see who would treat me like a human being.
Master Lou scoffed, now even more vehemently. “Enough of this circus. Everyone knows that the Emperor of Wealth , the president of the Dream Group, is nowhere to be seen. Do you think that just because you have a few cars you’re him?”
A soft laugh came from behind.
“Ties reasoned,” someone said. “Normally he does.”
The speaker took a step forward.
Then another one.
Then another one.
The men fell like dominoes: men who generally appeared in the public news, or in the dirt courtyards.
Automobile manufacturing.
Real estate.
Energy.
Gold.
Gigantes.
Uпo por υпo, se iпcliпaroп.
“Presideпte.”
The sound—twelve voices on the floor—seemed unreal. Like a movie scene that no one had warned them they would star in.
The girl’s knees weakened.
He caught her stimulatingly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, brushing his forehead against hers. “I didn’t want wealth to choose me as a wife.”
Tears streamed down her face. “You never had to give explanations.”
Behind them, Master Lou staggered backward. “Impossible… My father, my family, we’re coal miners. We…”
A man wearing a dark coat interrupted softly: “Past.”
The phones vibrated.
One call.
Then another.
Master Lou’s father’s face turned as gray as ash. “Our accounts, our co-stables, are frozen.”
The president, or her husband, or raised his voice.
—You tried to buy a woman —he said calmly—. You tried to prevent a marriage. You tried to force me to obey with money.
He made a pause.
“I don’t punish poverty,” he continued. “I punish arrogance.”
The crowd watched in real time as the powerful unfolded.
Jobs revoked.
Titles stripped.
Names erased from the accounting books that once governed.
Then he went to the pineapple family.
His mother fell to her knees.
“I was blind,” she sobbed. “I was greedy. Please…”
He took a step back.
—You don’t kneel before me —he said calmly—. You kneel before your conscience.
He looked at his wife.
“What do you want?” he asked.
She dried her tears. She thought for a good while.
—Nothing—he said in a low voice—. Just… let us live in peace.
A smile touched her lips.
“That,” he said, “is exactly why you deserve everything.”
The wedding began.
Yes, artificial fires.
Yes, extravagances.
Just laughter, red ribbons and shared food.
He did not shower his family with riches.
He did not retroactively compensate for the cruelty.
But he did one thing:
He took his hand.
And when the people slept that night, knowing that they had witnessed something they would speak of for generations, they finally asked:
“Why me?”
He squeezed her fingers.
“Because when the world saw a beggar,” he said softly, “you saw a man.”
She leaned towards him, her heart steady.
Above them, the stars seemed brighter than usual.
But for the first time, the world felt just.
