The old man in the third row saw the life that he saved without getting up and moving, but no one noticed.
They all sat at the Auditorium of the community hall, it was filled with parents, teachers, students and local politicians for the annual talent show. The children performed their songs, they danced, and recited their poems on the stage and received applause from the audience.
An old man named Mr Bello was seated in the third row.
The great majority of people however, recognized him only as the old gentleman who used to feed the pigeons in the town square afternoons.
Quiet.
Polite.
Forgettable.
That evening when he was sitting in the comfort of his folded hands which he placed on his lap while watching the shows, there was a little boy that walked on to the stage.
His name was Tobi.
A Twelve year old.
Thin.
Nervous.
There was a slight stir in the audience as he shifted the microphone, Others were engrossed in looking at their cell phones.
Some others were mumbling to each other.
Tobi cleared his throat.
It's my poem, he said.
His voice shook.
A few people chuckled.
The boy froze.
Mr Bello stopped smiling while Tobi's gaze lingered on his face for a few seconds while he weighed his options on if he should continue or run away.
But something weird occurred next.
The old man got to his feet.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
He simply stood.
And clapped.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The hall reverberated with the sound.
They looked at him.
After all, others came, one after another.
The room was soon filled with laughter.
Tobi looked stunned.
Mr. Bello nodded.
"Go on, son," he said.
The boy took a deep breath and started but When he was finished the crowd was on their feet.
There were some who wiped away tears from their eyes.
First prize was for the poem.
But, it was not that one that was remembered by people.
The following week a woman visited Mr. Bello's library.
She was crying, She runs a small bakery and was thinking of shutting it down permanently.
She already knew the response from most; it was what she had heard many times before.
"Move on."
"Accept reality."
“Or maybe you're not cut out to be in business.”
Mr. Bello took in the news with his ears.
After that, he posed one question.
How many people smile due to your bread?
The woman frowned.
"What?"
"How many?"
She thought about it for a moment
"A lot I guess."
How many times have you smiled lately?
The woman was crying but she laughed
After 3 months the bakery was still working.
He took stories with him wherever he went.
A struggling student.
A grieving widow.
A frustrated mechanic.
A single father.
He had a lot of heavy loads on him.
They were departing with another object.
Hope.
No one was able to say how he did it.
Even Mr. Bello himself couldn't explain it.
He wasn't rich.
He wasn't famous.
He wasn't all that well schooled.
He always knew just what people wanted to hear.
It wasn't just what they wanted.
What they needed.
A word.
A question.
A reminder.
A challenge.
At times, that proved to be the magic formula to change a life.
One day the town found out about his secret.
Some.Some of it, at least a little.
A young journalist asked him straight in an interview in the local newspaper.
You've been told that you have a gift, What's your secret?
The old man began to laugh.
"I pay attention."
The reporter's face was sad.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"No hidden wisdom?"
"No magic."
"No special talent?"
Mr. Bello smiled.
I hear what people aren't saying, for too long.
The reporter put down his report pad.
For the first time she knew he was in love.
Over a hundred people attended Mr. Bello's funeral years later when he died.
The owner of the bakery came.
So had Tobi, who was now a published author.
The mechanic.
The widow.
The father.
The student.
For hours stories were exchanged.
Not for money they'd given.
Not about awards that he had won.
But about moments.
Simple moments.
A conversation.
A sentence.
A question.
Some minutes of real attention.
All at once they realized.
Mr. Bello's super ability was not mind reading, seeing the future or miracles!
His super power was something that was much rarer.
He knew how to listen, in a world of people that wanted to be listened to.
But somehow, that made more lives who would otherwise be the same.
Image gotten from Chatgpt
Aikay👾
