“Eat, sir. Let me get the money for you.”
Crazy! What was going on here? Why was he treating me like this?
“Just take the money,” he asked me to accept the money in the envelope. I saw his face was very calm. I hesitated, even though I really needed it. I remained silent, letting the envelope sit on the table.
“Who are you really, Old Man?” I asked, gathering my courage.
“I am the owner of this house,” he replied briefly with a genuine smile.
“Then why do you always leave money on your room’s table?” I asked again.
“In Ramadan, all good deeds are multiplied in rewards. I wanted to give that money in charity, but I didn’t know to whom,” he explained.
I furrowed my brow and swallowed hard. Gathering my courage, I asked once again, “Then why did you give me money now? Don’t you know that I’m a thief?”
“Yes, I know you’re a thief,” he replied calmly. “Tomorrow, you don’t need to leave your house. The money is enough for you to live on for a few days. But if someday you come back here, you won’t find any money. I’ve put all my earnings from tending the farm this season in that envelope. Please take it home and give it to your children and wife.”
My body trembled. Fear turned into shame. The night suddenly felt so cold. A gentle breeze blew through the cracks in the wooden walls of this ramshackle house. I returned the money, and I promised never to steal again.