Tears falling like bricks on the cobble stones
Freddy is a shoe shiner and a friend of ours. A little while ago he found out that his wife cheated on him with his brother and these days he usually resorts to drinking when he wants to forget it all.
It was good that he spent most of Easter with us yesterday but Randy got a call from him at 4am this morning. Randy woke me up and we went down into the dark, cold city to find him. When we found him he was drunk. We sat with him and he talked to us. He told us his stories.
The night was cold and shadows of men began to surround us so we escaped and invited him back to the refuge of our house. There he talked to us some more until the sun rose.
When you talk to Freddy he says he has bad luck. When you ask how he is, he'll tell you he has a broken heart. When you sit with him longer and the real stories come out he'll tell you how he could not believe that his wife was sleeping with his brother for five years, and how he had trusted her so much and how his mother hid it from him and how much he loves his kids. He told us last night, as he wiped his eyes, ‘my tears are bricks: they don’t feel a thing.’ They visit him so often, but they are hard and still leave him lonely
Last night, however, we also got to hear a little bit about the happier times. He told us when he lived with his mother in the jungle, when he shot a puma and when he found gold in the river. He said he was happy in those days. Then his stepdad started beating them and his mother sent him away to find refuge somewhere in La Paz.
He said his other friends take him out to get drunk and to find girls to forget his troubles. But he said he has found some new friends that are faithful and will listen to him when he needs someone to talk to and apparently that will pick him up at 4 in the morning when he is drunk.
He doesn’t sleep very much, he says. It makes him think about things that are too painful. He doesn’t go home unless he has to. In the place he calls his home he is alone and he begins to remember the painful memories and wants to “forget himself” again.
He says he often just wanders the streets with a broken heart thinking about how his beloved had left him for another and how most of all he just wants the best for his kids. The bricks falling from his eyes, he cannot get away from this pain.
God, is this a glimpse of you?
He wanders lonely through the night, heartbroken that we have left Him for lovers severely less passionate. He cries out for his children "Come back! I will protect you in my strong arms," dropping tears like bricks in the cobble stone streets all night long. He cannot sleep. Home is not worth going to if his family is not there. He is looking for a way to have us back, unable to forget his pain.
Freddy left early this morning but called again at 9:30am. He wanted us to meet up with him again this afternoon. We went to him, Randy, Ali, David, and I. He was drunker than before and he said he was now going to see some friends. We asked what type of friends they were and what they were going to do. He said, “I don’t want to tell you.” He's now in the room next to the one I'm in, our little refuge in La Paz. Perhaps he is building a castle with his tears as his heart overflows to Ali or David, while I write.
This world is broken and it feels like it is breaking me.
This is not my home. At home we will be in the arms of our beloved husband who even yet searches the streets for us, trying to find us and win us back. Even while we waste ourselves in the beds of his enemies, he is preparing a bedchamber for us and will carry us there and lay us down and fulfill us and He will make all things new. He will win our hearts over once again.
It was good that he spent most of Easter with us yesterday but Randy got a call from him at 4am this morning. Randy woke me up and we went down into the dark, cold city to find him. When we found him he was drunk. We sat with him and he talked to us. He told us his stories.
The night was cold and shadows of men began to surround us so we escaped and invited him back to the refuge of our house. There he talked to us some more until the sun rose.
When you talk to Freddy he says he has bad luck. When you ask how he is, he'll tell you he has a broken heart. When you sit with him longer and the real stories come out he'll tell you how he could not believe that his wife was sleeping with his brother for five years, and how he had trusted her so much and how his mother hid it from him and how much he loves his kids. He told us last night, as he wiped his eyes, ‘my tears are bricks: they don’t feel a thing.’ They visit him so often, but they are hard and still leave him lonely
Last night, however, we also got to hear a little bit about the happier times. He told us when he lived with his mother in the jungle, when he shot a puma and when he found gold in the river. He said he was happy in those days. Then his stepdad started beating them and his mother sent him away to find refuge somewhere in La Paz.
He said his other friends take him out to get drunk and to find girls to forget his troubles. But he said he has found some new friends that are faithful and will listen to him when he needs someone to talk to and apparently that will pick him up at 4 in the morning when he is drunk.
He doesn’t sleep very much, he says. It makes him think about things that are too painful. He doesn’t go home unless he has to. In the place he calls his home he is alone and he begins to remember the painful memories and wants to “forget himself” again.
He says he often just wanders the streets with a broken heart thinking about how his beloved had left him for another and how most of all he just wants the best for his kids. The bricks falling from his eyes, he cannot get away from this pain.
God, is this a glimpse of you?
He wanders lonely through the night, heartbroken that we have left Him for lovers severely less passionate. He cries out for his children "Come back! I will protect you in my strong arms," dropping tears like bricks in the cobble stone streets all night long. He cannot sleep. Home is not worth going to if his family is not there. He is looking for a way to have us back, unable to forget his pain.
Freddy left early this morning but called again at 9:30am. He wanted us to meet up with him again this afternoon. We went to him, Randy, Ali, David, and I. He was drunker than before and he said he was now going to see some friends. We asked what type of friends they were and what they were going to do. He said, “I don’t want to tell you.” He's now in the room next to the one I'm in, our little refuge in La Paz. Perhaps he is building a castle with his tears as his heart overflows to Ali or David, while I write.
This world is broken and it feels like it is breaking me.
This is not my home. At home we will be in the arms of our beloved husband who even yet searches the streets for us, trying to find us and win us back. Even while we waste ourselves in the beds of his enemies, he is preparing a bedchamber for us and will carry us there and lay us down and fulfill us and He will make all things new. He will win our hearts over once again.
posted by Ross at 1:11 PM
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