By Zary Fekete

He came from nothing. His parents died when he was very young. Now, a young man, he stood on the street corner day after day, begging for a few scraps. Though he was unwashed, he had a fine head of hair and light blue eyes. He whispered words of appeal, giving bright piercing smiles to whoever happened to look upon him while they dropped their coins in his waiting cup.

Not content with the meager rations the small town provided, one day he snuck into the train station and stowed away on a train bound for the capital. He sat in one of the box cars, swinging his legs in the breeze as the country unfolded before his eyes, desperate for something greater in life.

The train chugged into the final station, and the enormity of the glass and steel surrounding him made him quiver in fear. He almost resolved to stay on the train and wait for it to depart again for the countryside, but having come this far, he hopped from the car. He followed a crowd as they departed through the double doors and was soon on the dusty street, amazed at the clamor of horses and buggies coming from all sides.

He looked around and found a corner. He sat, taking on the practiced look of entreaty and held out his cup. He kept his eyes on the ground, murmuring from time to time, “Please, sir…Dear, madam…”

Suddenly a pair of feet stopped before him. Fearing he had been caught for some unknown discrepancy he made to apologize, but when he looked up, he saw a middle-aged man who was looking down on him with astonishment in his face.

“Why, you’re him!” the man said.

The young beggar looked around, sure he had been mistaken for someone else, but the man before him made no attempt to look elsewhere. 

“Who, sir?” the young man asked.

The man reached down and gently took him by the shoulder. “Stand up, please,” he said. The young man stood, and the older man immediately turned to the passing crowd around them.

“Look, it is he!” 

First one, then another, and then perhaps the entire sidewalk stopped and looked at the young beggar with amazement. A young woman hurried forward and cupped the young beggar’s face in her hands. “How can it be?” she said. “A miracle!”

Soon he was propelled forward with dozens of hands on his back and arms. The crowd ushered him down the street and across many city blocks. At each turn the crowd around him grew until it seemed as though the entire city was following at his heels. A strange hush settled over the multitude and the only thing the young man heard was the strangely whispered repetitions of, “Him… He… It is he!”

Suddenly a large edifice rose before him and he saw a building that could only be some national parliament. Carpeted stairs rose before him and the crowd prompted and beckoned him forward. Cautiously he put foot after foot forward and was soon surrounded by the cool stones of the central hall, the walls of which were festooned with various doors and hallways from which many more people poured out, all with astonished looks on their faces. 

The original middle-aged man who had stayed by his side this entire way, led the young man to a staircase. Guards stood at the top of the stairs where a massive wooden door was suddenly opened. The beggar stepped up the stairs and when he stepped into the inner chamber, he was confronted with an elegant portrait hanging on the opposite wall, covered with plush curtains. 

One of the guards hurried to the side of the curtains and began to pull on a plush cord. A moment later the portrait was revealed. The beggar looked up at the painting. Because he had never before looked in a mirror, he had no idea it was him.

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Zary Fekete grew up in Hungary. He has a debut novella (Words on the Page) out with DarkWinter Lit Press and a short story collection (To Accept the Things I Cannot Change: Writing My Way Out of Addiction) out with Creative Texts. He enjoys books, podcasts, and many many many films. Twitter and Instagram: @ZaryFekete Bluesky:zaryfekete.bsky.social