Stumbling into this desolate alley was just my luck, he thought. A knife pressed against his neck from behind. Judging by the voice, the assailant seemed young, perhaps in his thirties.
The thief spoke, “I’m in a bind myself. School’s starting, and my daughter needs books. Hand over the money peacefully, and you won’t get hurt.”
“No problem. Stay calm. Money’s just worldly possession. I’ll give you everything,” my friend replied. “Just stay calm. I’m reaching for my wallet now.” He extended his right hand back but grasped at air. “Can’t do it. Can you take it yourself? I have rheumatoid arthritis. My wrist won’t bend.”
“…Playing tricks, are you?” The thief said, and rifled through his backpack. “Arthritis at your age?”
“It’s ‘rheumatoid arthritis’, like what Rubens and Édith Piaf had.”
“Ru who?”
“Never mind. It’s not just an old person’s disease. Science hasn’t figured it out yet, no cure. One symptom is excruciating pain. Can’t even work. Been jobless for three years.”
“Damn, your zipper’s stuck – how have you been eating these three years?”
“Don’t move your hand with the knife. It’s dangerous. I’m on welfare. It’s a right for us in this country.”
“Your stories are useless to me.”
“I know. There’s not much in the wallet anyway, take it.”
“…Only three hundred? Anything else?”
“Two hundred more in the secret compartment.”
“Forget it. Seeing you, a man unable to work, constantly struggling, I feel your pain.”
“Feel my pain?”
“Now, walk slowly forward. Don’t look back.”
“Wait, what do you mean by ‘feel my pain’?”
“I thought you understood English?”
“You mean feeling my illness in yourself, feeling my suffering? Are you saying that, in essence, everything, including someone else’s pain, can only become sensible through your self-centred feeling?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t you see the problem? My illness is mine alone. Whether you ‘feel’ it or not, I still ‘suffer’. I don’t need you to feel my pain. It’s selfish.”
“I’m selfish?”
“Of course. How else are you not selfish?”
“I… No, I’m selfish, of course. Do you think you’re being robbed by Mother Teresa? Stand still, where’s the secret compartment? Hand over your phone too.”