Unlikely Heroes

One night in autumn there was an earthquake in Mexico City. It shuddered through the city like a terror, waking up children, knocking down walls, toppling trees and warping roads. All night there was the sound of sirens, and the smoke that rose into the sky glowed red like doom.

In grey light the next morning a desperate crowd wandered the streets. Women with dusty faces sat on the kerb, clutching their children tight to their chests, afraid that some other faceless terror might come to snatch them away. Little boys walked about calling the names of dogs who had disappeared during the night and not come back. Men stood with their hands on their hips, staring at the crumbled walls and broken glass where the day before their shops had been. The oak tree in the schoolyard had fallen onto the school building and collapsed the roof. Half an apartment block stood intact while the other half slid down a hill. A car was crushed beneath a slab of concrete. The front wall had peeled off the post office like a sheet of old wallpaper, and now it lay stretched out, face-down on the road. The air was thick with dust and the sour smell of sewage. Firemen scuttled about like ants. Policemen rushed here and there, cordoning tragedies off with tape. Nuns served hot drinks from a stall on the side of the road. A woman’s wails on another road turned into shrieks.

The sun rose slowly. Slowly people peeled off their jackets to walk about in the wrecks of their homes, picking through the debris, looking for friends, pets and valuables. Nurses arrived to tend to those with burns and broken bones. Everyone helped. An attorney of law worked side by side with a street vendor; the mayor shovelled mud into a wheelbarrow driven by a homeless man. In the night the city had been torn open; in the morning, like a wound, it stitched itself together again.

Even the crippled boy Pedro García Jiménez came to help. He laboured down the broken pavement on his crutches and stood outside the grocery store. He was aware that he had little to offer: he was not strong or dexterous, could not climb walls or pull trapped animals out from drains. His body was weak, but he had a strong heart. So he chose to stand outside the grocery store, wearing a T-shirt on which he had written ‘Free Hugs’.

No one wanted to hug Pedro. Many people wanted to hug someone, wanted to feel someone warm in their arms and be wrapped themselves in warm arms, wanted to be held, and know that even in their misery they did not have to be alone. They wanted to feel – in their chests and not just in their minds – that all of this would be okay, and that life would find a way to triumph. But no one felt comfortable to walk up and hug the boy with polio. They avoided Pedro, and made sure as they passed him that they did not catch his eye.

Pedro did not impose. He had no desire to force hugs on anyone. He just wanted to be there, in case he was needed. He stood outside the grocery store, and waited. The sun rose in the sky, chased the frost from the shade, and made the day hot. Everyone around Pedro took off their sweaters and wiped their brows with their sleeves. At noon they sat down to eat and rest in the shade. With silent nods they accepted bottles of water from the nuns. Mostly they did not talk. Here and there someone said a few words to a spouse or friend, but there was no conversation. Some among them stretched out on their backs, placed their hats on their faces, and fell asleep. Many had not slept at all in the night. Pedro went home to eat his lunch. His face was puzzled as he went, for he was deep in thought.

It was three o’clock when Pedro returned to the street. His home was not far away, but it cost him tremendous effort to go all the way on his own, especially with all the debris and new potholes in his path. Hot blisters bubbled up in the flesh of his armpits and his palms. He was no longer wearing the T-shirt that said ‘Free Hugs’ – his mother had taken it off him when she bathed him before lunch, and dressed him in a plain grey T-shirt after. But now there was a leash tied to one of Pedro’s crutches, and on the leash he led a big furry golden retriever with admiring eyes and a panting tongue. That dog, named Benito, walked patiently next to Pedro, knowing from long familiarity that he must not race ahead up the street, as this would tug at Pedro’s crutch and upset his balance. Benito was now wearing the T-shirt which said ‘Free Hugs’.

Many people noticed Pedro and Benito coming down the street. They smiled at the odd pair; and they smiled when they saw Benito wearing a T-shirt; and they smiled again when they read the words written on it. Pedro stopped again outside the grocery store. He stood leaning on his crutches, Benito lay down on the ground next to him with his tongue out, and together they waited.

After some time, a small boy came up to them: one of the boys who had spent the morning looking for his dog. His eyes were torn open with despair, but his cheeks were still dry. He came up to Benito shyly, crouched in front of him, and looked into his eyes. Benito looked back into the little boy’s eyes with his ears cocked and an expression on his face like he was waiting for something just amazing to happen. All at once the little boy cried out, threw his arms around Benito’s neck, and broke down in sobbing tears. Benito was warm in the boy’s arms, soft and furry, his tail wagging gently from side to side. The boy let go of Benito’s body and looked into Benito’s eyes again, and Benito looked back at him with his gentle brown eyes, and licked the tears from the boy’s cheeks.

A stern little girl was next to come. She had been sent by her mother to scold the boy for crying so loudly in front of everyone and to tell him to come home, but she got confused as she delivered her reprimand, started sobbing, and ended up hugging Benito, also. Their mother came then to collect her children herself, but somehow she also wound up crying and hugging a neighbour’s dog. After that, all together, little boys and girls appeared on the street, like creatures materialised from the rubble, and surrounded Benito, hugging him and running their fingers through his fur. Without meaning to, they found themselves crying deeply; it felt awful to cry like that, but it felt nice, too, in a way. It made them feel worse and better at the same time. And Benito sat there, looking up at the children with one eyebrow cocked, not completely sure what this all meant, but extremely pleased nonetheless to be making new friends with all these affectionate little people he’d never met before.

Soon it wasn’t just little ones coming to be with Benito. The owner of the grocery store, a dignified old man in a waistcoat, came to run his hands through Benito’s fur, tickle him beneath his jaw and behind his ears, and softly pinch the flabby skin on his cheeks. Benito looked up at the grocer and blinked, a couple of thin blonde eyebrows sticking out at odd angles above his eyes, then licked the man’s hand. The grocer smiled sadly and sat down next to Benito, so close that their bodies touched, and he remained like that for some minutes, gazing down the street. Then he stood up, smoothed his apron with his hands, and went back inside. Others came to take his place.

It was almost night before the line of people waiting to be with Benito ran out. Pedro stood by all that time, balancing on his crutches. One by one, the blisters in his armpits and on his hands popped and burned, but Pedro never complained, and he refused to leave until all the people who wanted to visit Benito had come to visit him. When everyone had left, Pedro stayed a few minutes more, just to be sure. When he was certain that no one else was coming, he called Benito’s name softly, pulled gently on his leash, and together they set off home. The street was empty; a couple of streetlights flickered on, and started to hum.

One old lady was sitting in her living room when she heard the sound of Pedro’s crutches on the street. She walked out onto her balcony, saw Pedro, and quietly, but loud enough for him to hear, called out, “Bravo, young man.” The butcher heard her, and he also appeared at the front of his shop. “Bravo,” he said, and began to applaud. Someone else heard him clapping, and they started clapping, too. Soon the whole street was out on their balconies or in their doorways or sticking their heads out through their front windows, applauding Pedro García Jiménez as he made his way home, and his dog Benito, who walked patiently along beside.