Brother, Can You Spare a Storyline?

In Asia, the beggars are pros (so they tell me) and each has a rather singular and mostly unobtrusive approach to getting hand-outs. One man who 'works' this neighborhood's heavily-trafficked commercial street has lost most of the metacarpals of both his hands. He lies fully prone on his sizable paunch, his arms stretched out full. He jostles the coins he's collected in a small plastic tray to call attention to himself. Otherwise, he lies silently on the pavement. There are several severe burn victims who sell chewing gum and lottery tickets but as they are distributing a product in exchange for cash offered, I'm disinclined to think of them as 'pan-handlers' or 'beggars'.

But on our first night in Amsterdam, a pan-handler of a very pro-active ilk locked on to us - Linda and I - and started his spiel. " Do you speak English?" (A quick aside - Why is that question in every travel phrase book? What on earth would compel anyone to attempt asking a total stranger in mutilated Italian or Hungarian if they could speak English? Why not simply ask the question in English? They'll understand or they won't and that would be that.)

Anyway, this guy's follow-up question was another question about asking me a "serious question". (See, his was a triple question lead-in with the third query held in anxious reserve to keep me interested. A rather advanced approach.) I noticed that he had several fresh facial scrapes, all to the left side of his face, and the general appearance of gaunt, disheveled displacement typical of 'World-on-a-shoestring scum-travelers'. He introduced his 'brother', a younger, paler version of himself who hovered like a Columbine trench-coat phantom covering our interviewer's flank as he launched into his recitation.

Seems they had come from Rotterdam to visit his girlfriend who worked in Amsterdam. But, their car broke down a few kilometers outside of town and the police wouldn't help. The talker turned to cue his comrade who re-entered our shared reality long enough to verify that "The police won't do nothing." Linda started tugging on my arm to go. But by then I was curious to find out how Byzantinely entertaining this yarn might prove.

"I see.", I said and the patter resumed.

Yeah, and his girlfriend was taken to hospital, unconscious, from work with a serious injury or something but he couldn't remember which hospital it was and he had forgotten his wallet and his money back in Rotterdam and the name of the hospital, too and so had his brother because they were in such a hurry. He quickly and sharply reintroduced his 'brother' to bring his ghostly accomplice back to the land of the living and focus on their prey - us - who had started to take flight. Linda had us moving briskly by now.

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