The Samaritan

This is a relatively short story about a recently deceived man saving a lone young mother and her child who have fallen on hard times.

Cautionary: romance, only heterosexual (and only once).

Setting: Northwestern Europe / Contemporary

Characters:

Michael, male, 33 years old, male lead

Natasha, female, 23 years old, female lead

Mischka, female, 3 years old, Natasha's daughter

Dusek, male, 25 years old, Natasha's partner, deceased

Nicky, female, 30 years old, Michael's ex

Peter, male, 33 years old, Michael's enemy

Tom, male, 32 years old, Michael's friend

Note to the reader; I have written many stories before, but this is the first one I decided to publish.

Since I'm not a native English speaker, I made some grammar boo-boos here and there, so I got the story edited (thanks Headitor).

So this is now "The Samaritan" 2.0, I hope you'll all like the result.

I welcome feedback, but (especially) if you have something negative to say, please substantiate your comment.

It's a chilly Friday afternoon, and Michael is returning to his company HQ on foot. He's coming from his monthly lunch meeting with his old friend Tom, a meeting that, unusually, has left him in a rather somber mood. Turning into the street where his company's HQ is located, he notices her, sitting with her back against a building, a small tin on the sidewalk in front of her advertising her 'profession'. He's never felt much sympathy for beggars: why didn't they just get themselves a fucking job, and work for a living, like normal people?

The wind picks up, it must be close to freezing by the feel of it, not that strange in early February of course. He pulls the padded collar of his thick coat up to protect his neck. When he gets nearer he takes the sitting girl in; she's wearing a knitted hat, an old raincoat, with worn jeans and sneakers. A rucksack with a rolled up sleeping bag attached to it stands against the wall next to her. With just a couple of meters separating them her head moves up towards him, revealing a grime covered face half hidden behind dirty knotted hair.

His eyes lock with hers, but she appears to see nothing, her eyes are dark blue pools of emptiness. Disturbed by her clear desolation he lowers his gaze, noticing the sparse coins in the tin, and then, while passing in front of her, the little bundle tucked against her beneath her arm. He's already a couple of meters further along the sidewalk when it fully registers, the small girl, the really small girl, leaning into her. He walks further along, on autopilot, towards the door leading into his company's HQ building another fifty meters or so away. It isn't your responsibility, he thinks, You can't feel sorry for the whole fucking world.

The porter opens the door to let him in, "Welcome back sir," he says.

Michael nods back at the man, "Hi." He watches the porter close the outer door behind him, then move to open the inner door.

"It's getting colder," the man says, "going by the forecast we'll hit minus twelve tonight, there might even be some snow." He nods, he has seen the forecast too. Jack Frost has taken his time so far, but now seems to be arriving after all. The warmth inside the lobby feels good on his cold face, he starts pulling off his gloves, walking towards the elevators.

Michael spends the rest of the afternoon attending meetings, and working on summary reports of them, a real chore because he simply can't keep his head with it. During lunch Tom had told him that his former girlfriend was still with Peter, a figure from his past, and a real asshole of a man. It's been seven months since, coming home from work early, he had found them in bed together.

He had been with Nicky for close to six years at that time, and Peter, well, he had known him since primary school. He had been devastated, his heart shredded by the woman he had expected to bear his children one day. Over the past half year he had managed to push it all away into some dark corner of his mind, but now Tom, by bringing the two of them up, had brought it all back. So now the whole sordid affair keeps playing before his mind's eye again, the images of the two of them rutting like animals, in his own fucking bed.

He works till past six, to evade the worst of the Friday evening traffic mess. Luckily he only has to visit the company HQ once a month, the rest of the time he works from a subsidiary located in a much smaller town way to the south. On the bright side it does come with the opportunity to meet up with Tom for lunch once a month, every disadvantage has its advantage. Everyone else has long left by the time he starts gathering his stuff, Nicky again taking possession of his mind. You'll have to get over her, he thinks.

All his friends and colleagues have been telling him he has to get dating again, find someone who will make him forget all about Nicky, but his mind simply hadn't been ready for it. It's Friday night, he thinks, why not check out some of your old watering holes tomorrow evening. The ones you used to go to before you met Nicky. Maybe run into some old mates, maybe even pick up someone to warm your bed for the night.

It's the first time since that dreadful afternoon he actually feels like going out again. For a moment he wonders why, then realizes it is probably because Tom told him they were still together. At some level he had still hoped it was just a fling from her side, and just a way to hurt him from the asshole's. He had hoped she would come back to him, and now it has become clear that's not going to happen. He closes his briefcase, puts on his coat, then leaves his office and heads towards the elevators, feeling both freed and depressed at the same time

It's dark when he emerges from the basement parking garage. He steers his trusty dark blue 540ix to the right towards the main street, then turns right again, passing back in front of the building. There's snow in the air, and the streets are already less busy. Driving past the spot where the young woman had been sitting against the building that afternoon he glances without seeing. He's already twenty meters further down the road when it registers, his eyes dart to the mirrors, she's still sitting there, bathed in the amber glow of the streetlights.

In a reflex he checks the outside temperature reading on the dash: it's already freezing. He remembers her eyes, the little girl leaning against her, It's not your responsibility Michael. About a hundred meters pass beneath the Beamer's wheels while his mind is busy, As soon as the streets become deserted, and there is nobody left to beg from anymore, they will look for a shelter.., right? It sure doesn't feel right, So you're going to sit inside your warm home tonight and not wonder if those two girls are still out there freezing to death, right?

He feels himself lift his right foot, turns right again, drives around the block and, a couple of minutes later, stops the car next to the curb where she, and the little girl, are still sitting. He switches the engine off, gets out and walks over to her, squats down in front of her. She looks up slowly, a hand emerges from the right sleeve of her filthy coat, reaching out for the tin in front of her, she isn't even wearing gloves. She fumbles with the tin, "Please sir?" she pleads, her accent pretty thick, eastern European by the sound of it.

Michael looks at the little girl and notices her teeth are chattering. The young woman follows his eyes, looks down at the little girl too, then back at him again, "Please sir? Not for me, but for her, for my little Mischka..." she pleads, still trying to pick up the tin with clearly numb fingers, her fingernails are dirty. He picks the tin up himself, and empties it into his hand. Her eyes widen in horror.

He quickly puts the coins in her hand, and folds her cold fingers over them, which relaxes her a bit. "You have to leave this place and find some shelter for you and your child," he says.

Her eyes flicker, she opens her hand, revealing no more than a couple of Euro of coins, "This is everything I have, and the shelters are not safe for me." She's young, she isn't fat, might even be pretty beneath all the grime; he understands what she means. He starts reaching for his wallet, then thinks the better of it. You would only be postponing the inevitable for a couple of days. It might make you feel good, but in the end it'll get them nowhere. He looks at the little girl again, his heart cringes.

"No," he hears himself say, "no money, the two of you are coming with me."

Still wondering about his sudden commitment he notices her looking at something behind him, then her eyes come up and find his again, "Are you a pimp?" The question takes him by surprise, tears well up from her eyes, "It's okay," she says, "I'm out of options. I'll do whatever I have to. For Mischka."

He takes her hand in his, "No, I'm not a pimp, I just want to help, okay?" She looks back at him, disbelief all over her face, Fuck, he thinks, She's lost all faith.

"Alright," he says, "is it okay for me to pick up your little one?" She looks like she's going to panic for a moment, and tries unsuccessfully to get up; he has to help her. "I'll carry the girl," he says, "You aren't up to it." She hesitates, then nods, turns and reaches out for her rucksack. He squats down again and picks up the little girl, who looks to be about three years old. She barely reacts to him, and she feels cold, but she isn't shivering.

After walking back to the car he opens the rear door and places the girl in the middle of the back seat. He starts buckling her up, then thinks the better of it, she's clearly more in need of warmth than a seat belt. He turns around, the young woman has arrived too, dragging the rucksack behind her. "I'll take care of your rucksack," he says, "just get yourself inside the car." He watches her move inside, her muscles clearly stiff from the cold.

As soon as she's seated, he leans in and buckles her up, then picks the little girl up and places her on her mother's lap. "Just hold her close," he says, "we need to get her warm again." The young woman nods, he pulls off his coat and drapes it over them, covering the little girl from head to toes. Closing the door he shivers himself, Fuck it's cold, picks up her rucksack and puts it inside the boot, then walks over to the driver's side of the car and gets behind the wheel again.

After starting the engine, re-configuring the heating system, and activating the seat heating, he drives off. Some ten minutes later he leaves the city behind, it's getting pleasantly warm inside the car now. He glances over his shoulder, "How is she?"

The young woman looks up, "She's getting warm again." Then, "Thank you. Thank you so much." He throws her a quick smile, she looks away, "I stink, soil your nice car, I'm sorry."

The warm air definitely doesn't help hiding the smell of unwashed bodies. He chuckles, "Don't worry, the locker room at the local gym smells worse." She doesn't answer. A couple of kilometers pass, and the road becomes slippery as snow starts to fall, but it's nothing the four wheel drive can't handle. "So your little girl's name is Mischka?" he asks.

"Yes," she answers, "and I'm Natasha."

He throws her a quick smile again, "Those are beautiful names; I'm Michael by the way."

"Where are you taking us, Michael?" the anxious undertone doesn't escape him.

"Home, I work in this city only once a month. I live in a small village about two hour's drive to the south." He belatedly realizes he hasn't even asked her if she wants to go home with him, or go so far from the city. "I'm sorry," he says, "I don't know where else to take you. I can take you back to the city tomorrow if you want. Is that okay with you?"

It stays silent for a moment, "Are you married, Michael?"

He sighs, "No, and I've never been either. I used to live with a girl, but she cheated on me, so now I live alone."

"Oh.., I'm sorry for you," that anxious undertone again.

He belatedly realizes the reason behind her question, and glances back at her, "Don't worry Natasha, I'm not going to lure or force you into having sex with me. I only want to help Mischka and you."

"Okay," she answers, still sounding uncertain.

After separating from Nicky he had moved to a small detached house in a quiet location in the hills. Arriving at it he opens the door of the integral garage with the remote and drives the car inside. "You have a nice house," she remarks while he's parking.

He looks back at her and smiles, "Thank you, but you haven't seen much of it yet." He gets out of the car and retrieves her rucksack from the boot, by the time he's done she has gotten out too, carrying Mischka in her arms.

He gestures at the little girl, "Is she okay?" Natasha nods, "Yes, she's warm again, just very tired." He picks up his coat from the rear seat, closes the car and leads them inside the house. They enter through the kitchen, he gestures her on towards the hallway, then up the stairs. Once upstairs he shows them the bathroom, she puts Mischka down, removes her knitted hat, and swipes back her long knotted hair. In the bright light of the bathroom he sees her face clearly for the first time, Fuck, she's beautiful! No wonder she's afraid of men wanting something from her.

After putting down the rucksack he points at the washbasin cabinet, "There are towels and washcloths in there. Do you need anything else?"

She nods, "We have no clean clothes."

He smiles, "Okay, just a moment." He walks over to the master bedroom and looks through the closets, he's going to need to improvise a bit. When he gets back to the bathroom Mischka, who has started to come alive, is stripped down to her flowery little panties.

Natasha, for her part, has gotten out of her long coat, removed her thick sweater, and is now only wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He can't help staring; her beautiful face isn't her best feature: it's just one of them. She clears her throat, making his eyes dart up towards her face, she's blushing, and he feels his own face turning red too, "I'm so sorry, I couldn't help myself, I hadn't noticed how beautiful you are before."

She blushes, and drops her eyes, "Thank you."

"You can wear this," he says, hanging the bathrobe he has brought on a hook on the wall. Then he hands her the rest; one of his t-shirts and a pair of boxer shorts for her to wear, and another t-shirt for Mischka. "I'm going downstairs to cook us some dinner, so take your time. If you bring your dirty clothes with you when you come downstairs you can wash them." He starts turning, to leave, then turns back for a moment, "Be careful with Mischka on the stairs, okay?"

She throws him a warm smile, "I will, thanks."

He hears the shower come on before he's halfway down the stairs, then the heartwarming laugh of a little girl, which makes him smile. By the time he enters the kitchen he has already decided on what to cook. As far as he knows, all children like pasta dishes like macaroni, so macaroni it is going to be. While cooking his mind mulls over the question of how to continue with his two 'refugees' from this point on.

By the time the dish is finished, a good half hour later, he has decided to make sure the two of them get a fresh start in life. The young woman needs a job; they also need a roof over their heads, and until then he will consider them his responsibility. He has the room and the money to spare after all, and there will be benefits too. Him not being so damned alone in the house anymore for instance. And if she's willing to become his housekeeper, clean and cook for him, in exchange for room and board for the two of them, he won't be needing the cleaning service he's currently employing anymore either.

He puts a lid on the large skillet and moves it onto the warming plate. Next he sets the kitchen table for three, then realizes the chairs are too low for Mischka. He scratches his head, then retrieves the spare office chair from the study. It's a simple canvas covered one with a low back and plastic arm rests. Placed next to the table it rises nicely to the required height, and with its wheels locked its armrests stay pressed pretty solidly against it too.

The shower stops, and a good ten minutes later he can hear them coming down the stairs. They take a while though, so he walks over into the hallway to see what's keeping them. Turns out Natasha has her arms full, with her rucksack and their dirty clothes, and is watching over Mischka coming down the stairs behind her, step by step, on her little bum. When Natasha moves down the last few steps, the little girl still has half a dozen or so to go. He picks her up, making her laugh, and puts her down on her little feet next to her mother.

After leading them back to the kitchen he helps Natasha use the washing machine in the laundry room behind it. As he watches her putting the dirty clothes into the machine, he's again mesmerized by her looks, her long, still moist, chestnut hair frames her now clean face. God she's beautiful. She closes the machine and looks up at him, "You cleaned up rather nicely," he hears himself say. Her deep blue eyes lock with his while he's wondering if that was a smart thing to say.

"Yes, I was rather filthy," she says, her voice sounding sad.

He swallows, "I didn't mean to..."

She smiles warmly, and reaches out to him, her hand touching his leg, "It's okay Michael. I know you didn't mean anything bad. You're much too nice for that." He can't help blushing.

Returning to the kitchen Mischka proves pretty pleased with 'her' chair, and pretty pleased with the macaroni too. He watches the little girl eat, wondering how it would be to have a child of his own. He had wanted one, or more, with Nicky, but she hadn't. "Not before I'm forty," she'd said, that had been shortly before she cheated on him. She hadn't wanted to marry him either, Should you have seen it coming? he thinks.

When they have finished eating he takes them into the living room, and puts the movie 'Finding Nemo' in the DVD player for Mischka to watch, but she's soon half asleep on her mother's lap. Natasha smiles at him, "She's tired." He nods, and leads her up the stairs, Mischka in her arms. There are four rooms upstairs, but only three are furnished, the master bed-room and two guest rooms. One of the guest rooms has four bunk beds, the other a double, he leads them into the latter.

"The two of you can sleep in here," he says, both girls look pretty pleased. Natasha takes Mischka to the bathroom to pee, then puts her to bed. The little girl looks tired, Natasha kisses her good night, and she's sleeping by the time they leave the bedroom. Back in the living room Natasha isn't interested in watching the movie, so he stops it and they talk a bit instead, the two of them occupying opposite ends of the couch.

She tells him she's from Slovakia, but that her family's roots are Russian. Her parents are children of Russians who stayed in Slovakia after the wall came down, and she herself was born in the eastern part of the country. Aged nineteen she fell in love with an ethnic Slovakian boy named Dusek, a relationship with which neither of their parents agreed, because of their different ethnicity and religion. So when he found a job in Bratislava, in the western part of the country, they sort of ran away from home together.

A year later Mischka was born, not planned, but still very welcome. And then Dusek had lost his job and things had slowly gone downhill. For a time, with him taking on all kinds of jobs as they presented themselves, they had managed to make ends meet, sort of. But as time passed more and more bills had stayed unpaid, and a couple of months ago things had come to a head. The owner of the apartment they were living in had pulled the plug on them, and they had ended up on the street. This had made Dusek desperate, and in the end he had accepted a job he better shouldn't have.