Meeting St Peter—a traveller's tale

Clare Molony

View from Barcelona cathedral. it was on the way to that city that Clare and her husband met a confronting stranger.

We were traveling in Europe, and were on a train approaching the Spanish border. There was an absolute idiot on our carriage, reclining with his feet up on the seat in front, creating a huge scene while he made very loud phone calls in an unidentifiable language. I remember telling my husband Tim I thought he was the most obnoxious person I had ever come across.

When we pulled in at the border we had to get off to await our next train. This unnerving man approached us, and asked if we spoke English and whether we knew where to catch the train to Barcelona from. We said we were going there too, so he said, 'Great, I'll just follow you guys'. His name was Peter, he said, from Finland, and he was already roaring drunk at 9.30 in the morning.

We sorted him out for the train, but later found out he spoke fluent Spanish anyway, and hadn't had any need of our help. We sat down for breakfast in the station bar: he pulled up a chair next to us, red wine in hand, and started to talk to us. My first thought was — how are we going to get rid of this guy?

Peter just naturally made a scene and attracted disapproval with everything he did—talking loudly and sprawling into other people's space—something he seemed blissfully unaware of. He just continued to talk to people no matter how they squirmed. But as we talked to him we found that there was something charming about his lack of self-consciousness. He was really friendly, carefree and generous, with a disarming honesty about him. Within minutes he told us he was an alcoholic, which was no great newsflash.

He polished off three red wines in the fifty minutes we were at the station, and, when our train was called, he purchased a bottle of red with three plastic cups and informed us we were going to share this bottle on the train. I didn't like the sound of that, and I liked it even less when we boarded an absolutely packed train. Whatever of Peter's qualities that I liked had disappeared again within the space of those three wines. He was now completely drunk and had a lot of trouble sitting upright

Thankfully, the train was too full for him to sit with us. He sat across the aisle, next to some other hapless souls. When he uncorked the bottle, he feigned offence when I refused. Tim didn't like to offend, so he sat there with a glass of red, looking quite uncomfortable as the whole carriage gave disapproving stares. Peter himself was oblivious. He was so lighthearted and carefree, not to mention drunk, he really didn't care what anyone thought. Everything about him was so obnoxious, and he was on the verge of passing out.

Tim and I were hoping he would fall asleep as Barcelona was a two and a half hour journey—far too long to be associated with this guy. But Peter had determination . Just when he was about to pass out, he roused himself to complain loudly about how long the journey was (we all couldn't have agreed more), made another loud unintelligable phonecall to Finland, and talked to other passengers who were shifting uncomfortably and avoiding eye contact. On two occasions he knocked over his glass of red, once on another passenger's luggage, and he didn«t bother to apologise. He smoke. He also whistled to get the attention of a girl he fancied.

Passengers were glaring at Tim and me, assuming we were his friends who were not taking enough charge of him. We spent much of the time trying to subtlely prove to the whole carriage he wasn't our fault. And then everything changed ...

A beggar began to move through the carriage, holding out a glass jar under everyone's nose. Most people ignored him, and even avoided eye contact, Tim and I included. At best he was collecting a few worthless coins. When the old man turned to Peter, Peter stood up and started to speak to him, asking him what his story was. He then removed a five euro note from his wallet and to the amazement of all gave it to the man. He invited the beggar to a glass of wine, and gave up his seat so the man could sit down and relax as he drank it. Peter then proceeded to finish off his bottle of red with this man, listening to his woes the whole time.

The entire carriage was amazed at this act of humanity from the man we all thought was a useless drunk. After Peter and the beggar finished the bottle of wine, Peter went to his luggage and found a pair of jeans and a shirt to give to him, so he would have a change of clothes. Peter turned to us and said that sometimes people just need a little help in life. I was fighting back tears. It was like we were in the presence of a very well disguised angel who, despite so many problems of his own, was able to show a level of compassion that I aspire to but never ever achieve.

And we were not the only ones moved by this. The other passengers were smiling at Peter, and we were suddenly proud to be haplessly associated with him. Then the conductor came along; the beggar jumped up to do a runner, but the conductor caught him to throw him off next stop. Peter intervened, telling the conductor he was his compadre and he would buy him a ticket, but the conductor would have none of it. Whatever Peter was saying in Spanish was making all the people on the carriage laugh, and soon some of the others joined in offering to buy the beggar's ticket.

It was amazing to watch how Peter had managed to inspire those around him, and how somehow he had managed to weave his way into the affection of all the passengers. As it turned out, when the train pulled in to the next station, both the beggar and Peter were thrown off the train—Peter for starting a mild uprising against the conductor. Peter just dragged his two cases off the train, sat on one, put his legs up on the other, lit up a cigarette and brazenly waved to all the passengers as our train departed.

All the passengers burst out laughing, and people who had been giving Tim and me foul looks for most of the journey now looked at us and smiled, gesticulating that our friend was indeed quite mad. Indeed! And the next beggar who got on our carriage was overwhelmed with the clinking of coins in her glass, ours included.

We have never stopped talking and laughing about St Peter since. He has brought up a lot of questions for me, particularly about how to deal with all the beggars we encounter on our travels. When we were in the Middle East beggars were a rarity. We found out this was due to Mohammed forbidding it as a lifestyle. Now we were in affluent Western Europe, and beggars were everywhere. I just didn't know what to do about it.

We were on such a strict budget that I myself felt poor, but I know that in the grand scheme of things, I can't claim that as an excuse. If I were poor I wouldn't have been here. And then there are just so many beggars. You can't help everyone, so how do you choose who to help? How do you make that distinction? And does the small donation make any difference whatsoever anyway?

I don't know the answer to any of these questions, so my response to beggars during our travels had been to freeze, not think about it, to do absolutely nothing. St Peter challenged me to be different, but I'm still yet to formulate my policy! Does anyone else have one? If anyone has any idea what I should do in the face of up to fifteen desperate beggars a day, let me know. It has always troubled me, but now even more so.