**A Strangers Sorrow**
Samuel Whitworth had felt unwell since morning. His head spun strangely, and now and then, a haze clouded his vision. He had half-hoped not to wake at all, but his stubborn body refused to give in. And yet, his dear Sophie was no longer with him He sighed heavily.
The queue at the supermarket till had grown, and the delay caused by the woman ahead irritated Samuel. She, however, stood perfectly calmelegant, well-kept, even beautiful. Her daughter had asked for oat milk, so here she was. A bittersweet smile touched her lips. *No use lying to yourselfyou didnt want to go home.* Lately, the house had grown cold. Not in furnishingstheyd built a fine life, bought a splendid flatbut the warmth between her and Ben had faded. Once, theyd been as lively as that young couple murmuring behind her.
The scruffy lad with a childlike tuft at his nape draped an arm around his sweetheart. The girl mightve been pretty if not for the harsh blackeyeshadow smudged like smoke, nails, lips, hair all darkened, a shaven temple. A rebels protest. Yet her beau gazed at her adoringly, breaking off bits of a fresh baguette for her, stars in his eyes.
Samuels patience frayed. Why so few shoppers, yet such a queue? A busy-looking man with a briefcase, yoghurt, and pastries huffed impatiently at the back. Samuel noticed it all from the corner of his eyean old soldiers habit. Scouts instincts. But his hands fumbled with the worn purse, coins slipping through his fingers.
The cashier snapped at the old fool holding everyone up. Flustered, Samuel abandoned the expensive wholemeal loafwho could afford such luxuries? He and Sophie had lived modestly, scraping by on their meagre pension. The flat had grown shabbyleaky taps, burst pipes. Repairs cost money. At nearly ninety, he could barely manage. And Sophie she hadnt lived to see it.
Theyd met during the war. Sophie, just a girl, had lied about her age to enlist. A fearless nurse, shed crawled across battlefields, dragging wounded men to safety. Samuel, a scout, had been captured near the wars endunconscious, undocumented. The Germans hadnt realised he was Jewish; he didnt look it. By liberation, hed been half-dead. Sophie saved him, slipping him a dead mans papers. Clever girl, his Sophie.
No childrenSophies health had been ruined. Theyd lived quietly, worked hard. When she fell ill in the seventies, only Israel offered hope. Theyd feared discovery but went anyway. A hard life, always afraid. Even after Sophies passing, his days dragged on, grey and lonely. Bread and milk were enoughwhat more did an old man need?
At the till, Samuel finally gave up counting his pitiful coins, murmuring apologies as his legs buckled.
The elegant woman was first to reach him, cradling his head. Others rushed overthe lad stripped off his leather jacket as a pillow, his girl called an ambulance, the impatient man fanned air with his hat.
*Strange countrysmall, often prickly, but proud. A land of immigrants, yet no strangers sorrow goes unanswered.*
By the time paramedics arrived, the group had bonded. Smiles softened, eyes warmed.
Dr. Alice took charge. Samuel revived slightlyforgotten pills were in his pocket. She noted his details and, ever thorough, checked on him the next day.
He was well enough to go home. But who would fetch him?
Alice drove him herself. She couldnt say why the frail old man had touched her heart. But the sight of his flata bucket catching drips from the ceilinghaunted her. A broken home for a broken man.
The next evening, she knocked. No answer, but laughter inside. She stepped in, stunned. Samuel sat beaming in his chair while the young couple from the shop knelt before him, transfixed, like hypnotised banderlogs from *The Jungle Book*.
Alice, dear, come in! Samuel tried gallantly to offer his seat.
They started repairscosmetic at first. Paint the walls, fix the tap. But the old building crumbled at their touch, turning the job into a snowballing task.
Samuel protestedhe needed nothing! Yet his heart soared. Guilt warred with joy at the sudden kindness.
The “banderlogs” worked tirelessly with Alicehauling rubbish, scrubbing floors. The huffing man from the shop, a neighbour, proved a skilled plasterer. He bought materials himself, working steadily.
Then, mid-chaos, Alices Ben appeared.
Bloody hellwhats all this?
Shed mentioned Samuel in passinghardly expecting him to listen. Lately, theyd barely spoken.
Bena tech CEO in sharp suitsrolled up his sleeves. He crawled under beds, checked wiring. Skills long unused resurfaced.
He rallied his firm: *A veteran. Alone. Help him.*
Alice spread the word. So did the huffing man. The banderlogs posted online.
The IT lads painted walls, replaced doors. Bens nephew brought spare window frames. Neighbours donated tiles. Strangers delivered kitchen unitshow had they heard?
Bit by bit, the world mended Samuels home.
And Aliceshe glowed. She took leave, unheard of. Ben dashed to the flat, hammering, joking, flicking paint at her. He kissed her twice.
The banderlogs grew calmer. Orphans from troubled homes, theyd found purpose. The girl scrubbed off her dark makeupa freckled fairy beneath. The lad, too tired for rebellion, discovered peace.
They adored Samueland each other.
Samuel watched themthe abandoned, the rebuiltmuttering plans.
The huffing man was a decent sort. He played chess with Samuel, debating politics respectfully. A civil servant, he secured Samuels full pension.
The youngsters dug deeperonline, in war archives. Months of emails, rejections. Thensuccess. Samuels true name, his medals, restored.
Alicedont go overboard! Ben laughed, fitting the new tap. Next youll drag me to Zimbabwe to rebuild houses!
A towel sailed at him, catching the light like the scarlet sail of Assols dreams.
Outside, the grocer bickered with the baker. Children shrieked. Cars honked.
But in the old soldiers flat, fates intertwined. Physics bent. Paths rerouted.
For in this land, no sorrow is ever truly a strangers.
