The woman sits on the dirty floor and next to her lies a bag. Into that bag, people throw money. In the womanâ€™s hands, asleep, is a two year old baby. He is in a dirty hat and dirty clothes
â€œMadonna with babyâ€ â€“ numerous passers-by will donate money. The people of our kind â€“ we always feel sorry for those less fortunate. We are ready to give unfortunate people our last shirt, the last penny out of our pocket and never think another issue. Helping, seems like a â€œGood job done.â€
I walked past the beggar for a month. I did not give any money, as I knew that this is a gang-operated scam, and that money collected by the beggar, will be given to whoever controls beggars in the area. Those people own numerous luxury properties and cars. The beggar also gets something, of course, â€œA bottle of vodka in the evening and a dÃ¶ner kebab.â€ A month later, walking past the beggar, a shock suddenly hit meâ€¦.
Iâ€™m standing at a busy crossing, staring at the baby. He is dressed, as always, in a dirty track suit. I realized that it seemed â€œwrongâ€, finding a child in a dirty underground station from morning to evening. The baby was always asleep. He never sobbed or screamed, he always slept, burying his face in the knee of a woman who was his MUM.
Do any of you, dear readers, have children? Remember how often they slept at the age of 1, 2 or 3 years old? An hour, two, maximum three (and never consecutive). An afternoon nap, and there was always movement.
For the whole month, every day I walked to the underground station, I never saw the child awake! I looked at the tiny little man, with his face buried in the knee of his mother, then at the beggar, and myÂ suspicion was gradually formed.
â€œWhy does he sleep all the time?â€ I asked, staring at the baby.
The beggar pretended not to hear me. She lowered her eyes and hid her face in the collar of her shabby jacket. I repeated the question. The woman again looked up. She looked somewhere behind my back, tired with utter irritation. Her look was similar to the creatures from a different planet.
â€œF *** off,â€ her lips murmured.
â€œWhy is he asleep?!â€ I almost cried.
Behind me, someone put their hand on my shoulder. I looked back. An old man was looking at me disapprovingly:
â€œWhat do you want from her? Canâ€™t you see how hard sheâ€™s got it in her life? Eh?â€
He took some coins from his pocket and threw them in the beggarâ€™s bag.
The beggar made a cross by waving her hand, portraying the face of humility and universal grief. The guy removed his hand from my shoulder and strolled out of the underground station. I bet, at home, he will tell how he defended poor, distraught woman from a soulless man in a tube station.
Next day, I called a friend. He was a funny man with eyes like olives. His nationality â€“ Romanian. He only managed to complete three and a half years of education. His lack of education did not prevent him from moving around the City streets in expensive foreign cars and live in a â€œsmallâ€ house with a countless number of windows and balconies.
From my friend, I managed to find out that the beggar is part of a business. Despite the genuine appearance, it is clearly organized. It is supervised by organized crime rings. The children used are â€œrentedâ€ from families of alcoholics, or simply stolen.
I needed to get the answer to my question â€“ Why is the baby always sleeping? And I received it. My friend explained it to me, casually and with a calm voice that twisted me in shock, just like he was talking about weather report: â€œThey are on heroin, or vodka.â€
I was dumbfounded. â€œWho is on heroin or vodka?!â€
He answered, â€œThe Child, so he doesnâ€™t scream. The women will be sitting whole day with him, imagine how he might get bored?
In order to make the baby slept the whole day, it pumped up with vodka or drugs. Of course, childrenâ€™s bodies are not able to cope with such a shock. And children often die. The most terrible thing â€“ sometimes children die during the â€œworking dayâ€. And imaginary mother must hold another dead child on her hands until the evening. These are the rules. And the by passers-by will throw some money in the bag, and believe that they are moral. Helping the mother alone.â€
The next day, I was walking near the same underground station. I built up journalistic confidence and was ready for a serious conversation. But the conversation didnâ€™t work out. Instead, it turned out the following way â€¦ the woman was sitting on the floor and in her hands she was holding a different child. I asked her a question about the documents of the child, and, most importantly, where was the child from yesterday. She simply ignored me. My questions were not ignored by passers-by though. I was told that I was out of my mind, questioning a poor beggar with a child. Eventually, I was escorted out of the station in disgrace.
The one thing that remained was to call the police. When the police arrived, the beggar with the baby had disappeared. I stood with a full sense of â€œtrying to fight windmills.â€
When you see in the subway, or on the street, women with children, begging, think before your hand them your money. Think about it, that if it wasnâ€™t for your hundreds of thousands of handouts, the business like this would have died. The business would die and not the children, pumped full of vodka or drugs. Do not look at the sleeping child with affectionâ€¦ See horrorâ€¦ Since you are reading this article, you know now why the child is sleeping in beggars hands.
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