Chance and the Gnome

"Chance" has stuck with me. Not as a nickname-that only lasted a couple of weeks during that winter of '79-and not as a Jerzy Kosinski reference, simpleton though I may be. More as a ruling principle, a belief system in and of itself. One that I cling to and deny, depending on which would be more entertaining at any given moment.

Case in point: I was about two blocks away from the office last week when I noticed a man angling toward me through the early afternoon crowd. I stopped, curious as to what this might be about. I sure as hell didn't recognize him, but he seemed quite intent on catching my attention.

When he reached me, he held out a small, creased piece of cardboard upon which something had been written in stiff block letters. I assumed that it was one of these "I am deaf and mute" jobbies. But then the man started speaking, which put the kebosh on that theory.

He was a short man with a beard and clear eyes. He wore a jacket and spoke with a heavy Russian accent.

"I am needing your help," he said. "I must be paying my rent soon, to keep shelter for my wife and children," I handed the card back to him as he continued his spiel, which rolled on even as his syntax began to crumble.

"Money must be having landlord week soon?"

I said nothing, but nodded my rough understanding and gave him a dollar. It was clearly a well-worn spiel he was performing-the cardboard note was a dead giveaway-but what the hell. I'd never seen this one before, and he seemed polite about the whole thing.

He thanked me, then stared at the buck for a moment with clear disappointment. He started to open his mouth and I knew he was going to make a plea for more, but I'd had enough. I shook my head, wished him luck and walked away.

I thought nothing more of it until the following afternoon. It was around the same time, and I was walking crosstown to a doctor's appointment.

I was crossing Park Ave. when I saw someone angling toward me again. This time I took an evasive step to the side, assuming the guy was about to run into me. He took a sidestep himself and blocked my path. We were now both standing in the middle of the crosswalk.

"Please," he said, holding out a creased piece of cardboard.

I looked at the card, then squinted up at him as he began his spiel.

Raising a hand to shut him up I said, "You stopped me yesterday."

"Yes," he said, then nodded at the card. "Money I am needing, for the rent. The landlord must have it by today. I must need to pay the rent."

I sighed, and gave him another dollar.

He stared at the dollar again. He was still talking-he never stopped talking-but he was becoming more difficult to understand.

"He must have at least $30," he said. "Help please with $30."

"Thirty dollars?" I was a little taken aback. "You want me to give you $30?"

"Yes please," he said, nodding.

"No."

"Please, I must-"

"Look, I'm not going to give you $30."

I turned and walked away, mostly because there was traffic heading toward us and we were still standing in the middle of the street.

I began thinking. Running into the same beggar twice in two days is no big deal, especially if you follow the same routes. But running into the same beggar at the same time twice in two days-in two completely different parts of town? That was a little weird. That the guy made such a demand the second time around was weird, too.

It's at times like that that my unshakable faith in chance goes out the window.

"Maybe he was a spirit," I began thinking. "An entity of some kind, who was sent here to test me in some way." And if that were the case, it was clearly a test I had failed.

That little Russian beggar continued to haunt me for the rest of the afternoon. What was he up to? Was he a gnome? What, apart from $30, did he really want from me? What would come as a result of those encounters? Is this one of those Thinner deals?

Later, I told Morgan about my two encounters with the little man.

"Third time's the charm," she offered. And she was right, of course. If this were indeed some sort of contemporary folk tale, he would appear the next day at the same time as well, wherever I happened to be. Then he would present the third part of the traditional tri-partite test.

I decided that if he appeared one more time, I would give him whatever he wanted. If he asked for $30, it was his. If he wanted a first-born, that was his, too.

I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised when he didn't appear again. I must admit, I was a little relieved. Putting your faith in Chance is so much easier than putting it in Russian gnomes. You just can't count on them.