An enchanter of Souls

Personal memoir

Author's note: Two weeks ago, something happened that left a lasting impact on me. Today, I’m sharing that story, hoping it leaves you feeling the same way it did for me.

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The air was cold and damp as a thick foggy day. Everything was a dull gray color, including the closed faces and bent eyes of the people, some of whom were thin, frail, and perhaps that's why they walked as dead people.

Antonio, on the other hand, was a robust man. When he arrived, I saw that the only treasures he had were his smile and an aluminum trolley carrying water, hot milk, tea, coffee and cookies. As soon as he walked in, his long, bright, honey-colored smile filled the whole room with an immense, almost sticky light, which invaded everyone's heart with a sense of peace and harmony, to which not even those who were walking like the dead were indifferent.

I had never seen such a smile before and despite his short stature, excess weight and advanced age, António captivated everyone waiting in the cold, grey room, devoid of color and beauty in the hospital.

António, dressed in a white coat, arrived pushing his aluminum trolley. He stopped in the middle of the room and didn't even need to speak. Everyone was captivated by his arrival. He had a contagious magnetism, similar to that of a famous artist. He wasn't beautiful, but he radiated beauty. He wasn't famous, but I noticed that he had everyone fascinated. He wasn't carrying any treasures, just water, cookies, coffee and milk. When he stopped, he introduced himself,

- Hello, I'm Antonio and I'd like to ask for your attention. I promise I'll be brief.

I felt an immediate impact. How could that man's presence be brief, when I was sure that his long, light, lingering smile would remain in my memory forever?

António continued the presentation. He did it as if he were in a play, imposingly, and he didn't need to speak loudly, read a text from Shakespeare or hand gestures. Just being there was enough,

- I need your help. I need you to eat some cookies, drink some water or a hot drink. I have coffee and milk, and I can also make you a latte. Please help me. I've prepared this for you very carefully and the waiting room in this hospital wears you down a lot, it makes you very hungry, because it wears you down from the inside, little by little, without you realizing it. I know, I've been there too, sitting in those uncomfortable gray chairs, where everyone feels as if they're gasping for breath.

I realized that Antonio was the only spark of joy in the whole hospital. He continued,

- And I have some good news. What I'm bringing you is free. It's not every day you get something for free, is it?

Everyone in the room smiled. António seemed to read their thoughts, like someone who communicates without speaking, and I thought that this man's free smile was a gift after long hours of waiting.

He then began to prepare the cookies and drinks. He handed them into the hands of the people queuing up, as if they didn't want to disappoint him. The magnetism between everyone was increasingly strong and contagious and it was no longer illness that united those present, but happiness.

António gave a little of his treasure to each person who came to him. His smile never faded and the atmosphere changed color. I felt the foggy day turn into the golden hour we see on a summer's day. António made every gesture with the precision and delicacy of an artist. He did it with affection, dedication and care, like someone slowly polishing a diamond.

It wasn't the hot drinks or the sweetness of the cookies that softened everyone's heart. It was the care, the smile and the glow of joy and welcome that António radiated.

When he had finished, he tidied up what was left of his treasures and addressed everyone,

- Well, I'm sorry, but I have to go now. There are other people who need me, other hearts that need nourishment and consolation. I really enjoyed meeting you.

He made a gesture of thanks, like a bow, grabbed his aluminum trolley and left to a round of applause.

Applause is the last thing you expect to hear in a hospital oncology waiting room. The claps were not of congratulations or victory. They were of gratitude, and they came from the hands of the frightened, desolate and hopeless hearts of the cancer patients and their families who accompanied them.

Even when it doesn't kill, cancer hurts, weighs you down and knocks you down like a breath that blows out a candle that is burning.

Cancer presents itself to the living as a ghost of death, extinguishing or dimming people's radiance. It is the dark, cold breath of death.

António was a volunteer at the hospital. He too had had cancer. But he kept smiling, fighting the disease with the weapons of hope and determination. To him, the cold breath of death didn't chill him or make him harsher and colder. On the contrary, it gave him more warmth to distribute to others.

As he walked away, slowly pushing his cookie trolley, António became smaller and smaller, smaller and smaller until he disappeared.

No António, you haven't gone away, you haven't disappeared, you've stayed in our memory like a distant relative, who visits us sporadically with a suitcase full of surprises and a heart full of adventures and stories. I don't know anything about you, except that you were an oncology volunteer who came like an apparition into that cold, dark and dull room at the hospital.

António was a charmer of souls, the nicest man in the world.

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