We talked about plants.
Regarding the weather.
From the neighbors.
According to the news.
But little by little, he started telling me stories from his life.
And then I discovered something that saddened me even more, because I had judged him so harshly for so many months.
Don Samuel was a teacher for over forty years.
He had taught entire generations of children in the neighborhood to read.
Many adults who walk our streets today learned their first letters sitting in a classroom, in front of him.
However, after his resignation and the death of his wife Elena, the world seemed to forget his existence.
One afternoon, he showed me an old photograph.
The photo showed a smiling woman holding a small pot of bougainvillea.
“She planted them the first year we lived here,” she told me. She took the photo in her hands with a tenderness that broke my heart.
—She always said that once the flowers were out, our house would never feel lonely again.
I remained silent.
Because suddenly, I understood something.
The plants had never been the problem.
The plants were a living reminder of the person she had loved most.
The weeks turned into months.
Gradually, other neighbors joined them.
Some afternoons, Mrs. Marta would appear with freshly baked bread.
Sometimes, two boys from the garage would come to help water the garden.
Soon, even children from the neighborhood were coming to his house to listen to his stories.
For the first time in a long time, Don Samuel’s porch echoed with laughter again.
And he seemed to get a little younger every week.
Until one afternoon, something happened that I will never forget.
It was almost autumn.
The bougainvillea were more beautiful than ever.
Don Samuel asked me to help him get an old wooden box out of the cupboard.
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👉 Read more on the next page…Inside were dozens of notebooks.
Photo albums.
Maps.
And newspaper clippings.
We spent hours examining it.
I then found a yellowish envelope bearing my name.
I frowned.-What is this?
Don Samuel smiled.
—I wrote it a few weeks ago.
-In my opinion?
He nodded slowly.
—Open it when it is empty.
I immediately felt a chill.
—Don’t say that.
But he simply smiled.
—We all have an appointment, neighbor.
Promise me you’ll read it.
I did not enjoy the conversation.
But I ended up promising him.
Over the following months, we continued our regular meetings and conversations over coffee.
However, the winter was harsh.
His health began to deteriorate.
He was walking more and more slowly.
He tired quickly.
And even though he tried to hide it, we all knew that something was changing.
One morning in January, I received a call from the hospital.
My heart sank before I could even answer.
Upon my arrival, I found Don Samuel resting peacefully.
He seemed peaceful.
I took her hand.
The same hand that had held mine months ago, when I was waiting for an ambulance.
