We are standing outside the Hertz office in Algeciras, Spain, on a May afternoon, waiting for siesta to end. In Spain, even the Hertz office closes for siesta. A couple crosses the narrow street and the man addresses us in German: "Sprechen sie Deutsch?"
"Nein; English." We know a little Spanish and understand some French, but that is about the extent of it. It turns out, however, that he speaks more than adequate English. He says they are Austrian, from Salzburg. My wife, Bonny, smiles and exclaims positively. We have been to Salzburg and enjoyed it.
The man smiles, too. Then he looks grim and tells us that their packs have been stolen and all their money was in them. It is the traveler's nightmare come true . But we turn away. After all, we have just crossed the Strait of Gibraltar from Morocco on the ferry, and in Morocco the hustlers are professionals.
For example, when we first landed in Tangier a man walked beside us for blocks, telling us about his stay in New York, although we repeatedly told him we didn't need any help. In the city of Fes, when we made an agreement with an official guide to show us the medina (old city), another man evidently was watching because he later came up to us and said he was the brother of the guide and that the guide wasn't going to meet us as planned. But the kids take the cake; they hustle tourists in five languages.
The Austrian man says they need 6,000 pesetas (approximately $60 at 1990 exchange rates) to get to Madrid. We say we have no pesetas because when we got off the ferry the banks were closed for siesta. This is only partially true . We have some pesetas, but not 6,000.
We ask questions. Why Madrid? That's where the Austrian consulate is. They have to go there to get help. Have they telephoned? Yes, and that is what they were told. Can they phone friends in Austria? No, because everybody goes on vacation at the same time. Did they have a credit card or traveler's checks? No. The man argues that 6,000 pesetas isn't that much and says he has plenty of money at home.
Their story sounds suspicious. It is hard to believe they are completely out of options. They say they haven't eaten since last night, but they look very well fed. In fact, they could both stand to lose a few pounds. The man has short, white hair, what used to be called a brush cut. The woman's hair is red and not much longer than the man's. She looks a little punkish.
Why should we help them instead of the obviously needy beggars in Fes whom we ignored? At least with the beggars we could have eased our consciences for a lot less money. We stall. The Hertz manager arrives to open the office. We explain to the couple that we have to pick up a car and drive to Granada. We make it sound like urgent business, but of course it isn't.
The man doesn't sound desperate enough; he stops short of begging. We want to give them the brush-off but we can't quite bring ourselves to do it. Finally we tell them to wait, and we go into the Hertz office. We explain the problem to the Hertz manager, trying to unload it. He shrugs his shoulders. What can be done?
We are half hoping the couple will go away, but they stand outside, waiting for our decision. Would they do that if they were not legitimate? Or if we were not their only hope? Still, when you have hooked your fish it takes patience to reel him in.
Bonny steps outside and communicates with them from time to time while we go through the paperwork of renting a car. They say this is their first major trip. They are very embarrassed to have to ask for money; it is hard for them to do. They slept on a park bench last night. They were recently married and the woman is pregnant. They have approached three other people for help but were turned down.
We ask the Hertz manager when the banks will open. He says they may not open until Monday (it is Thursday) because the employees have called...he can't think of the word in English. "A strike?" we suggest. Yes, that's it—a strike.
It's an excuse but not a good one because the port travel agents around the corner are all open and they change money. So what if their rates are not the best? Bonny and I discuss the matter. She wants to help the couple. She thinks their story rings true . She is a good judge of character. In fact, she wants to give them some extra money so they can eat. I have a lingering doubt. Are we just being sucked in with a clever scam?
But what if they are telling the truth? I ask myself what we would do if we were in their shoes and had nobody to turn to. Or our son if he was in the same predicament. Would someone help us? We hope so, but it is a chilling thought.
I ask Bonny to exchange addresses with them and I walk around to the travel agents. When I return, Siegfried is showing Bonny his passport—the only thing of value that wasn't stolen. He is 40 years old and a taxi driver in Salzburg.
I give him 8,000 pesetas. Claudia is crying. I tell him it is $80 U. S., but suddenly this seems unnecessary. Who cares if we get paid back? It is my birthday; maybe this is my present—being able to help them. Still, I ask for his passport number. I have been trained to cover all the bases. Bonny says we don't need it.
Their gratitude overflows. If we are ever in Salzburg again they will be glad to show us around. Bonny hugs them both; she believes that hugs are medicine. They warmly shake my hand.
Watching Siegfried and Claudia walk toward the bus station, I am reminded of a line in a song from The King and I: "But unless some day somebody trusts somebody, there'll be nothing left on earth excepting fishes."
Of course this story doesn't end here. Before reading further, think about it for a minute. Would you help this couple?
Many weeks passed and we didn't hear from Siegfried and Claudia. We sent them a letter saying we were disappointed in them, and mentioning again the value of the money we lent them. We told them we had trusted them and knew that our trust was not misplaced.
Enough time has elapsed since then that we know we will never get our money back. We have mixed feelings. On the one hand, we feel we have been taken advantage of because we were so trusting. On the other hand, we still think their need was genuine, and have the satisfaction of having done a good deed.
Would we do the same thing again under similar circumstances? Probably. But I don't think we'll send Siegfried and Claudia a Christmas card.
