text: In the gutter of an old street, in an old district, on the outskirts of an old city sat a young man wasting his days away. The poor and lonely pauper spent his many empty days hunting down scrap wood pieces discarded by carpenters and scavenging driftwood down by the dock. He would gather up only that which was discarded and begin to carve away, shaving after shaving, until all that remained were beautifully crafted small figures and sculptures. The pauper would often try to sell or trade his works for food or water, though much of his effort was in vain as those who passed him by on the busy street often scarce gave him a glance, let alone their attention. Every night the pauper would gather up his sculptures and his only possession, a razor-sharp tin carving tool, and make his way down to the cathedral at the heart of the city. His journey was long and rough on his bare feet, yet familiar and always soothing; especially when the rain would pour or the winds would howl, his daily trudge kept his spirits high and his soul at peace. As he neared the cathedral one day, his heart all aflutter, screams, and cries for help were heard from a nearby alley. Cautiously, the pauper stepped closer and closer to the alley peering down through the fog and gloom. He saw a small group of large men, Thieves, beating and robbing an innocent man as he cried in agony for aid. Without thought or hesitation, the pauper sprinted down the alley, no plan nor idea of what he would do once he reaches the end. As the pauper ran, he grabbed an empty bottle from the ground and tossed it high over the group of thieves, landing with a loud SMASH at the other end of the alley. Distracted, the pauper dove behind a pile of rags next to a fire pit as the thugs searched for the source of the clatter. Dousing a large ragged sheet in fuel and setting it alight, the pauper threw the cloak of fire onto one of the thieves, sending the brutes off screaming into the streets of the quiet city. As the echoes slowly faded into the night, the pauper hastily scurried over to the unfortunate man lay strewn out within the alley. The man was alive, horribly beaten but still drawing breath. His face was beaten to a pulp, barely recognizable to those who might know him. The pauper could tell the injured man was affluent, perhaps a merchant or successful trader. His fine clothes, now tattered and blood-soaked, peering through a thick wool robe. The pauper thought he must have been on his own way to the cathedral, an easy target for brutes and highwaymen. As he tried to speak, spurts of crimson blood gurgled out of his mouth and onto his face and chest; the pauper could barely understand him but listened patiently as he spoke, “T-thank you for saving me,” the injured man muttered between breaths. “Sir you need a doctor, it is they who will save you.” the pauper replied. Slowly, the injured man pulled an ornate golden ring off his finger, blood-covered yet still immaculate, and hands it to the boy. “If I move I will die,” the injured man slowly murmured, “Take this to my personal physician, an Italian who answers to Medicio. He lives by the Holovny Mict Bridge. Show him the ring and he will understand.” With that, the injured man fell unconscious, exhausted by his few words. The Pauper clutched the ring in his hand and ran for the bridge with the speed as though being chased by the devil himself. As he ran, block by block, street by street, all began to fade away as his mind focused harder on his destination. As he turned a corner, he accidentally crashed into a member of the night watchmen of the city guard. The pauper was relieved to find someone to help him. “Watch where you’re going you blind bastard!” the night guardsman shouted. Between breaths, the pauper did his best to explain, “I'm sorry sir, a man was beaten and robbed down by the cathedral. I’m fetching a doctor for him. There’s not much time.” “ A robbery you say, what have you got in your hand?” asked the guard. The pauper opened his clenched hand to show the lawman the gold ring, “The man gave me this to show to the doctor, he said the doctor would understand. Would you go look over him while I search for the doctor?” “Clever story, thief; you steal from a dead man, run into me while making your escape, then lie and try and convince me he’s still alive while you run off!” The guard grabs ahold of the pauper’s wrist and began pulling him back down the street, “I’m taking you to the jailer, I imagine he should have a cell perfect for you.” “Wait, I’ve done nothing wrong. I have to fetch the doctor!” The pauper pleaded and pleaded with the guard as he was dragged away in his firm grip. The pauper reached into his pocket and grabbed his carving tool, and with a swift lunge, planted the tool into the guard’s hand releasing his grasp. As the pauper regained his freedom he turned and fled from the guard as he gave chase. Ducking down alleys, turning street corners, it seemed nothing could stifle the guard’s pursuit. Soon the pauper’s legs became weary, his chest became sore, he knew he could not keep up this escape for long. Then, as if waiting upon the horizon, the pauper saw the Holovny Mict stand proudly over the rushing current below. With new life in his lungs, the pauper ran down the street screaming as loud as he could “MEDICIO! MEDICIO!”. He ran door to door, pounding his fists into the wood, still screaming for Medicio. Finally, on the last door before the bridge, someone answered to his call. “Who calls for Medicio?” asked a tall man, well dressed and thin. The pauper ran over to the man in the open doorway “I am! I must know where to find him.” cried the pauper between gasps of air. “Well you have found him, why do you seek the physician Medicio?” he asked, but before the pauper could answer the night guardsman ran up to him, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him to the street. “What is the meaning of this?” exclaimed Medicio. “I’m sorry to disturb you sir, but this scum has robbed from the dead, he attacked and maimed me while trying to escape. Now he has a date with the jailer,” the guardsman explained. “That’s a lie,” called the pauper, “a man was beaten and robbed, he sent me to fetch you.” The guard turned and gave the pauper a swift kick in the gut, “Quiet thief!” Medicio too turned his attention to the pauper, “Who was it that sent you?” The pauper opened his fist and held out the ring, still firmly clenched in his hand. Medicio peered closer, his eyes widened in shock as he saw the golden ring was marked with the stamp of the Holy Papal Cross. The doctor, with a swift single movement, grabbed his coat and bag and ran out the door. “Where is he? You must take me to him, Quickly!”. “But sir, this man is a thief. He must pay for his crimes.” stated the guardsman. As Medicio helped the pauper to his feet he answered, “The only crime this man is a part of was not being seen as an equal in the eyes of the law. Now if you help us, we may still save an innocent man’s life, if your ignorance and stupidity have not yet doomed him.” The guard, physician, and pauper all returned to the alley in haste where they found the injured man still lay strewn about. Within the hour, the injured man was brought back to the house of Medicio and was treated and cared for by the doctor. The pauper, content that the injured man was safe, resumed his journey back to the cathedral. Now with nothing to his name, the pauper had nowhere else to go and stayed by the cathedral day and night, coddled in the shadow of the grand steeple. As the days past, and his hunger began to grow, his mouth ran dry, the pauper knew his days were numbered. One night as he lay huddled in the cold street, delirious from thirst and exhausted from hunger, he watched as a tall dark figure approached him. The pauper knew it was death, come to take his soul; he was not scared, he did not scream, he had nothing left to fear to leave behind. He closed his eyes and waited for death’s cold embrace. The next morning he awoke in a warm bed, clean, wearing white linen, with a bowl of stew waiting for him on the table next to him. He heard a commotion coming from outside the window, the pauper thought to himself, ‘This can't be heaven, it’s far too loud’. The door slowly swayed open and to the pauper's surprise, Medicio stepped in to greet him. “Ah, good to see you’re awake. I was afraid you wouldn't last the night in your condition, but he told me I was wrong.” “Who...” the pauper began to ask, as the once injured man stepped through the doorway as well, leaning on a walking stick, and dressed in white robes, a mozzetta, and zucchetto. His Holiness, Pope Pius limped over to the bed and sat as Medicio left them to discuss. The pauper, only breaking free from shock, bows his head as he was approached. “Rise, my son, for it is I who am gracious to you,” His Holiness continued, “I expect you did not recognize me that night, which makes your actions even more spectacular. I was in disguise so that I may go do as Christ did, I did not even make it down a single alleyway before I was confronted by those men. But you came to my aid and saved my life even while being persecuted by the law.” Pius pulled out a large pouch of coins from his robes and gives it to the pauper. “I owe you my life, but please you accept this, for now, a mere token of my respects.” The pauper gazed at the purse longingly but refused the immense wealth. “ I have never been one to accept charity,” the pauper explained, “For I can not abide others forcing to go without, even if it means I must have nothing. All I’ve ever received, I have fairly earned or gained by trade.” “Then tell me so my soul may be at ease as well, what may I do for you to show my graciousness?” The pauper thought long on what he may ask for what he may ask in return, before finally returning his attention to his holiness and telling him “All I could ever ask for is a means to do what I love while helping those who need it. That is all I have done, and it is what I wish to continue to do.” “Well then my son, it seems though you require a vocation,” beamed his holiness as he returned the purse to his robes. As he stood again, the pontiff slowly pulled one of the pauper's small carved idols out from his robes and spun it thrice in hand. “The spirit of Christ is strong within you my child. Would you be willing to part with this?” “Of course your holiness.” said the pauper. “Ah, but then I would be a victim to your charity once again. How about a trade?” asked Pius, not waiting for an answer. His holiness lifted his hand, though bandaged, heavily adorned with various rings covered in many gems and precious metals. Pius pulled off one of the rings, a solid silver band with three gold crosses etched into the exterior, and slid it onto the ring finger of the pauper’s right hand. As he turned to leave, he looked back to the young man in bed and gave him a final blessing; and then he was gone. The kind pope kept his word, as the pauper had kept his. Not a week later and the pauper was a carpenters apprentice for a craftsman hired by the Vatican. The pauper was a pauper no more, he worked hard, lived within his means, and still walked to the cathedral every night. As time passed he found many things in life, love, respect, admiration, joy, as well as grief, despair, and anguish; through everything that happened, the ring never left his finger. It had been many years since the pauper had received the ring, many years since he lived on the street. He now lived with his lovely wife, the daughter of the carpenter to whom he had trained him. He lived in a large manor, was a caring father, a devoted husband, and a successful man of business. One night he approached the familiar and welcoming sight of the grand cathedral, only to be stopped dead in his tracks once again by a troubling sound. A faint whimpering could be heard coming from the mouth of the alley where he had found the pontiff beaten and bloodied. He looks down at his right hand to see the same ring still wrapped around his finger. As he peered down the dark corridor, he spied a young boy, dressed in tatters, softly crying by the mouth of the alley. He approached the boy, kneeling down in front of him. As he looked down, he saw a dog laying thin and lifeless beside the boy, and 9 newborn puppies suckling on the dead bitches teats. “What’s wrong, child?” he asked, expecting no response from the grieving boy. “My dog. She was old, hungry, but always kind; my only friend. She left her puppies. They need their mother, without her they won't last the week. I can't feed them, and I don't want to watch them die...” the boy said before beginning to sob once again. He looked back to the puppies, eyes still closed and cuddling up to their mother’s corpse. “Don’t worry, boy, I will take them. They will be warm, fed, and always happy with me and my family,” he said, trying to comfort the boy. He lifted his hand, now also covered in ornate and beautiful rings, the silver and gold remained as it always has. Sliding off a simple gold band adorned with a beautiful crimson ruby, he placed it into the poor child’s hand. The boy tried to stand but faltered from exhaustion and shock, tears still streaming down his face. “Don't worry, child. You’re not losing them, I could never imagine breaking up a family. I need someone to train and care for these puppies properly, there's far too many for my wife and daughters to manage. Can I count on you to care for and train them?” he asked as he began settling the puppies in an old blanket. Placing the blanket in the boy’s arms, he then lifted the boy in his arms and began on his way home. “T-thank you sir. What have I done to deserve this kindness?” asked the boy as he was being carried to his new home. He answered, “It’s not about what you did, but what you must be willing to do for others; to do what it is right because you know it is right.” **The End** \*A Pauper's Ring is any ring or band worn on the ring finger of the right hand, opposite a wedding band. Much like a wedding ring represents a promise to your spouse, the Paupers Ring represents a promise to yourself. Given to someone at their lowest point, it represents the want and needs to seek a better place in life. Once that point is reached, it serves as a reminder of where you once were, and everything sacrificed and accomplished for you to reach the point you stand today.