Thou Shalt Not Steal

                                                        

                                             Thou Shalt Not Steal

My daughter sent me out to take my grandson for a walk. She was off to work, and there was no one else to watch the boy. Fair enough. Got to help her out while she earns her daily bread.

We head out to the playground. It’s got the usual stuff — ladders, slides, balance beams, and a slide for kids who don’t care about the condition of their pants. Off to the side, there are swings and benches.

My grandson is running around the slide, tossing a plastic ball onto it and catching it when it rolls back down.

Nearby, a group of kids — boys around ten or twelve years old — are kicking a soccer ball high into the air. They’re having a blast, shouting and yelling things that Roskomnadzor would censor. As a grandfather, it pains me to hear boys throwing around swear words for private parts and sex acts so casually. They’re as eloquent as Pushkin was with his evocative expressions.

As I pass by one of the benches, I spot a smartphone lying there. Huh. Where’d that come from? Did one of the boys lose it? Or maybe some absent-minded adult left it behind after sitting for a while? It won’t stay there long, that’s for sure. Anyone passing by could pick it up.

I figure I should find the owner. I’ll pocket the phone for now and ask the boys if anyone’s lost something — without getting into specifics. If it’s not theirs, I’ll call someone in the phone’s contacts to track down the owner.

Just then, I spot a young guy walking up to the bench.

“What’s up, uncle? Got your eye on my phone?” he says.

I freeze, embarrassed, feeling like I’ve been caught stealing something. Shame shoots through me.

“I’ve got my own phone — why would I want someone else’s?” I mutter, completely flustered and unable to think of anything better to say.

“Yeah, sure, I’ve seen your type before!” the young man shoots back, snatching the phone off the bench and walking away.

My jaw nearly hits the ground. I don’t know how to respond. Consumed by shame, I shout after him that I’ve never stolen a thing in my entire life.

Really? Never? Not quite true. You could say I robbed a little boy when I was seven. I snatched a toy from him and ran off. Another time, when I was about nine or ten, I was playing with my cousin’s toy pistol during a visit and “forgot” to give it back.

When my parents found the toy at home, they gave me a talking-to I’ve never forgotten. I didn’t get a spanking, though my father wasn’t one to hold back when needed. That lesson stuck with me. From that moment on, the biblical commandment “Thou shalt not steal” took firm root in my conscience and became a guiding principle in my life.

Years later, as an adult, I once “borrowed” something from an organization. I could use it, but they had absolutely no need for it — they’d never miss it. For several days, I wrestled with myself: should I keep it or not? In the end, my sense of formal integrity won out. I returned the item to its place, where it still sits, untouched and unwanted to this day.

One day, my granddaughter had some news.

“Grandpa! I found some money!”

“What money? Where?”

“On the street. I was walking and found a whole wallet full of money!”

“Was there anything else in it besides cash?”

“There were some bank cards.”

“And where’s the wallet now?”

“Daddy has it.”

Soon after, my son came up to me.

“Dad, you’ve got a city directory on your computer, right?”

“Yes. Why do you need it?”

“Masha found a wallet. It’s got cash and cards. Luckily, the owner’s name is embossed on one of the cards. I’m going to try and find their address.”

“Go ahead.”

He sat down at the computer.

“Got it. I’ll take it to them. Go with me, Masha.”

They came back about an hour and a half later.

“Well?” I asked. “Did you find them?”

“We did, but they were… strange people.”

“What do you mean, strange?”

“It took me a good hour, and they didn’t even offer to cover my gas. The woman who came to the door just took the wallet and shut it.”

“She didn’t even give me money for ice cream,” my granddaughter grumbled.

What could I say to that? I’m no sage, no moralist. I didn’t know how to respond to my son or granddaughter. All I knew was this: they did the right thing. And deep down, I am proud of them for it.

Translated from the Russian by James McVay