Several years ago I was in Burlington, N.C., and needed a place to spend a couple of hours while my daughter was in a meeting at Elon University. Someone recommended a little coffee shop on the main street past the campus. There was, they told me, a comfortable place to sit and read my book.
We had driven that morning from Roanoke, Va., and I was in an early stage of pneumonia but did not know it, only that I needed a lift of some kind and could hardly wait for that comfortable chair. It was summer, and I was thirsty, too, so I asked the man behind the counter for a Coke.
Then I rummaged in my purse which was strangely empty, and said, “Oh, wait, wait! Just give me a glass of water.”
The man looked back at me over one shoulder and said, “What? You change your mind?”
He spoke with a bit of an accent. I thought Middle Eastern, but I couldn’t quite place it.
I confessed, “I have forgotten my wallet. I can’t pay for a Coke.”
He made a throw-away motion as he said, “Money! What’s money? You want a Coke, you will have a Coke.”
He was already filling the glass, so I told him, “My daughter is the new chaplain at Elon. She will be moving here in a couple of weeks, and I will send her over to pay you for the Coke.”
“Chaplain? She’s taking Richard McBride’s place? Don’t tell her to bring me money; tell her to pray for me.”
The soft chair in the side room helped me survive. The Coke was cool and wet, the sugar seemed to pick me up a little, and two hours later, the dear man came in and said, “Now it’s lunchtime. What can I bring you to eat?”
I managed to assure him that I was supposed to meet a group of people somewhere for lunch, and I made my exit. On the way out I was thinking that his behavior fit the Arab world but… What is he? Not Lebanese, for sure. Syrian? Iraqi? I don’t think so. While sipping my Thai soup, I enjoyed telling about my experience at the Acorn. Everyone in the group knew about the congenial coffee shop owner/manager who was an immigrant, but no one knew where he was from.
By the time we got back to Roanoke, I was very sick, but obviously I recovered. A year or more later I was in Burlington again with time to go over to the Acorn Coffee Shop. I went with the price of one fountain Coke in my hand and was pleased to find that fine gentleman working behind the counter as usual. I told him, “I owe you this money. I was here last year and could not pay for my Coke.”
His expression went through small steps: uncertainty, then memory and recognition. He said, “Oh, I remember you, but it’s too late. I already threw it in the river.”
I guess he saw on my face that I did not quite understand that. He said, “I explain. In my country, my old country, we have a saying. ‘Do good and throw it in the river.’ It means like forget about it. ‘Do good and throw it in the river, and when you are thirsty in the desert, God will send you a drink.’”
I told him that it was a beautiful proverb and asked him, “And what is your old country, sir?”
“Iran.”
Ahh yes; that made sense. I wanted to ask if he had come after the Khomeini revolution, because so many did, seeking freedom to be what they were, but I opted just to say, “I hope you are happy here.”
“Of course. Of course I am happy.”
It was no big deal, really. Just a Coke. But doing good and then throwing it in the river, that’s something worth thinking about. More than a proverb. A cultural value, a little jewel out of Iran.
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