Accordion girl

I held up two bottles of juice in front of her and smiled, signaling her to pick one. She was hesitant, perhaps puzzled, as she sat cross-legged leaning against the entrance to the supermarket, lost.

"Which one do you want...?" I said softly, and gestured with the two bottles. A silent morning breeze blew. The headscarf on her head wavered.

She looked up at me, finally understanding. Perhaps not what I said, but what my intentions were. Under her soiled cheeks was a natural red rouge. Under her long lashes a pair of dark, but energetic eyes hid. "Danke... danke..." she said, in German strangely, and took the bottle of red raspberry juice from my hand.

The accordion which was crying sad soulful notes, and which attracted me as soon as I stepped out of the train station, dropped to the ground. She quickly opened the bottle of cold juice and drank. Temporarily she closed her eyes as if in bliss.

Realising I was still standing there, she looked up at me. Colour seemed to return to her previously pale face. "Danke... danke..." she said again, almost in a whisper.

I smiled back again, and said nothing. I walked on.

But for many moments I could still see the fallen accordion and trinkets of coins spread across a dirty cloth glisten under the dull gray sky.