A Book Called Karma

A Book Called Karma

Copyright 2021, Lisa Kuehl, all rights reserved.

There once was a wealthy philanthropist named Stephan Beck who was nearing the end of his life, and though he had helped many people, and forged many projects to build up communities around the world, and to help those in need, he felt the need to do one last dramatic act of generosity. He had been donating all of his money, and he had $20,000 left that he wanted to give away, and he wanted to give it to someone very deserving, someone whom he could see proving their worth through an act of kindness, selflessness or generosity. He wasn’t precisely clear on what he was looking for, but he was sure that he would know it when he encountered it, and recognize that person when the time was right.

He devised a plan to find just such a person. He would disguise himself and place himself among people whom he looked up to. He would observe those around him and find someone who fit his description of a worthy person. However, he became concerned that he might not find the person before he passed away, so he decided to use a little black book to record all of his experiences, so that his endeavor could be continued, if necessary, posthumously.

He had a friend who was a master make up and special effects artist who had worked with some of the most prominent names in Hollywood. He would enlist his help in dressing him for the parts he would play. His first idea was to find a worthy person at a reputable teaching hospital downtown. He decided to disguise himself has a young, new orderly or nurse. He did some research on nursing, and spoke with friends who were in the medical field and learned some terminology. He put in his application and waited. Finally, he got the phone call he was waiting for – an interview. He flew in his renowned make-up artist friend incognito, and got to work. He stared at himself in the mirror gaping at how young he looked again, about mid-thirties. He drove downtown.

“So how much experience do you have, Mr. Beck? Can you do blood draws? Know how to work a syringe pump and set an IV catheter?”

“Well, yes, I have a little experience with that, but mostly book knowledge, honestly.”

“No worries, we’ll find a spot for you. I’ll have you do a working interview with Dr. Granite at 5 a.m. tomorrow morning, does that work for you?”

“Sure. Thank you very much.”

“Oh, and Mr. Beck. You must remember not to take things personally around here.”

“Oh, uh…right.”

Curious that his voice did not seem to match his age, the interviewer asked, “Do you have a cold, Mr. Beck?”

“Yeah, I…I think I might be fighting off something.”

So that next morning, Beck went to his working interview. Immediately, he felt the pressure of being a “newbie.” He heard snide comments under the breath as he walked by. He could feel the cold stares as he walked up to the doctor to introduce himself. Dr. Granite looked him up and down and said, “You won’t last. Come help me with this patient.” Then all of a sudden the patient began to bleed out. Blood was spurting to the ceiling, and all over Beck. The doctor left the room without a word. Beck searched the room for a tourniquet. Just then another nurse who happened to be walking by came in. She immediately began to help. She got the bleeding stopped but unfortunately the patient was gone before she was able to stabilize him.

“Thank you for trying to help,” said Beck.

“Sure, newbie.”

Beck walked out and never looked back. That night, he sat up writing about the experience in his little black book, as large tears hit the page.

Next, he decided he would try working in a school. Beck always had great respect for teachers, having experienced some who had a very positive influence in his life. He felt sure to find a worthy person in such an environment. Since it would be nearly impossible to be hired as a full time teacher, he decided to apply as a substitute teacher, since the Superintendent was asking degreed people without a teaching background to apply for substituting to ameliorate the shortage they were experiencing. Again, Beck’s friend from the west coast helped him with his disguise.

He secured an interview and was soon hired to work in a nearby high school. As he drove to the school, he became eager to meet the other teachers, certain he would find the right person. The office staff were polite to him, handed him his folder and a key to the room. He looked over the lesson plan and realized he hadn’t a clue how to handle this. He found a book of short stories on a shelf. He found one he especially remembered from college, and decided to read that to each of his classes, and have the students write about what they thought of it. His classes went very well. He was excited to share his experiences with other teachers in the teacher’s lounge.

He brought his lunch bag into the lounge and found a seat. Again, he felt the stares of the others in the room. No one responded to him when he said hello, just blank stares. Beck sat eating a sandwich, listening in on the conversations around, which were mostly complaints about particular students, or their parents. Then all of a sudden, someone piped up.

“So who are you here for?”

“Miss Garcia.”

Silence. Then they turned back and talked with one another. It became quickly apparent to Beck that substitutes were looked down upon at this particular school.

“It’s going quite well, I think. The students are very bright and their writing is amazing. They know so much more about Anton Chekhov than I do.”

Silence. Stares. No one asked who he was, or how his day was going. It was clear he was a pariah, an outsider. No one seemed to care about this stranger in their midst. In the evening, Beck sat with his cat, sipped some Earl Grey, and wrote in his little black book about the pleasant experience he had with the high school students, and about the apparent toxic environment he had encountered in the staff room.

By this time, Beck began to feel disillusioned about his experiment. He thought about taking the money and just giving it to the humane society, or to the domestic violence shelter to whom he had given so much already. But before he would do that, he would try once more.

His final plan was to dress as a homeless person on the street. Again he enlisted the magic artistry of his friend. When he saw himself in the mirror, he didn’t recognize himself.

He hid his cell phone, with some hidden food and drink and a hand warmer in his tattered coat, and his friend dropped him off downtown. He found a spot on the sidewalk and huddled onto some newspaper. He asked for money as people walked by. Someone threw their coffee cup at him. Another person swore at him and told him he should just die. Some left coins for him. As evening approached, and as the streets that just hours before had been flooded with commuters became empty, and the sidewalks became more and more deserted, a young man approached. He began insulting Beck, kicking him repeatedly while laughing at him. He began punching his head, and began to kick him in the stomach. Beck began to fear for his life and tried to reach for his cell phone. At that moment, a small woman, a local street musician, carrying a guitar, approached, screaming.

“Get your hands off him! Stop it now, or I’ll call the cops! STOP IT NOW!” She beat the man with her guitar. “I’ll call the cops! I’ll call the cops!” she yelled. The man cowered and ran off. She bent down. “Are you okay? Here let me help you.” She began to reach for her cell phone. He put his hand on her arm.

“That won’t be necessary.” Beck’s friend, who had been watching a few blocks away, screeched to a halt in front of Beck and the woman, and ran out of the car.

“What is this?” The small woman became nervous.

“My name is Stephan Beck and I have been looking for someone to leave my last sum of money to before I leave this planet. I have been looking for someone courageous, selfless, kind and generous. And I believe you are that person.” Beck’s friend handed him his checkbook, and Beck proceeded to write out a check for $20,000, and handed it to the woman.

That night, Beck recounted the event in his little black book. Then he wrote, “Mark the perfect man, the end of that man is peace. The meek shall inherit the earth.” Then he closed his little black book, and scrawled a title on the front cover:

KARMA.

By Stephan Beck.