For the past four years I have been enjoying walks, seeing the azure of the ocean kiss the gold of the sand on Porto Santo’s main beach. I know where I will meet tourists, and where the locals welcome each new year with a swim. When I first stepped onto the jetty and saw people drawing the energy of the place, I wished that for myself as well. I visualized myself walking from the harbor to the last corner from where you can see Madeira. That’s nine kilometers of pleasure for the feet. I didn’t expect that in addition to pleasure I would find emotion here, moving deep emotions.

The beach is the only place where anyone can be found: a local and a tourist, a bum and a millionaire, an infant and an old man… Despite the fact that we are different: language, age, gender, skin color, education, profession, status, family history, tastes and mood, here, stripped almost naked – we feel safe. When I lived in Poland, with a little effort I could find beach spots where it wasn’t crowded, noisy and dirty. The island’s beach is long and wide enough for everyone to find enough space, even during the peak tourist season.

I always enjoyed watching people while sunbathing and in the water. Depending on my mood, I would read books on the beach or listen to music (always with headphones only!). But I invariably found time to imagine the life stories and histories of the people who bathed or strolled in bathing suits in front of me. I admit that until now I happen to sink into my thoughts seeing a woman lubricating a toddler with cream, a man trying to steal a kiss from an embarrassed girl, an old woman gazing into the distance or the wet brows of youngsters emerging from the waves.

A few days ago, something happened on the beach that moved me to the depths. After wiping away my tears, I decided that I would write about it.

I was lying on a towel with headphones in my ears, and I noticed a boy in front of my eyes from behind of a big yellow umbrella. I only paid attention to him because he didn’t move like the others. Walking clearly was difficult for him. I took a closer look at him. He was about ten years old. His knees rubbed against each other with every step, his arms seemed stuck to his torso, his hands were frozen raised above his elbows and over his stiffened neck was a large head, tilted constantly to one side. I saw him walking toward the ocean. Alone. When he reached the water line he carefully got his feet wet. Slowly he took a few small steps so that the water reached his knees. I couldn’t see if he was smiling because he was standing with his back to me.

From an early age I had dealt with children who deviated from the so-called “norm,” so the boy did not make any special impression on me. I was just surprised that there was no one beside him to help.

The boy stood in the ocean for a long while and decided to come out of the water. He turned to me with a face with no visible expression. His eyes seemed sad to me, but this was just an over-interpretation. He moved toward me and it appeared that his relatives had spread out the towels close to us. That’s when I saw those smiling eyes and lips. The face that enthralled me from the first second was an expression of tenderness and extraordinary calmness. The outstretched hand was very helpful in the boy’s clumsy attempt to sit down on the blanket. The combing of his curly hair with his fingers along with the handing of a towel completed the picture of tenderness.

I gazed in awe at the face of a man older than me, who was carrying out the tasks of a caregiver with great calmness, in silence, without unnecessary movements. Only after a while did I realize that three more people were enjoying the beach with them. A woman who appeared to be the caretaker’s wife was busy watching two girls. Both were older than the boy. One of them was just putting a colorful air-filled pool hoop over her hips, while the other one handed the boy an open package of cookies. Each of them had a face from which I could not manage to read anything. For seeing the adults who were with them, my eyes filled with tears. I wanted to stop them, but they poured without my will so persistently that I put on my sunglasses, from under which I secretly looked at these beautiful faces.

The two caregivers (I don’t know who they were – parents, grandparents or social caregivers) made a great impression on me. Their faces and gestures were the essence of a good life, in which meaning is obvious and clear. They had no phones, no watches, nothing unnecessary with them. They had everything they needed. So did their charges. They were here in peace and quiet, and I cried because I had the impression that they were happy. The expression on the man’s face left no illusions.

I know what is involved in caring for similar children. For twelve years, I shared a hallway and a toilet with neighbors who had two daughters. One was older than me, the other younger. Together with the younger one, I took care of the older one in the absence of their parents. It wasn’t easy, but we loved her just the way she was. It required a lot of patience and … tenderness. Quite recently, this memory came back to me and was immediately followed by the situation at the ocean.

Only today can I look back on this memory with the kind of calm and smile I saw on the face of that man from the beach.

Translated by Szymon “Zachary” Mański