“What does Passover mean?” Coral asked her dad. As she was riding through Central Park on the handlebars of her father’s bike, she admired the spring flowers. Her father sat on the black leather seat of the bike and pedaled for both of them. The sun shone brightly, and a light breeze blew as a vendor sold balloons and cotton candy from his cart.
“Well, it’s like this bridge coming up,” Mr. Graf said, as he pedaled twice as fast. “We are going to pass over the dangers of the water below. It’s sort of like how death passed over the Israelites, and they journeyed from being slaves in Egypt to freedom.”
“So, we won’t drown in the river?” ten-year-old Coral said, as she peered over the side of the bike at the fish in the water. “Just like the Israelites didn’t die in Egypt. Bad things leave us!”
“More or less, anything bad that would come near you has to pass over, instead of harm you,” her father said. “You aren’t affected by it.”
“Do you think that’s really true? That all the bad stuff has to just leave you alone?” Coral asked. “There’s still a lot of bad stuff in the world.”
“I hope it’s true,” her father said. “Sometimes you have to go through bad things, but there can still be miracles. That’s one of the reasons why we celebrate Passover every year in the spring, believing that hard times will leave us, like when the Israelites were freed from slavery in Egypt. The Israelites were slaves, and Moses led them to freedom.”
As her father pedaled around Central Park, Coral came across a man asleep on a park bench with a brown paper bag. She thought he might have been drinking alcohol. Probably giving him coins from The Man Upstairs was not a good idea because he would only spend them on alcohol. This was one of those moments when Coral had to been extra cautious with her coins. She didn’t want to give them to the wrong person.
“Dad, he needs some bad things to pass over him,” Coral said. She hopped off the bike and marched in his direction. She considered that she needed to start a miracle for him.
“Wait a minute,” her father said. He squeaked the brakes on the red bike to a halt. “What are you doing? He might not be a safe person.”
Coral pulled out her tin can of pennies from her backpack, which she collected from The Man Upstairs. She also had Puddles, her porcelain pink piggy bank, where she kept the overflow of coins. Every day, the tin can was carefully placed beneath the heating vent in her parents’ Upper East Side apartment, and The Man Upstairs dropped pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, half dollars, and dollar coins every day. Coral had promised him to give the money away to do good in the world.
Never once did Coral keep the money for herself, because Coral knew that The Man Upstairs would stop giving it to her. Instead, she used the money to cause small miracles all over New York City; a small miracle could bring a larger one.
“The Man Upstairs would want me to give my coins to a doctor to help this man get well,” she said. She poked the man in the side, and he woke up with a cough.
“Coral, we should get going,” her father said. He grabbed Coral’s hand and headed in the other direction. Coral felt sad for the man on the park bench and wanted to help him.
“Who are you?” The Man From Central Park said. He studied her for a moment. From the look on his face, he was shocked that she was a little girl. “I don’t feel well. Leave me alone. I’m going to die in this park.”
“Oh no! Did you ever hear about how bad things can pass over?” she said. “Bad things are going to pass over you!”
“Honey, The Man From Central Park might need to go see a doctor,” Mr. Graf said. He cleared his throat and pointed to the growth on his face. “It might be a cancer,” he whispered in Coral’s ear without the man on the park bench hearing him.
“You might feel better after you eat something,” Coral said. She handed him coconut macaroons from her backpack. “My dad owns a local deli.” Then, Coral turned to him and asked: “Can he eat at the deli anytime he wants?”
“We have especially good chicken soup,” Mr. Graf said with enthusiasm. “We’d love to have you whenever you are in the area.”
Coral felt relieved that her father agreed to feed the stranger. She thought about all the other people in Central Park that also might need a good meal.
“Why don’t we let him have a nap for the rest of the afternoon?” Mr. Graf said, as the stubborn man groaned.
“Dad, you just said that he needs to go to the doctor!” Coral said. She pulled the Man’s jacket until he finally budged to sit up on the bench. “Let’s go! The Man Upstairs is paying for your doctor bill with my dollar coins. Follow me. I’m getting you an appointment.”
As Coral’s dad got back on the bicycle, he pedaled slowly as Coral walked beside The Man From Central Park. Coral covered her mouth as The Man From Central Park coughed for most of the walk. As much as she wanted him to get better, she also did not want to get sick.
“We are taking you to the emergency room at the New York City Hospital,” Coral said. She shook Puddles her piggy bank and hoped she had enough savings to help The Man from Central Park. Somehow, she would find a way to get him better. He could not have cancer.
When Coral, Mr. Graf, and The Man From Central Park arrived at the emergency room, they chained their red bicycle to the nearest bike rack. The sliding glass doors opened in a buzz, and sick people were pushed in stretchers and wheelchairs everywhere.
“Coral, we need to talk to the woman at the desk,” Mr. Graf said. “This is the waiting room. They need to take our information for the doctor.”
The Man From Central Park stood in front of the nurse. More than ever, Coral noticed his unruly appearance and overgrown beard. She hoped that the nurse would still help him. He definitely needed a shower and a new toothbrush.
“My name is Coral Graf, and my dad and I met this man in Central Park, and he doesn’t feel well,” Coral said. “The Man Upstairs is paying for the doctor visit,” she said. She dumped her coins from Puddles the piggy bank and her tin can on the desk. “Please help him.”
“Does he have health insurance?” the nurse said. She grabbed her clipboard to take notes. “Have him fill out this form.”
“Dad, does The Man From Central Park have health insurance?” Coral asked. “I don’t know what that means.”
“I think he’s eligible for Medicare. This means that The Man Upstairs won’t have to pay the whole bill,” Mr. Graf said. “Let me fill out the sheet with him.”
“That’s definitely a miracle,” Coral said. “I knew good things were going to happen!”
“I’m also a military veteran,” The Man From Central Park said. “So, I should have special benefits.”
Hours later, after sitting in the waiting room, Coral, Mr. Graf, and The Man From Central Park finally saw the doctor. Coral was relieved and thought they might have to sleep in the waiting room for the night. It seemed like they had been there forever.
“This is The Man From Central Park,” Coral said, as she marched into the exam room. She shook the doctor’s hand. He was dressed in a white jacket with a stethoscope around his neck. “I need him to feel better.”
Her father shrugged his shoulders and looked at the doctor with a smile. Then, the doctor took The Man From Central Park’s blood pressure and pulse.
“Stick out your tongue,” the doctor said to The Man From Central Park. He looked down his throat, and then into his ears. He carefully examined the growth on his cheek.
“Bad things are already passing over you,” Coral said to The Man From Central Park. “Just like with Moses.”
“Do you want to be a doctor one day?” the doctor said to Coral. “Now, just give us a minute, and we will figure out a diagnosis.”
The doctor closed the curtain in the exam room around him and The Man From Central Park. The curtain brushed Coral’s nose, so she could no longer see the doctor examine The Man from Central Park. She and her father sat down on chairs to wait for the doctor to finish.
“Don’t worry, Coral,” Mr. Graf said. “The doctor knows best and will help him.”
By the time the doctor had finished the examination, Coral and her dad had played many games of Tic Tac Toe on a scrap sheet of paper. She loved to play games with him.
“Dad, did you let me win?” Coral asked. He folded the Tic Tac Toe game sheet in her pocket. She really wanted to beat him fair and square. “I won every time.”
“I really tried to beat you, Coral,” her father said. He put his pen into his pocket and looked at the clock on the wall.
“The Man From Central Park is going to stay overnight until we can determine exactly what is wrong,” the doctor said. “As your daughter said, bad things need to leave him.”
“I’ll be back in the morning with chicken soup from my dad’s deli,” Coral said. “I’ll try to bring extra for the doctor, too.”
“Wonderful!” the doctor said, “I’ll be so glad to see you again. Now, Mr. Jones is asleep, and it’s best if we let him rest for now.”
“Yes, so we should be leaving, Coral,” Mr. Graf said. He pushed her toward the door. “I hope no one has stolen our red bicycle from the bike rack outside, even if it had a chain.”
“Dad, you worry too much! Bad things are passing over,” Coral said, as she walked through the sliding doors of the hospital. Their red bicycle sat right where they left it.
Even if Puddles and her tin can were empty again, Coral knew The Man Upstairs would be happy with her investment in The Man from Central Park. She expected her new friend from the park to have a full recovery, nothing less than tip-top shape.
When Coral arrived back at her high-rise brick apartment, she placed her tin can underneath the heating vent. She waited for more coins from The Man Upstairs to drop. She knew that she had the power to cause miracles.
Copyright 2015 Jennifer Waters
Sequel to "The Man Upstairs: The Story of Coral Graf and Coins from a Tin Can" (1/3/15), "The Man Downstairs: The Story of Coral Graf and Her Missing Coins" (7/13/15), "The Man Next Door: The Story of Coral Graf and the Neighborhood Coins" (8/5/15), "The Man Across the Street: The Story of Coral Graf, a Hanukkah Miracle, and the Landlord with a Cigar" (9/10/15), and "The Man Around the Corner: The Story of Coral Graf and a Homeless Cardboard Box" (9/10/15).
Dedicated to my grandmother, Augusta Renner Graf Waters.
