CHAPTER 2: A HEART OF GIVING

The name Lipo carried weight in the town. To strangers, it was just a name, but to those who lived close to him, it meant hope. He was the man who never turned anyone away, the one who gave even when he seemed to have nothing left to spare. Mothers often said, “If hunger visits your house, send your child to Lipo’s door.” And truly, no child ever returned empty-handed.

His generosity stretched far beyond what most could imagine. He purchased firewood for widows during cold seasons, bought sandals for children who walked barefoot, and even provided school fees for boys and girls who otherwise would never have held a book. People wondered where his wealth came from. He worked little, owned no large farmlands, and yet his hands were always full.

Some believed Lipo had a secret inheritance, hidden away from the world. Others whispered that he made bargains with forces unseen, that his clean clothes and spotless stockings were signs of a man touched by otherworldly powers. Still, none could ever prove such tales, and Lipo carried on with his quiet, giving life, neither confirming nor denying the rumors.

Yet, there was one strange pattern that many noticed but dared not speak aloud: Lipo never ate with anyone. He delivered food, but he never sat at a table. He would hand over a pot of stew or roasted yam, smiling warmly, but when invited to share the meal, he would politely decline and disappear into the streets. The old ones whispered that he fed on something else—something not of this world.

On market days, he was most visible, standing tall in white clothes that never stained despite the muddy ground. He would give out coins to struggling traders, buy goods he never carried home, and always leave before the sun fully set. One evening, an old man who tried to follow him swore he saw Lipo vanish into a thick mist, only to reappear across the road without taking a single step. When asked about it later, Lipo only smiled, as though he knew more than he would ever say.

Children adored him, but even they felt the coldness of his touch. “His hands are like ice,” one boy whispered after receiving a loaf of bread. “Like he’s been standing in the grave all morning.” His mother scolded him, telling him never to speak evil against a man so good. But the boy’s words lingered, passed from child to child, until many began to notice it too—the strange, deathly chill that came with his kindness.

Despite the whispers, no one dared turn away his gifts. Poverty bound the town, and Lipo’s hand was a blessing too precious to reject. Yet every smile he offered, every loaf of bread he gave, carried with it an unspoken fear: that nothing so generous could come without a price.

As months turned to years, the town grew dependent on him. When he was not seen for two days, households panicked. When his steps did not echo along the evening paths, mothers prayed he was well. They loved him, yet they feared him, for he was both provider and mystery.

Then came the day when his giving stopped—not by choice, but by fate. It began with a sudden illness, swift and merciless. Lipo, the spotless man in clean clothes, was struck down. No healer could explain it. One morning he was walking with his usual grace; by evening, he lay shivering, whispering strange words in a language none understood. By the second night, his body had grown so cold that those caring for him swore he was no longer alive, yet he still breathed.

Children cried outside his house, neighbors crowded the doorway, but none dared step fully inside. A fear unlike any they had known pressed upon the room, as if unseen watchers circled around, waiting. And on the third night, the town lost its giver. Lipo’s body grew still, his eyes staring upward, his spotless stockings folded neatly by the bed.

The town mourned deeply, burying him with honor. Yet as the grave was sealed, an uneasy silence spread among the people. They whispered to one another in hushed tones, “Can death really hold him?”

It was a question no one dared answer, but one that would soon be answered by horrors greater than anyone could have imagined.