Hunter walked out into the lobby. His jaw dropped.

“Who are all these people?” He asked incredulously.

“Refugees, signore, from Arenzano.”

Hunter was appalled. Simple tarpaulin cots were lined up row after row. They covered the lobby. Forlorn-looking guests were milling about. The breakfast nook had been turned into a makeshift bread line.

“Refugees, that makes sense. I suppose I knew this was happening. It just didn’t hit home until now.”

He walked away from the front desk towards the front door, through the thin space bisecting the rows of cots. He surveyed the scene. The hotel had allowed over a hundred people to use its grand lobby for makeshift housing. Many of them had backpacks or duffle bags. Some had suitcase-type luggage. Others had virtually nothing. A small group caught his attention. A young mother was feeding her baby. She had a little boy and a little girl with her. The girl clutched a ragdoll. The boy was still lying in the cot, but his eyes were open. Sweat dripped down his cheeks.

“Mi scusi,” the foreign words felt out of place in his mouth. He had little faith in his less-than-passable Italian, so he tried English “Is he sick?”

The young woman put her palm on the boy’s forehead.

“Yes.”

She had a slow, serene disposition. Hunter wondered that she could keep it together.

“He needs medicine?” Hunter asked.

“Yes.” Came the trance-like reply.

Hunter nodded and looked into her eyes. They were sad, but resolute. This woman had three mouths to feed and four bodies to care for. She would roll with life’s punches.

“I’ll be back.”

Hunter found the front desk clerk.

“There’s a boy running a fever. Are these people getting medical care?”

“I do not know, signore, the hotel has agreed to give them temporary space, but I cannot tell you who is in charge of the relief efforts.”

“It’s that bad is it?”

The man shrugged.

“Well, I’m not waiting for some bureaucrat. Where’s the nearest pharmacy?”

Hunter got directions. He palm-greased and smooth-talked the pharmacist into giving him antibiotics without a prescription. Then he started back to the hotel. On the way, he stopped at a bank and had money wired in from his trust fund back in the United States. He then stopped at the local grocer and organized a large delivery of food and other supplies to the refugees at the hotel. Finally, he returned.

“Here, for him.” Hunter said, nodding toward the boy.

“Grazie.” The young mother replied with a weary smile.

She was sitting on the cot. She got up and gave Hunter a hug. Then she studied the pill bottle.

“Grazie.” She said again.

“Prego.” Hunter replied.

• • •

Later that day, Hunter called his father.

“Hunter? Is that you? What on earth have you been doing all this time?”

“Working, dad. On big things.”

“You’re not at the digsite?”

“No, I’m still in Italy.”

“Do you really have to be there?”

“For now, but not much longer.”

“Your mother worries about you.”

“Tell her I am fine. There are millions of people in more danger than me right now.”

“That’s not going to make her feel better.”

“I know, listen, our hotel is full of refugees. Things are very bad here. Can you do anything?”

“I haven’t been overly involved in it, but I know that the foundation is making this a big focus. Why? Do you know something that we can do?”

“I know that this area is full of refugees and they need supplies.”

“Can you tell me anything about the relief effort?”

“Just that these people cannot wait for it. Dad, I have other things on my plate. I did what I could this morning, but I have to move on.”

“I’ll call around to the local Rotary clubs. They’ll know where the needs are. We will support them. I am sure that they are already helping.”

“Thank you.”

“If anyone could have gotten mixed up in something like this, it’s you.” His father said.

“I know.”

“Be careful son. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will. Goodbye Dad. I’ll call again soon.”

“Goodbye.”