On the occasion of the seventh day of the month of May, in the year of our Lord two thousand and thirteen, I was heartened to discover that the age of the mysterious benefactor did not wither on the vine when Charles Dickens passed beyond this realm. For reader, I would appear to have my own mysterious benefactor.
Allow me to elucidate. It was a perfectly ordinary morning. The sun was tamely peering down upon a squinting city and the barking of dogs cooped up in back gardens had long since replaced the more melodic tones of birds proclaiming territorial rights and a readiness to indulge in procreation. My pocket telephonic device signalled that an incoming call required my attention. The caller, however, was unknown to me. When first they revealed their identity it so chanced that the gods of telecommunication were in surly temper and the words were obscured by the kind of heavy crackling sound more ordinarily associated with the cooking of slices of the finest bacon in a sizzling pan.
I requested that the caller reiterate their identification. Once they had done so I was filled with a sense of great love for my fellow man (or woman) yet also perplexed by a riddle. The caller was one who holds a secretarial position for a local chiropractor, that wondrous science of healing concerned with the diagnosis, treatment and prevention of disorders of the neuromusculoskeletal system and the effects of these disorders on general health. Of late I have indeed been somewhat plagued and certainly delimited by neuromuscular pains across the area of my back but as to myself, I had not previously been in contact with this practitioner to discuss treatments or organise an appointment.
Therein lies the riddle. Separately from and unknown to me, my mysterious benefactor has taken it upon themselves to organise and remunerate for some treatment with said practitioner of the healing arts. On attempting to ascertain the identity of my benefactor I was informed by the chiropractic secretary that the individual would prefer to remain anonymous. Curiouser and curiouser, as the eponymous child in Wonderland might have it.
Those who engage in charitable acts and yet wish to retain their anonymity should, in my normal opinion, be allowed just such an absence of publicity. Yet my curiosity has been piqued. I am overwhelmed and overjoyed that there might be persons unknown who wish me well enough that they are moved to act with such kindheartedness and benevolence. My every instinct is to wish to express a profound and profuse gratitude but it strikes me that their action has not been undertaken with a desire to be thanked; merely to pass a good deed in a direction they consider to be worthy. I am honour-bound, therefore, to respect their desire for anonymity and must curb all curiosity to know the identity of my Good Samaritan.
In concluding this uplifting and moving episode, however, I may assume that my benefactor has acted after having perused my outpourings yesterday, which indicated my lack of patience with the ongoing problem of muscular debilitations. If such is indeed the case then I may also assume that they will peruse further writings of mine, potentially this very account. In which case I cannot pass up the opportunity to offer them my heartfelt thanks without having to compromise their desire to remain unknown. May the warmest of suns shine upon their days and bring them much joy.