The man was standing by the window holding a mug of a
hot and strong black coffee in his hard, thick hands, watching the annoying
cold drizzle falling down over the island. The weather had been like that for various
days... It had not changed for far too many days, in fact. He thought his work
could not be left aside for any longer. It was a matter of survival… Simple
like that…
He put his winter coat on, although it was still early
autumn, finished his coffee and came out to face the early morning chilly air.
The wind and rain hit his worn out aged skin with fierceness, making him walk a
bit hunched and with his head turned slightly down. He headed to the waterfront
toward the small pier. He knew he had to face the sea. His subsistence depended
only on that work and he knew very well that kind of life was not easy at all.
He did not curse either the weather or the rain,
however. He did not complain at all. He was used to that routine and to the
solitude and simplicity of his seemingly uncomplicated but very hard life. Yet,
he had no real reason to complain whatsoever... and was not used to do so...
not anymore…
The old boat, his every day companion, swayed up and
down in the small pier, as if being rocked by the invisible hands of the waves.
He sighed and walked resolutely along the corridor of heavy, tattered dark wood.
He looked at the other boats, all firmly tied to the dock, straightened the
jacket hood around his head and jumped into his boat.
His old fellow squeaked when he stepped onto the deck,
as if welcoming him with a good morning greeting. A few minutes later, the
noise of the hoary diesel engine was nothing more than just a murmur fading
away into the distance, while the silhouette of the small fishing boat
disappeared in the morning mist and rain, lonesome and incognito, like his
stiff owner.
***
One night, about a week later, the weather changed...
for worse.
The storm hit the island sturdily and mercilessly. The
sound of thunder, that followed the lightning, streaking the pitch-black sky, was
similar to the ruthless hammering of drum sticks against the head of the timpani
of an orchestra, playing a crazed symphony. He smiled while he watched the sky
light up every then and again as if they were fireworks. He was fond of those thunderstorms
and knew they were, almost always, a sign of weather change.
The following morning, although still cloudy, the
meteorological conditions were visibly better. He left his home very early, as
usual, to collect the fishing net, which was placed in the middle of the sea.
Instead of walking down the paved sidewalk to get to the pier, he decided to walk
along the beach.
The water's edge was covered with a laced blanket of dead
seaweed, spread all over the white wet sand, as it was common after the heavy
storms.
He enjoyed walking along the beach, which was, for
him, both a physical and a mental exercise. He liked the soft, clean sand; the
iodized smell of the sea; the sound of the waves, going back-and-forth continuously;
the waters trying to wet his feet every time he seemed to be distracted by his
thoughts; the sight of the seagulls entertaining themselves with their whiten
flight against the blue-grey sky and with their dramatic dives into the emerald-green
ocean...
At that hour in the morning, while the village was
still asleep, away from the ordinary day-to-day noises, out of the sight of
passers-by, when the murmur of the sea mixed with the harrowing cries of the
sea birds, he felt as if he were part of that peaceful landscape.
A gust of wind made him shiver slightly and straighten
the coat around his body. He pondered if the winter would be cold. The fall had
just begun and he was already feeling the effects of the cold and humidity,
disturbing the more sensitive nerves.
But he relished the cold weather and the wind. He liked
the sea and the loneliness of his profession. Sometimes he had the impression he
was losing the ability to communicate and to state the truth, it really mattered
very little to him. He was now a man of the sea, not a lecturer. Nor was he,
either, a man of many words.
In fact, at that stage of his life, he would rather prefer
the animals to men. Those were much more true and pure, without hidden
intentions behind their actions. Their instincts and affections were direct and
without false pretences. They were transparent, as he had been once... a long
time before...
The wind blew against him, as if embracing his no
longer so young body, but still tough enough. He knew he still had enough
strength and would probably live long, but he did not miss the past times. From
what he could remember, they were times that deserved neither any missing nor his
memories to be relived anyway.
He could not remember whether he had been happy...
Maybe he deceptively thought he was, for a very brief period of his life; the same
life that used to play its sadistic games with him, over and over again...
He
tried to keep those recollections away from his mind, as long as he could, but
they insisted on recurring as vivid as recycled films, loaded with mixed emotions,
which insisted on remaining alive in his memory. Those occasions had already brought
their loads of pain, leaving their deep scars, which were constantly touched, relentlessly
cherished, but never erased.
He quickened his pace. He could not let the past anguish
interfere with his dull present. He shook his head as if trying to get rid of those
inconvenient thoughts and covered it with the hood of the worn old jacket. He knew
he had to fetch the fishing net up...
His thoughts were interrupted by a somewhat unexpected
movement, just a few meters ahead. A group of seabirds seemed entertained in
uproar, with something that stood out in the middle of a pile of deep green and
red-brown seaweed. At first he thought to be a dead animal or just the remains
of fishes, which would not be surprising, but as he approached, he saw it was
something much bigger than just food for marine birds. He hastened to ward the gulls
off, who insisted in staying close by, like curious passers-by witnessing an unfortunate
accident.
A very pale body lay on the sandy beach, motionless
and partially covered by the coloured seaweed. The sea lapped at his feet and
legs, insistently. The fisherman knelt down to examine the body. He turned it over, in order to see if the man could be recognized whatsoever.
He expected to see the whole face destroyed by the
fish or crabs and birds, but instead it was in perfect conditions as well as
the rest of the body. Touching the skin, he did not feel the 'rigor mortis', nor the temperature of a
corpse. On the contrary, the temperature was only slightly below normal, which
could be expected from a person who had been exposed to the cold temperatures
of the wind and the sea waters, in a state of complete nudity. He bent closer
to the face, to try and perceive whether the unconscious man was still
breathing or detect, somehow, a minimally visible movement in his body.
The young man’s weak breathing was hardly noticed. His
chest moved slightly so to allow some air flow into the feeble lungs. The man
was surely alive, although totally blacked out.
He covered the frail cold body with his coat, lifted him
in his arms and took him away. The collection of the fishing net had to wait a
little longer.
***
The island had only a small village, which had a
single Medical Centre, visited by a doctor once a week. The nearest hospital,
more than three hundred kilometres away, was located in the continent. There
was an infirmary with basic medicines and first aid material, controlled by a moody
but good-hearted matron, a retired nurse herself. By knowing that the doctor
would come the very next day, he took the boy to his house.
He lived almost alone, except for a fat grey and white
tabby cat, who kept him good company. He had time to look at the patient until
at least the doctor would examine him, a few hours later, when he arrived with the early
morning ferry.
At home, he washed the body of the unconscious young
man and looked for signs of injury. There was a fairly large laceration on the
back of his head that, although no longer bleeding, should have shed enough
blood when cut. Either he had been the victim of an assault or an unfortunate
accident. For what reason he was naked, it was still a mystery. He reached for a
sweatshirt and a pair of pants from the dark timber wardrobe, dressed his guest
and covered him with a blanket and a quilt.
Going back to close the doors of the closet, his eyes were drawn by an
old leather suitcase, left on purpose, behind the heavier and longer coats. He reached
the buckskin bag and pulled it out.
The heart of the young man was beating normally, but his
blood pressure was very low still. It was a long time since he last used his
old medical instruments. He sutured the cut and put a bandage on the boy's head
in order to protect and keep it closed, at least until he would be examined by
the doctor the next morning. His hands had no longer the dexterity of before
and the calluses and change to the skin texture did not help much the task but
he worked like a true professional of health.
The boy needed to be hydrated. He had to find a way to
get some fluid and minister immediately into his veins. Just thinking about having
to go to the clinic, he felt a discomfort in the stomach. But he could not
think of himself... not then, anyway...
***
The following day, with the presence of the physician,
he felt a lot more comfortable. He had not had much difficulty in getting the liquid
and the matron herself offered to go to his house, in order to insert the intravenous
hydration fluid line. It was more out of curiosity than of efficiency, but he
accepted the offer, so he would not have to give many explanations.
Besides the wound, which had already been cared for,
there was nothing much to do, but to continue hydrating and hope that the body
would react. There was a danger of a concussion, so the doctor decided he
should move the boy to the hospital on the mainland. He needed someone to take responsibility
over the young man, in case he woke up. And the police had to be reported urgently...
***
He did not feel at ease in the city. Less still in a hospital.
The police had been called and initiated a thorough investigation. They found
nothing in the missing people list. They checked his fingerprints and tried face
recognition but failed to reach anything that could lead to the identity of the
young man in the dark state of coma. They sent a picture taken of him to several police stations in the
country, to try, through the distribution of it, find out who the injured man
was. He had no criminal records either. The identity of the boy was completely
unknown.
***
- His vital signs are normal, but something prevents him from waking up... We
ought to be patient...
A week had slowly passed without
major changes in the clinical state. Even though his physical condition had
improved, the boy had not awakened from the coma. The older man then decided to
return to the island. He told the doctor and the hospital staff that he would
go to the hostel where he was staying and the next morning he would take the
boat back to his fisherman's life. From then on, the case was only under the
police’s responsibility.
Before leaving, however, he
decided to go once again in the room, to "say
goodbye" to the one who stirred his dull life routine for a few days,
but who he did not even know who was, in the end.
The boy still lay unconscious,
very pale and serene, as if only sleeping. His health condition was stable but
still cataleptic. The fisherman came closer to the bedside and touched the other
man’s hand, with a tender fatherly affection.
- Our lives separate here, my boy. Too bad we did not have the chance to be
introduced to each other. I would like to have heard your interesting life story.
The boy seemed to only sleep soundly.
The fisherman turned around and left the room. As he passed the reception, he greeted
the nurse and said goodbye.
When he was crossing the threshold
of the exit door, he heard an alarm bell rang.
In a few seconds, the place
was like being on fire, like a beehive that had been hit by a hard stick. There was such
a great uproar within the premises that he did not know if he should run away
or hide himself until the chaos was over. The nurse told him, amid a flurry he
did not realize at first:
- You'd better not go just yet… The alarm ringing comes from the room you
just left.
He stopped incredulous and
turned around, hurrying his pace to get back to the room, along with the noisy hospital
staff.
***
