Time Traveller. Part 1. The Lighthouse.

- You know, sometimes I just feel I don’t belong in here. And it’s more than just some times.

- Are you a time traveller?

He was smiling when he asked.

- Don’t you feel sometimes you’re out of time and out of place?

He smiled again, in his funny way, as if knowing more than what he was telling his friend.

- I do.

- Then you know how I feel… It’s just so…

This time he was thoughtful as if something more serious came to his mind.

- You have no idea how much I understand…

***

- We shouldn’t be here. If someone sees us…

- Shush! Nobody will. We are safe. It’s long past midnight.

- What if the police shows up?

- We will be quick. I just want to make sure it’s really here. 

- How would we know?

- I will know, believe me…

- OK.

- It should be around here somewhere, but it is so trivial, no one would ever notice it. Or if they do, they would never have an idea of what it really is. There it is. I knew it!

- It’s just a cache!

- That is what it could look like, but it’s more than that. It’s not a box. See?

- What are we going to do?

- Nothing. It’s safer if it is kept here, the way it is.

- Do you think there are more?

- Portals?

- Travellers?

He looked at the young man wearing glasses, in silence. His face was in darkness, but his breathing could be heard from a distance. And it had changed a bit.

- Let’s get out of here now. It will be morning soon.

- I hear footsteps.

- Quick! Do some stretching. Pretend we are exercising.

The sound of the steps became louder. Someone was running on the pathway to the jetty and getting closer to where they were.

The man wearing glasses turned around and stretched his leg on the lower rail, going slowly with his hands to his feet, as if stretching arms, back and legs. His mate was holding his foot with his hands, standing in one leg only.

They could not really see inside the dark hooded sweatshirt, if the newcomer was young or old, but by the way he moved, they could say the runner was a young strong man. He passed along the lane and ran around the lighthouse, coming back to the jetty and out of the pathway, into the street boardwalk and disappeared in the darkness again. The sound of his running steps faded in the distance.

The two men looked at each other in relief.

- That was close.

- It was not. Stop being so scared of everything. Let’s go back. We’ve had enough.

They left quickly to where the Jeep was parked, by the walkway and got into it, not before looking around.

They did not see the man wearing a dark hooded sweatshirt standing on the other side of the parking lot, hiding in the dark.

As soon as the car left, he crossed the parking area and went back to the jetty, running…

***

They got home in some minutes, as there was no traffic at that time in the morning. They still had some things to discuss.

- What the fuck was that? A portal?

- Yes. You know very well.

The man wearing glasses was feeling totally confused, as he knew those things were hard to understand and to believe in.

His friend seemed to be more comfortable with the existence of a portal, although since they had left the lighthouse earlier on, he seemed to be very absent-minded, as if he was in another world or era.

- Do you think we should…?

- I guess so.

- When?

- The sooner the best. Pack some things. We might not be back today.

***

When the sun was still rising, they were already on the road to the north. The A28 motorway was quiet, but soon it would be busy, either because of the traffic to the industrial areas or the people going to the beaches.

- A portal? It’s not possible! We had the last one completely destroyed!

- I know. But everything points to a new one and we had it located.

- How can that be possible? Unless… wait… no, no, no… That is unlikely…

- What? Wait a minute. Are you implying that they’ve come back here?

- What are you two talking about? You make no sense at all.

- But why here and why now? What’s in here now that could possibly be of some interest for them?

- I have no idea. If we had any indication of what happened when…

They looked at the man wearing glasses.

- Oblivion…

- Ok. Stop right here and now. I want to know everything about the Oblivion incident… It’s more than time. Don’t try to fool me any further, please!

The two men looked at the one wearing glasses. He was pale.

- OK. Sit down now. I’ll bring you some water. Relax a bit, will you?

- I don’t want to relax. This all seem to be related. Tell me what happened… Now!

- OK, but sit down, please. Drink the water. I’ll explain… or I will try to, anyway…

***

Nocturne

The gloomy melody was coming out of the old piano as those long fingers, almost as pale as the ivory keys, stroke them with bold lust, sometimes slowly, others energetically.

He played with the same sensuality that he strategically used on skin contact: careful, light, slow and precise, as opposed to the vigour of those big, strong hands.

The music score was all scribbled in an attempt to always perfect the work that would never be finished. Was that really perfectionism, laziness or a not-so-disguised narcissism?

How sad had the autumn become before a bleak, desolate winter was unexpectedly announced.

- Will you be back?

- One day.

- When? How?

- You'll know.

- Will I?

- Surely. Why not?

He tried to grin, but his smile was always so sad. How come he'd never smiled completely, with his eyes, his mouth, his whole face? Those eyes didn't even have proper wrinkles. Had he never really smiled? Had he never been truly happy?

That seemed more than a simple 'see you soon' or 'until one day'…

- Will you be happy?

- I will.

A strange uneasiness in my heart. I wanted so much to hug that much-desired body again. I gave in to the internal conflict, which ran between right and wrong; between will, need, and longing, against what seemed ridiculous and coherent.

‘Damn the conflict. Who cares? It's now or never again!’

- Can I give you a hug?

- Sure.

How sad this hug, this anguish, that moment was... I wished I could hate him. But I couldn't.

How could someone hate those that were so much loved?

I let myself go free from that embrace. My eyes were moist. It was always so damn hard to let go.

- Don’t cry.

- No. I won't cry. I never cry, as you know.

He laughed.

- Yeah, right.

He looked at me for the last time with that sad, distant look; almost indecipherable; almost insurmountable and that was all about his decision to leave, so abruptly.

And then we parted and he departed. All those parts and pieces were all partly broken and parted, when he departed like he did. I felt like all parts of my soul were shattered and scattered around me.   

Only his song was left. Out of time. Out of tune and out of rhythm. Just like my heart…

The many notes were all left loose all over the aged and ripped-up music score so worn out by the use of those long pale fingers, which were tired of rewriting them, over and over, so many times and without being able to finish the piece, for once and for all.

There were also those words, handwritten one after the other, without metric and without rhymes in an impulsive and poor construction. A mixture of vowels and consonants, arranged to make some sense, on the yellowed paper sheets and fading, in time… in the eyes of memory…

A nostalgic, downhearted and unfinished Nocturne, left untouched on the old and now muted piano, at a strategic point in the living room.

That melancholic music still seemed to fully flood the empty spaces.

The emptiness, as a consequence, was overflowing all those blank spaces, once so full of life in my body and soul.

In my life there was only the glum, unfinished melody, still vibrating in the corners of the ambience and memory, like that pseudo-relationship, which had been suspended in an 'until now' expectation… infinitely…

***