Stares (Final Part)

I no longer knew whether to believe in everything, anything or nothing at all, for I could not clearly distinguish when I was dreaming or when those things were really happening. For the sake of my sanity I decided to accept that there is a bit of truth in everything.

Although still somewhat clumsy by the effect of the medication, which ran in great quantity through my veins, blurring reality and confusing my perception, I read the message still open in my hand again and again.

"Don’t be afraid of what will come up for you in the future. Our minds are extremely powerful. A man who does not believe in anything, does not have many reasons to live.

You are not alone! We've always been around.

Come to the place where we met before as soon as you can. "

Although I considered the content quite intriguing and vague, that message, for some reason, seemed to bring a hidden meaning that I did not immediately understand.

*** 

For a few days I followed the diet, took my medications seriously, and committed myself to physiotherapy to speed my way out of that place. I knew it was imperative to get well soon. In those days, I was practically alone all the time and did not receive any visitors except for the nurses and the doctors, which, in a way, was a good sign.

Better left alone than...

I urgently needed to return to my quiet boring life and the less intrusion I would have during the recovery process, the better it would be. I took that lack of interference as a gift and tried to do my best to build up my strength and health as quickly as possible.

But the words, put that way in the message, would not leave my mind at ease...

***

- We had to leave you alone, so you could recover faster.

- I should have known there was something behind that apparent serenity...

- The final diagnosis was given. The doctor is on his way. We better leave you alone, now.

The doctor entered the small hospital room less than one minute after they left. I was sitting on the bed when he handed me a report and allowed me to read it before telling me anything.

***

I held the small dark wooden box in my hands, still closed, with an unusual affection. I was melancholic and that nostalgia made sense in the face of what I had just read. I sat down on the floor of the room and slid forward the thin cover, decorated with small and delicate arabesques, detaching it from the main body of the box and placing it near my leg.

My little travel souvenirs from other eras, lay dormant in the background covered with a fine burgundy velvet: a brown urchin, the fragile dried and empty flower petal shaped husk of a Physalis, a few seashells, two pebbles smoothed by the constant action of the river water, a bronze kitten, smaller than my thumb, a piece of scrolled paper given to me on the street by a stranger, where my favourite phrase was written,...

“Be careful of what you wish for, it might just come true"...

Funny that I had never noticed that there was a symbol drawn on the outside of the paper scroll, which was now familiar to me: a stylized eye. After a brief survey, I discovered that it was the symbol of knowledge. That made all sense…

On the bookshelf above my head, the mahogany shelves served as a frame for my collection of art books, where the life and work of Salvador Dalí stood out, not only because it was placed right in the centre, but because it was the most colourful and significant volume of all.

I thought of how my life fit into the few records left inside that small room, with the window facing the seaside.

So little in quantity and so much in emotional load... my living in this strange world...

I had decided to leave it all behind. Going away, that way, was a difficult decision, but it had to be done. I had not told anyone, and for all intents and purposes it was just another trip, like so many others… but it was not really that simple...

***

My soul was heavy, as if a very dark shadow hung over me, in spite of the warm and sunny day and the sky being almost as clear as my prospects for the future.

The piece of paper, with the most important information of my life, was still in my fingers. My gaze was lost in the horizon. The sea roared against the great rocks at the corner of the beach. It seemed to want to challenge me to face the great secret.

My mind came back in time a little to rekindle the memory of the decisive moment...

***

I read the report, with the diagnosis, in deep silence. There was not much doubt for interpretation. I looked up and saw that the doctor was staring at me very seriously, unable to hide the worry in his face.

- Any doubt?

- Only one. How long, I still have?

- It's hard to tell. In brain damages caused by clots this size, there is no way to give an accurate answer. It may be just days... Since we cannot operate, everything depends on the patient... We've had cases...

He stooped the sentence halfway. My expression told him, clearly, that I was not interested in other cases...

- Got it. Was that the reason for the hallucinations?

He smiled lightly. That sad smile made me feel completely lost and unsupported. How many times had he had to do the same procedure, knowing that the control over the lives of his patients was not in his hands, after all...

I stood up, shook his hand, and walked slowly out along the bright corridor where the morning sunlight coming in from the rectangular windows sketched obtuse geometric figures on the walls.

Inside, I felt a huge void, like nothing ever before.

***

The shrill lament of a solitary seagull brought me back immediately to the present and I broke my silence.

- We spend an entire lifetime searching for the purpose and the reason why we are here and now, without realizing that the true meaning of life is simply to live! There is no reward, no eternal life, no heaven and no hell...

- But for many, it is so much easier to "believe" in an all-powerful, over-manipulated truth and to live a big lie, which makes them happy, hopeful and lighter.

- If on the one hand it is simple, on the other hand it is extremely complicated, because we only realize that we had not enjoyed the best life can offer, when we have lost almost everything.

- Eternity is just a concept. The intensity of what we live is far more important than anything else...

The man with ginger hair and dark blue eyes, sitting next to me, faced me and stared into my eyes once more. Then, standing up, he lightly touched my shoulder, turned and left me sitting there following his walk away from me with sad eyes. Before disappearing behind the little sand dune, he turned around and waved. From afar, his eyes, although it was perhaps and only my impression, glowed with that power it did on the first time. He moved his lips and I, at that moment, fully realized what he meant.

I tore the paper into very small pieces, several times, and opened my hands, letting the wind carry away those tiny white confetti, tainted by the black fragments of the printer ink, which no longer had the same force of a few seconds ago, when the letters made words and those, brought together, composed one of the most difficult information my reason had to digest.

I got up and walked to the car which was parked next to the little restaurant. As I entered, the woman seated in the shadow of a large red and white umbrella rose and came toward me, walking steadily on top of her stiletto heels and defying the notion of balance. The elegant suit and the way she kept her hair lined up in a bun on the top of her attractive head gave me a sense that beauty, despite being a very personal concept, was a reality that always made me feel so peaceful. She opened the passenger door and said, smiling:

- Are you ready? Let's go?

I smiled, lightly, without saying anything. I just turned the key in the ignition and drove the car out of the parking lot.

In my mind, the message mumbled so many times by the redheaded man, was still evident and kept repeating in my memory, over and over again.

"You're not alone!"...

I had always believed, however, that in reality, from the beginning to the end of our lives, we had always been alone...

I adjusted the rear view mirror to check if the transport case in the back seat was securely fastened to the seat belt. The cat, an ordinary European tabby, was dozing calmly in it.

Maybe they're right, after all…

Of Sea and Men (Part 1)

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.

***