The café was frequented by the young sailors who took their places making a loud noise. They got pretty drunk and left the café with the same loud noise.
At such instances, the old man seemed even more sunken in his sad thoughts. He kept his eye on the young sailors, and sometimes even didn’t quite catch what the waiters said to him.
Usually, he didn’t drink much. More often he smoked a lot, and gazed at the ocean through the café window.
The rumor went that he used to be the captain of a huge cargo ship for quite a while, and that his ship wrecked and most of his men perished in a terrible storm near Port Elizabeth. Only he and a few of his sailors had survived. The natives also claimed that he could never recover after this tragic event and the nasty feeling of guilt. There were a lot of other stories about the old man, but nobody knew anything for sure.
He was word-grudging. His orders were short and laconic, and if anyone tried to talk to him, he gave them only brief answers just to show that he didn’t feel like having a long conversation.
Nobody knew where he lived. In the late evenings, right before the café closed for night, he went out and strolled along the shore very slowly.
The years passed by indifferently, resembling one another, until one fine day the old man came to the café accompanied by a dog. He tied the dog near the entrance and asked the waiter to give him a small bowl. Since then he always fed the dog out of that bowl.
The man and the dog took long walks together and went home together. It was quite impossible to state the breeding of the dog, but it was beautiful and seemed to be quite clever.
Those days nobody could imagine the captain without his dog. They were together all the time. You could see the old man kneeling on the beach, saying something to his companion. The companion listened to him very attentively, as if catching the meaning of every word. The man treated the animal like his peer and never talked to him in a baby talk or showed any kind of disrespect towards him.
In short, the old man’s life changed thoroughly. He wasn’t seen alone any more, and he even cheered up a little.
Days went by, and everyone noticed that those two proved to be alike. They even walked with the same gait – slow and solemn. Whenever the old man stopped, the dog immediately sat down by his feet, and they gazed at the ocean for hours.
When the winter arrived, the old man made a warm coat for the dog. They walked all day long in the city, always along the shore, of course.
In the café people tried to choose a proper name for the dog, but the old man chose it himself and addressed him as Mr. Fisher.
Nobody had any idea who Mr. Fisher was or why the old man gave this name to his dog.
***
It was already evening, and there were a few people in the café. As usual, the old man was sitting by the window, gazing at the ocean. Time and again he looked at the dog lying quietly at the door and smiled at him. Then he looked back at the ocean.
The door of the café opened with a loud bang and several drunk men came in. They took their seats by the counter and started to talk aloud.
Some time later, one of them stood up and noticed the dog.
“Hey, look at the bastard! I’ve been looking for him for ages, and here he is! He even has a collar!” the man admitted, trying to pool the leash. The dog gnashed his teeth and retreated a little.
“Now gnashing your teeth at me, hah?” – shouted the man and gave the poor dog a strong kick on his side.
The dog groaned and bit the man on his foot.
The events developed dramatically.
“You son of a bitch!” the man screamed, took a small gun out of his pocket and fired two shots at the poor dog.
The dog fell down dead.
The old man stood up slowly, went towards the man, took a large jack-knife out of his pocket and stabbed him twice between his ribs.
* * *
The trial didn’t take long. There were only a few people in the court when the judge asked the accused what the motive of the murder was. There followed a brief but very clear answer:
“He killed my friend!”
After a short pause, he added:
“He killed my last hope!”
Nobody had seen the old man since then. Some people say that having served his time, he went to live in another city. Some others claim that he died in the prison. But nobody is deeply concerned with his fate.
Pakistan
July 2, 2011
A PILGRIM
There was a very long way ahead, and very little food left. He was shuffling along the road with great difficulty. His clothes were ragged. Now and again he leaned on his stick, resting a little. Then he proceeded his way. He drank water out of the creeks he happened to come across.
Villages were scarce on his way. He visited them full of hope, and left them totally disappointed.
He asked for charity at every house, but he had never been shown in. He spent nights outside. It was a rare case when somebody offered him a piece of bread.
He had been traveling for quite a while now, and everywhere he stopped he was met with indifference, and was even laughed at. Now he knew for sure that sympathy – one of the major traits of humanity – had disappeared forever. Having left one of the villages, he stopped in a meadow and meditated for a long time.
He recalled nearly every village he had visited.
Something sank down his stomach.
He was extremely exhausted.
He looked up into the sky. He kept looking for some time, and then he muttered to himself:
“What has happened to these poor creatures, I wonder?”
He kept thinking for a little while, and then added:
“It seems it’s very early yet.”
He sat down.
He kept sitting for a while, and then he suddenly vanished.
Pakistan
July 3, 2011
M HOMECOMING
That day the weather was wretched. It was raining heavily, and the evening gloom was falling rapidly.
A middle-aged man, soaking wet and stooping under the weight of his drenched clothes, was walking slowly along the street. He seemed to be indifferent to the rain since he was walking with a peaceful air on his face.
He attempted to light a cigarette but he couldn’t, his cigarette and matches soaking instantly. He threw them away, put his hands into his pockets, shivered a little, and went on walking.
There was nobody in the street. Only a couple of cars passed by, and he also spotted a stray dog running across the street and round the corner.
The man, Otar by the name, knew where he was heading for, but he was not in a hurry. Perhaps, it was of no use hurrying any more – he had been already wet through anyway.
He stopped at the familiar house.
“I haven’t been here for some twenty or even thirty years,” he thought and rang the bell.
The door was answered by a woman of forty. She couldn’t recognize him at once, but when she did, her face froze in amazement.
“When did you arrive?” she asked in a low voice, having regained her senses.
“Today morning,” Otar answered looking into her eyes.
The rain was pouring down his head, sticking his hair to his face, but the man stood still.
“Come in, you are wet all over,” the woman murmured.
Otar went in, took off his wet, old-fashioned overcoat and put it down at the wall. Only now he felt how very chilled he was. He coughed a couple of times and swept his wet hair back with his hands in embarrassment.
They went into the sitting room. Nothing had changed here, except that everything seemed a bit faded in the course of time. The fire was blazing in the same fireplace, tiled in brown tiles, like some twenty years ago.