Being man (part 2)

The sun had sunk lower than when I saw it playing with the birds earlier. It was doomed to be robbed out of sight by the nebulous things hanging in stripes of gray and pale orange a little above where the sky kissed the sea. I observed him intensely fixed, although perhaps unthematically, on the sun in anticipation of its wrestle against the clouds. I was sure he was wishing they did not show up that afternoon, for he wanted well to behold the drama which the western horizon was about to unfold as the sun would finally allow itself to sink, surrendering its will to the waters. Then the color of gloom gradually invaded the place, and the pain that the problems that were weighing him down caused surged again intensified. But he liked it that way. For him, it was as though the twilight sympathized with him. When the twilight with which he had struck a brand of friendship left, and the night pushed its way in, he would not feel that the beings which heard his secrets in the sun would leave him in the dark, alone, because the twilight would leave behind the stars, scattered in magical artistry across the horizon and send the moon to brighten up the night. The sundown was a natural phenomenon that gave him courage and inspired in him hope. It vividly taught him that there still lingered sparks of hope amid all the darkness in his world. Hope for the sun.

As the stars began to glisten like diamonds sprawled upon velvet blackness, I judged it was then safe to shake him out of his solitude.

“Mark!” I called out to him, who at that time had its back on the sand. He remained lying and showed no hint of having heard his name. That’s typically him, I thought. “Mark!”

Slowly and with obvious reluctance, he got to his feet. He waved back to me but did not say a word. I took several steps to get nearer so that my voice could reach him quite audibly. By now, the movements of the wind filled the distance between us.

“Will you care for some more beer?” I asked, raising my bottle after which I drank what little remained in it. Of course, it was unnecessary to raise the question.

“Hey, what do you think?” he returned my question. “Come on, bring them here.” I then knew that the two he brought with him earlier had gone to his stomach.

“Alright, in a minute.” (January, 1998)

To be continued...