The other

An odd moment occurred while I was out for my morning walk; I attempted to dismiss it as a phantasm, or the day-dream of a chap who’d read too much popular theoretical physics, Jorge Louis Borges, and speculative fiction, but I couldn’t shake the event from my consciousness.

I was tired; I’d slept in and I had to force myself to get outside for fresh air. About half-way around my usual walk, I came to a fork in the path; I could cut back to the right, a short-cut through the park, or I could continue left, as usual. I felt an odd shimmer deep in the centre of my being; I turned to follow the left-hand path, but he — the other — turned right. He soon vanished into the ethereal space of another world, but I saw him clearly for a moment. He was favouring his left leg, probably due to our sore hip. He turned around, smiled, and said something before he faded into obscurity. His words were swallowed  quickly, as if absorbed in water, but I think he said, “Take care.” He looked exhausted, like he carried a great weight; there were lines of fatigue etched on his face, but he radiated kindness. My heart went out to him, and I wished him well as I continued on my way.

I felt light, energetic, and my mood had risen; I’ve been somewhat moody for the past few weeks, and I suddenly wondered why. I think the other had taken a load of my suffering with him. My hip felt better and my soul was cleansed. He hadn’t taken it all; that would be unfair, but his altruism was stunning.

I wonder how his future will unfold; although he enriched my life, I think his actions raised him to another level. I wish there was something I could do for him. And maybe there is: I can acknowledge his gift by spreading his kindness. I hope I’m equal to the task.

I hope our paths will converge again someday; it would be fun to regale each other with the stories of our separate lives.

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remembering Borges…

I just re-read The Other (from The Book of Sand) by Jorges Luis Borges, and remembered an incident from my past…

I was in an art supply store on Granville Island. There was only one other customer; he appeared to be in his mid-fifties and was about my height, I decided. His hair was fine and white, yet his eyebrows were a thick, dark brown, and the contrast provided the eyebrows a curious distinction. His eyes were green; however, they sometimes appeared blue when he turned toward the light (which flowed into the room from windows high above and poured down and through Brownian dust-motes). He was very fit, but not heavily muscled. His forearms were extraordinarily large: Popeye-like. In marked disparity, he had long, elegant fingers. He was dressed in khaki pants, a light purple sweatshirt, and worn sandals. He stood by the pencils, sketching on a pad that was there for customers to experiment on. Occasionally ― or so I imagined ― he paused, glanced at me and then refocused on his doodle.  I had finished my shopping, but I needed to see what he had been doing. I lurked through the isles; never straying too far from the man, eying the paints, paper, brushes, and all and sundry with perfunctory attention.

… It seemed like eons passed before he looked at me, tipped his hat (a hat? I could swear he wasn’t wearing a hat before!) and ambled out the front door. I was sure he hadn’t taken the piece of paper with him, so I hastened over, tore the scribbled doodle off the pad and stuffed it in my shirt pocket after a quick glance at it. I bought some watercolor paper and a couple of tubes of paint and then walked ― in what I considered to be a leisurely manner ― to my car; after getting in and looking around surreptitiously for the mysterious stranger, I slipped the small doodle from my pocket: it looked, at first, like a scribbled mess. Yet after examining it for several moments I could discern an abstract image. It was a man’s face; in fact, it was a drawing of me, and a very good one. He had captured my mood in an inconceivable way; I looked curious, apprehensive, and sly.

There was some writing in the bottom, right-hand corner; at first, I thought it was a signature. But I eventually realized it was a short message: “Keep trying; you’re getting closer.” And in smaller lettering: “And get some exercise; respect our body!”