the dock




maru delgado



If anyone could have seen the confused admiration that incongruously mingled strangeness in the eyes of Jerome, that person would have thought the fate of the universe was revealed in his abstracted eyes.

It was near the dock. He was watching the sun disappearing in the ocean, painting the sky of an orange that could pierce the eyes. I was sitting three feet away, in a wooden bench that had lost its color and its metal parts were rusted from the rain, the ocean breeze or whatever. The wind was soft, and brought a light but nauseating smell of the sea. He was standing, leaning on a blue railing; sad, old... Trying uselessly to guess what he thought was becoming an unhealthy obsession.

40 minutes were gone since I sat down to watch him. He was crying. He pulled a handkerchief from his brown pants back pocket. I clearly distinguished on it the initials J. S. in golden letters. He wiped his tears, gave a sigh of resignation and continued the path to the town.

the curiosity invaded my body so I quickly got up and started walking behind the man who, with his mystery, seduced me to follow him, meet him and maybe get to understand him. I hurried or slowed the pace as he did, I was afraid he could notice me. He reached the main road, stopped at the corner, in front of a bar. He observed it for ten seconds and without thinking any further, he entered. I waited seven minutes to enter the premises. He began to measure each of my movements, my breathing, the sound of my footsteps, my attitude. I started to sweat while experiencing a heat behind my back ripping through the skin.

I sat on the right side of the bar, pretending to be calm, next to a mirror that showed me clearly the sweat on my forehead. I looked at him, and yet his eyes were directed towards me, but the look was different, it was not hard, but sad, like trying to hold back tears when swallowing saliva. A waiter approached the table and asked him what he wanted to drink. I did not listen to what he said. Then, the waiter came immediately to my table and asked the same.

- What would you like to drink sir?
- A cold beer, please… One question: What did that gentleman over there ordered?
- A glass of rum.
- Please, give him another as soon as he finishes with the first.
- Perfect.

As soon as he got the glass with the brown liquid, he drank it on a sip, grimaced (clenched lips with the upper teeth) and lowered his head as if trying to remember or forget something. Immediately another glass of rum was placed before him. He looked in bewilderment at the waiter, who said:

- On behalf of the young man of that table...over there.

He raised his head and his eyes looked at me, this time right to me and saluted me with his hand.

- Come here kid! – He said.

I froze for a moment. My legs were shaking and my hands were sweating. I left my seat slowly, crossed half the room to get to his table and I sat.

- Well, well. Why were you following me from the dock kid?

I stared for three seconds, then looked away. I was silent, ashamed. I wanted to run.

- Tell me what's your name? What do you do?
- Matt sir. I study arts. I want to be a painter.
- Oh my…! A painter. How old are you son?
- 25
- 25! And why is it that a guy of 25 years old would follow a 80 year older? Not to rob me, clearly.

A few minutes of awkward silence passed.

- He continued, because it was impossible not to, I observed in the spring, and his gaze disconcerted me, pulled me, I was curious. I followed him just because I wanted to know who he was.

- Hah! You're a strange boy. My name’s Sshroede, Jerome Sshroeder and today I had a revelation while I was watching the sea and I'm not lying, I was scared. These things happen, I'm sure to you too.

Gulped the second glass of rum, I offered him another one but he shook his head declining my offer.

- Boy it’s late and there is much to be done. But tomorrow, here, 5 p.m.
- Well, see you tomorrow then. - I said doubtfully

He patted me on the shoulder and walked out that wooden door.

That night I painted him, standing on the blue railing, watching the sea. I painted exactly as I remembered him, with snow-white hair, brown pants, and black sandals. I decided to give him the painting the following day. I signed: From Matt, a friend.

At 5:00 sharp, I was sitting at the same table, anxious, nervous, with the painting wrapped in newspaper sheets under my arm. Suddenly the waiter approached me:

- You were with Mr. Sshroeder yesterday right?
- Yes, exactly.
- Take, he left this to me to hand it over.

I carefully opened the envelope:

Javier the painter,
Sorry I cannot attend today, but I realized that this is the right day to die, the sea revealed it to me, thanks for the company.
I will always be watching you.
                                                    Jerome.

I never forgot that afternoon, I will remember his image forever. I gave the picture to the bar owner, I told him it should be hung on the wall as a symbol of an old story.

I had never understood exactly why I met this man or why I talked to him and painted him. At least not until today: I am now turning 80. I own a pair of brown pants, black sandals and I have snow-white hair. I’m standing here, facing the sea, leaning on the blue railing, shedding tears because tomorrow is the right day to die.

Without turning around I see a boy at the corner of my eye sitting on a wooden bench, watching me with curiosity and pity.
He will follow me. I'm sure.

I think I fancy a glass of rum.

more by maru delgado

paleta de asfalto

madhouse

the solitude of the city

fragmentos