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A friend told me about the old man. “You gotta see him,” I was informed. At which point I found myself on the receiving end of gossip directed at the craggy-faced steam engineer who occasionally entered our world from the bowls of our office building to do whatever he did. I never noticed him much, I just knew he stayed to himself. “Lots of people take lunch breaks outside.” I stated. “Not like this, man. He’s been doing the same weird thing for years.” At noon I took my bag lunch, left the building and found him exactly where he went “everyday from 12 to 1” on the corner of Fourth and Main. He was wearing a dark wool coat that could have easily belonged to one of the street people that bummed spare change along the avenue. An equally old toque graced his thinning scalp protecting him from the mid march chill. He stood facing the sun, with eyes closed, slowly peeling a navel orange which he ate. I sat down on a bench several feet from him with my own meal, watching. I realized then that I had seen him there many times before but had thought nothing of it. I had always been briskly going somewhere and he was far enough back from the corner to be unnoticed. At exactly 12:58 he opened his eyes, placed the peels of his orange into a frayed side pocket and walked back to the office building. I was curious, but not overly so. People have their rituals. The next day he followed the same routine. And the next. He never deviated, never ate any other fruit, just an orange, while standing, facing the sun. Finally, I mustered the courage to approach the old man. I stood quietly beside him and was about to touch his elbow when he turned his creased face to mine and with eyes unopened, spoke. “Bet yer wonderin’ what I’m doing?” He caught me completely of guard. I fumbled over the beginnings of an apology but he rescued me. “’S alright young fella. Been asked that ques’ion a hun’erd times,” He turned his head back to the sun, ”Been doin' this all my life. “My pa came from Californi' for the big rush in ‘98 and darn near passed away from lack o’ vitamins and sunlight. Took up gittin’ his health from oranges he traded fer his gold. Kinda liked to eat ‘em while soakin’ up the sun. Reminded him o’ home.” He took a thoughtful bite of his orange, ”Taught me the same, my pa.” Then he turned to me once again and opened his eyes. There was a gentle and ageless wisdom in his gaze, “Real relaxin’. You otta try it.” And that was it. He said no more and I had nothing further to ask. I joined him the next day. There are three of us now who stand with the old man during the long sun deprived months of winter and just relax, “soakin’ up the sun”. Back to WRITING. Back to TOP. |
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Comment on this story: askwyatt@wyattsworld.ca |
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