There is a strange old man sitting at the table opposite
me. He seems to be chewing his cud,
making his sparse moustache rhythmically bounce up to conceal wide
nostrils. The loose skin below his eyes
sits in overlapping layers that continue down his face and neck into his grey
sweater. He was wearing an Andy Capp
hat, now removed to expose a shiny pate fringed by the remaining vestiges of a
former hairstyle.
We are both in the hospital cafeteria. It is a dull place with fluorescent lighting
and an uninspiring menu. I am typing on
my laptop and he is waiting for the coffee and sausage rolls that his female
companion is bringing to share with him.
He watches me. His
expression gives away almost nothing, although I guess that he is either concerned
or fascinated by my activity. The
strange noise he emits as he eats is distracting. We continually sneak glances at one another,
seeking more information or more evidence about the other.
His female companion, most likely a long-term spouse based
on the lack of conversation between them, cuts his sausage roll in half. She looks like a man. Now finished with her own sausage roll, she
has started on his. He goes with it,
without complaint. Finishing what remains on his plate, he takes out a large
handkerchief, honks his nose and wipes his forehead. They continue to sit
without speaking, although the space between them is not quiet.
Now ready to leave, she busses their tray while he redresses
in his coat and hat. Looking my way, he
offers a farewell squint in my direction before exiting.
12 November 2013
