I will be watching the grass grow

“You think?” makes Cayk, narrowing his glance on his friend, contemplating that idea.

“I do not think : I remember. She talked of something like that with Ina while I was with them. Although they both thought I was sleeping and not listening. ”

“It must come with having being deprived of any human contact for too long, then?” attempts to clarify Cayk.

Nystan shrugs. ” Does it matters so much now? I mean. . . “He pauses in consideration. ” I do not know how you could have find about the reason for this and remediate to it. By what I got of her tone when she was speaking with Ina about you, she was sincerely sad to put you through all that. ”

The smaller man pats his taller friend again : ” So, what do you do? You put all of this in a trash. After all, she is gone now, right?”

The man lies on a couch, taking a nap into total darkness.

A chime resounds and, soon after, the thick curtain that was maintaining the obscurity waves like a flag with the breeze. It clacks on the wall, casting a ray of light on and off in the dark haired man face. He lets a deep sigh out his mouth then takes a breath from that fresh wind coming from the coast.

He moves his tongue a couple of times in his mouth, with a little click click. He opens one eye, takes second deep breath and opens the second. Placing one hand flat n the ground, the other on his chest to hold to the panama resting there, he rises to a sitting position with a push of the hand on the floor.

The obscurity returns as well as the scorching heat.

This is not Canada, alright! So at least it is a dry heat and not one where Kocha would have had problem breathing.

“Oh boy. ” Makes Cayk. “How come I am thinking of that suddenly?”

In the little case where he is, his eyes reach a familiar point now, where he knows there is three brown bags pilled up. His hand reaches his forehead and he rubs it. He makes that noise again with the tongue moving in his mouth. He stands and walks to a plank on the ground, removing it to gather a bottle of fresh water. He replaces the hay and the plank.

” Chateau Neuf Du Pape! Sante! ”

He declares, drinking out of the bottle before coughing and letting a part of his precious water (for this region of the world) spreading on the ground. “Again? Oh, please, Kocha, where ever you are, stop torturing me. ” He says, dabbing his lower lip with his sleeve.

“Knock! Knock! ” makes a voice that he knows well, with some electrostatic static static distortion.

Still with his bottle at hand, Cayk is on the move. He reaches the portable and taps on the keyboard. ”Nystan, call back later, I receive you very badly. In more, I need to recharge my battery. ” He points out.

“Alright. . . psss. . . psss. . . later. . . psss. . . good. . . . psss. ” chirp the computer speakers while Nystan voice is increasingly fading in the static.

The tall man stretches above the machine with a smile turning one corner of his lips. The container is lift at his mouth and he drinks a bit from it again.

“Now. . . where is that crank again?” he questions to himself, looking high and low.

“Oh, here it is”.

He takes the object and inserts it without a moment to think or search for where it goes. He ensnares it with his two first fingers and must place his thumb over those fingers in order to hold his grip while turning it up.

A shiver gets down his spine and he slow down with a sigh full of despair.

“If you find this too hard to do, hire a hamster. ” he says, his voice inflected in a more childish tone. He accelerates hi movement while adding : ”Oh, Kocha! Having so much imagination was not a blessing; it was a curse, my friend. A terrible load and a curse. ”

He sighs again but has no time to complete the recharge of the battery before the computerized voice puts an end to his thought.

“You’ve got mail! ”

“Who. ” he more orders than demands.

“Ina Meyers D. ”

“Read” Cayk firmly request while continuing to turn the crank.

The computer bips. ”Incorrect command. ”

“What?” explodes the tall man. ” I just want you to read it up. . . ”

The computer doesn’t execute nor answers back.

“Oh, I see. ” realizes suddenly Cayk.

Clearing his throat, he says : ” Open mail. ”

Now the computer behaves. “Mail opened. ” it replies with its mechanic tone.

“Read” orders Cayk.

And the computer begins with a toneless voice :

“Cayk.

I hope this letter finds you well.

I heard that you had a few days off and I thought I could come by to your post.

We could sort up all those pins Esilian gave to you.

I must confess that I my patience grew thin, given that it has been two years now since Kocha’s death.

I heard no word from you about, like if I have things that she wrote for me”

The tall man remove the crank, discards it in the place it was before. When he hears Ina’s comment, he blushes. ”Oops! Two. . . years. Not that much?”

He peruses the case in search for a calendar, but finds not one.

“You have to begin somewhere, at some point. What are you afraid of finding in those writings, Cayk?

Yours, truly.

Ina. ”

Rubbing his chin, the man stays in his now squatting position, a hand holding his balance by pinching the edge of the work table.

Cayk looks again at the three bags pilled up in the corner of the case. He sighs, walks to them, open one and plunge the hand in it. He ruffles the content a bit before he grins and extracts the hand. Four little memory’s pins pricked his big paw and are holding there. He collects them with his other hand.

“Let’s see what we got here. ” does he declare, satisfied. ” You have to begin somewhere. “He says to himself, repeating what Ina told him via the computerized voice just a few minutes ago.

The four pins are placed in the archaic pencil’s tray. They slide through the orange body of the HB pencils and bell when they reach the bottom. The pencil’s tray being in fact a recycled decorated snapper’s can.

Cayk is annoyed. He removes each pencil, delicately, one by one. Then one of the in stands and he takes it.

“Ok, you first. ” he pronounces with a wincing.

His eyes travel from the pencils tray to the computer screen, then to the sloth where those type of pin has to be inserted.

He tilts his head, his hand move forward, the elbow trailing at few distances from the makeshift work’s table.

The man sighs and his halted in the progression of his movement by the sound of wood on wood movement. His elbow had provoked a chain reaction : The HB pencils roll in cascade and drops on the soft battered dirt ground below.

He doesn’t look to them; he just makes a shuffling of the feet from the middle of their position to the side before he places them firmly in the center.

With a little push, he inserts the pin.

The screen of the computer lights up and he peers at it, his hand folding on hi chest, crossing his arms and sitting more comfortably.

“If you’re as long as usual, Kocha, I’d better be at ease. ” he states, waiting for the things to load.

“Homage to Kocha, by Walter Dripplet. ”

Cayk frowns at the title he just read. His eyes inevitably move toward the low bottom corner.

“Prior watching : 0”

“ZERO! ” he shouts with a jumps, taking the screen of the laptop with both hands.

Taking the vocal command as being for it, the computer returns the pin to the absolute zero position, and it starts playing again.

Cayk’s nostril flickers a little, he calms down and sits as he was previously sitting, abandoning the tip of the chair position the fact his friend never watched this up shortly brought him to adopt.

A chest appears, out of focus, and then it moves backward, letting two arms and also the realization that this person wears a wool off-white sweater with a black jacket over it.

Then the throat appears, leaving no doubt that this person is a young man, probably that Walter Dripplet.

He sits in front of the lens with a bright smile, the one of one that has accomplished something.

“Hiya mate! How are you today? Probably not in Ubber state, huh?” begins the young man with a strong British accent. ” When I learned you had cancer, I’ve talked with a lot of your online ‘contacts’” He continues, only his eyes displaying a bit of concern.

Cayk, on his side, jumps again. “STOP” he command the computer. “Did he just say : Cancer?”

“Affirmative. Cancer has been pronounced. . . 3 . . . seconds . . . ago. ” answers the electronic female voice.

“Oh boy! ” express Cayk, with wrinkles appearing on his forehead. “Resume. ” he orders in a lower tone.

“I took this old fashion camera and I decided to make a little movie so you start realizing how many good deeds you did in your life. How many people has their life changed forever because they had met you and you inspired them? Now, you are probably crying. ” The man comically pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket. ” You always found us, Anglophone, a bit peculiar to use that instead of Disposable, but I washed this one, you can use it. ” The folded handkerchief move forward, but of course not throughout the flat screen. The young man throws it off camera and his hand return to his side, empty. ” I will make sure it comes with the pins. So, well, dab your eyes, sit tight. . . here we go! ” The young man raises and, as he walks toward the lens, the image fades to black.

The background sounds are so disturbing that Cayk has to adjust the volume of the speaker. Another image fades in and it shows a brick wall.

The repetitive sound of a train passing in the back ground can be heard for a moment.

Cayk moans : ”Amateur! ” But waits for the image to clarify.

A title shows “What you did for hunger”. Then a voice, a rough male voice, interrupts the background sound. ” Am I presentable enough?”

The camera pans to finally caught the subject, a man in his sixties adjusting a tie to his neck and placing his side hairs to cover as much as he can the bald top of his head. He takes a comb from his pocket, a comb that misses a few teeth, he licks t than pass it in his hair to fix them.

Another rough hand comes into focus and the comb is borrowed by a shorter man looking like a freshly thawed version of Cro-Magnon.

As the camera adjusts itself to frame, it moves a bit downward, finally having into its sight a third person, an old lady with a tape over her nose.

The three of them appears quite nervous and stands glue one to the others in front of the cement wall.

“You are perfect. ” come the out of field British voice. ” Go ahead. I am filming. ”

The bald man blushes, looking at his feet and shuffling them a moment.

His companion stops combing his beard and the comb stays stuck s in there.

The lady plays with her glasses frame, pushing them backward on her nose. She gives a few look to the two other and to the lens, back and forth. Then she tights her fist. Her voice gets out a bit shaky : Thank you for all the fruits, and the hot-dog. ”

“And the respect. . . ” adds the Cro-Magnon looking man.

“We. . . we. . . did not appreciated it at first. ” avows the bald man, unable to look directly at the camera.

“Yeah. ” speaks up the Cro-Magnon guy once again, trying to nervously get the comb out his beard. ” A watermelon instead of money. Lot did not like you at all. . . ”

“But thank you. . . ” insist the lady in a blue coat, her arm straight, her fists tighten and she rises up and down on the tips of her toes. ” For not giving up on us. ”

“Yeah, we thought you did. ” remarks the younger weird looking guy. “When you stopped to show up. We did not know you were dying. . . ”

“Hey, do not say that” chides the bald man, looking to his companion and removing with an exasperated gesture the comb in his beard to places it back in his pocket.

He then turns his head and look at the lens, warmly, a tear dangling at his eye’s corner. ” Thanks for all, you’re an angel. Get well soon. ”

“Oh, yes, and bring other hot-dogs. ” mentions the old lady, joining hands with a greedy tone while the image is fading. It left enough time to see that the bald man argued on what the old lady just said, but not enough to know what he said to her in whole.

“Certainly not words of love. ” says Cayk with a teehee. “What an odd trio! ”

Then there is a succession of faces of all type that fade in the time to say “thank you”, then fade out : Men, women, children. They pass so fast, Cayk has no time counting them.

“Thank you, Koch! ”

“Thank you. . . ”

“You’re an angel”

“God bless you! ”

“Thank you! ”

The last images of the “What you did for hunger” ends on a girl looking right and left, dressed in a blue and white summers dress that she outgrown. She is not smiling, but then the smile bloom and reveals the missing teeth for a girl of that age. The tongue passes through the hole and she says slowly : Thank you! ” before running to hide off camera.

“Pause” orders Cayk before raising, stretching and yawning. The shirt lifts so his button-belly shows briefly. He holds to one elbow with hi hand while his arms are in that upper position, behind his head. He does it alternatively, from one arm to the other.

Regaining his normal stance, he pulls on the shirt so it covers him normally. A gesture he is doing since so long, that is almost a ritual now. He is just older, hairier and taller than he was when he was a boy.

His tongue clacks in is mouth. He rubs his belly and looks around him. The curtain is still flapping by moment, bringing that nice breeze, but also a smell he simply loves : Rains! This is coming, and this is welcome.

The scorching heat returns for the moment. But it would be worst if the curtain was opened.

He moves gradually to the trap he went some times ago to fetch water. He crouches and opens it. He touches, more than he sees with the pale desk lamp lighting.

“Ah! ” he emits, with a very satisfied tone. He pulls the canister out, turning it to try to read the label.

“Jewel of the modern life! Instant hot tea! ” he mentions looking at the label.

He breaks the seal and it is not too long before he hears the bubbling sound of boiling water inside the can. The distinctive smell of green hot tea invades the immediate area of it. Cayk smiles and extend his hand to the stash, getting a translucent bag some chocolate chips cookies out.

A small filet of vapor escape now the can opening The wall of it had become warm, if not hot, so the man hurries near the makeshift worktable and let the two objects he was holding to down beside the keyboard.

He walks to the pantry and soon comes back with a cup, spoon and a little plate. He places all this in front of him and pours the boiling liquid in the cup.

He takes sips with a delighted expression. His eyes are closed for that short moment and he breath slowly. Calm, silence! He sighs and places the cup on the desk beside him before ordering to the computer : Resume.

“Inspiration” is the title that slowly appears on the images fading in.

This time it is the sun’s rays passing through some exotic greenery. Something plays in the rays of the sun and the cameraman tries to keeps it in focus, with a lot of problem. The camera is dancing.

Cayk takes a chocolate chips cookie and nibs in it. ” Come on. ” he says, like if the cameraman could have heard him.

A female voice comes from out of camera. It has the texture and the structure of South-America. ” Wait Walter! Let the camera rolls and they will come. Just let it there. ”

The camera is posed on the ground. A pair of pale leather boots and another more western looking and pointy passed briefly into the camera field.

“Awe, he could have caught that while mounting the movies. ” comments Cayk.

“At least, this would have made Kocha laughs. ” He says, now the mouth full of the cookie. A few crumbs of it fall on the keyboard and Cayk sweeps them before taking another bite in another cookie.

Blades of grass obscure the left of the lens. The rest of the picture is occupied by a nice sun’s ray, well defined in the tree shadow.

Everything stays in that state for a few minutes and Cayk slowly falls in a more indolent state.

Suddenly something hits the lens, Cayk backs of and the chair capsizes with him. The cookies fly in the air. Boom!

The sound of a man body falling hardly on the battered dirt ground.

The cup of tea vibrates in the plate, a bit of liquid splashes out momentarily, but only t drip into the plate.

The spoon is projected, though, and when it finally falls, it hit Cayk on the forehead while he is still laying down, not realizing what just occurred.

“Owe! ” Cayk emits.

“What was that?”

One hand, the second, then the face of the man makes it passed the ledge of the table.

Cayk blinks, looking at the screen with an incredible expression, eyes wide opened, mouth gasping, breathing slowly.

“What as that?” he repeats again, trying to identify what are all those oranges spots thrown at great velocity in the camera lens. Till one is right in focus.

“Butterflies! ” he makes out of his amazement.

“Kocha, It is Kate from Guatemala. I thought my best way to thank you would be to show you something as colorful and moving my life become since I met you. ”

“No kidding. ” says Cayk, speaking over the voice of the South-American lady. He loses a bit of what she says. He takes the chair, replaces it on its four legs and sits to watch again, in time to see and the conclusion.

“That is Monarch Butterflies, your favorite. Get well soon! Finishes the South-American.

The camera flips and while the picture fade out to black, a smiling cheeky face, obviously that of the one that just spoke, shows. The sun’s rays filter through all the curly strand of hair escaping from the tresses. She is bathes in waves and waves of Monarch butterflies.

Cayk is still under the astonishment of this, but he choose to not stay there while waiting for the way too long transition this amateur cineaste made. He kneels to gathers back as many cookies as he can, and the spoon.

He is back to the screen and has problem, at first, to recognize that sound coming to his ears.

He frowns and when he finally identifies it, he turns abruptly and rushes to sit again at his spectator’s seat.

“Didgeridoos! ”

He peers back. No kangaroo, no koala, no sheep, no dingo. This is a shaking camera that tries to focus on a landscape.

It becomes clearer and clearer.

No voice comes. Just the didgeridoos and then the landscape reveal itself in its entire splendor : Uluru by sunset.

Cayk’s jaw drops. He looks at the screen, then at the covered window of is case, then again to the screen.

Some simple words appear : ” I knew you dreamt to come. This is my thanks for what you changed in my life. <3 Logan. ”

Not taking the time to command the computer, the tall man pulls directly on the memory pin.

“Pin ejected. ” says the computer.

Meditative, now, and taping on his palm with the tiny stick he is holding between the index and the thumb of the other hand, the friend move to his window.

He stops his taping and reach with the hand not holding the pin, to the curtain of his window.

He stays there, in silence, admiring the landscape at this moment of the day : Uluru by sunset. Not exactly alike in color, but the same shape, the same angle, the same distance.

“I think I will have to talk with the landlord. With Logan. We now have someone else in common. ”

“So? You did begin?” says the lady, walking in the case.

She is wearing a long ample dress, very simple and comfy. She carries a burlap bag covered with emblematic pins, cats and small flowers made of baize. All the colors are natural one or neutral except one flower that is of a deep indigo.

The man entering after her, luggage in hands is tightly garbed in a three piece suit, like the one of a banker from the old times. Once he is in, he leaves the luggage on the battered dirt ground serving as floor to the little facility.

“Make yourself home, here, Ina. I am going to sleep in Logan’s place while you stay in the region. ” He affectionately addresses the lady that is neither older nor apparently that younger of him. He starts rummaging around and leaving all the cupboards, traps and drawers opened on his passage. There are not a lot of them, but he does that very meticulously.

“Thanks Cayk! ” she chirps, placing her burlap bag over the luggage by unfastening the strap holding it to her body. “I think I know why Kocha instantly became so fond of you. ” she casually states, glancing at the window near the door. The tall man stifles a reply to that. H crouches and his head vanishes in a cupboard. “You had a lot in common. It stood up just in a few hours I am with you.

Cayk’s hand braces on the divider, but his head stays in the cabinet opening. His spine gains in rigidity, but he maintains his posture.

“Either she took of you before we met, me and her, or you took of her. ” There is a muffled sound and when Ina turns her head to see what happened, she is surprised to see Cayk, sitting on the ground and rubbing the back of his head, pain painted on his mien. She rushes to him. ” Are you alright?” she instantly question, pulling on his other arm, the one not bearing the rubbing hand, to raise him before he even asks for it.

“Hey, stop pulling. ” he begs. “I will stand when I will stand. ”

“alright. ” she says, letting his arm fall like a bag of potatoes. She dusts her hands off and walks to sit on the couch. ” Even in that, see?”

“You’re lucky you understood, Ina. Because I fear personally I never made my mind over all that. I was just doing my job. ” he avows, standing now and walking toward the makeshift worktable. “I would have hoped it stayed like that. ” He finished, hovering now near the computer, placing both hands on either sides of the keyboard and peering at the out of function screen.

“Sure, but is it important now?” demands Ina without a once of compassion.

“Probably not. ” he says, mumbling. ”Nystan asked the same question when we were at the funeral home, two years. . . ”

“Now three. ” she corrects him.

He glances at her from underneath his right arm. ” Three? Then why you two are you keeping bringing this up, then?”

“Because, I, for once, do feel there are many mysterious things, unrevealed things, unfold, untold, unheard between you two. ” She reveals to him while getting to the open trap. “I kind of love to solve mysteries? Not you?” She admits, beaming when her glance reach the object of her quest in the hole. She squats and takes a canister of instant tea, pulling the safety device to start the boiling process.

“I do, but not when it involves thing I do not want to know or things I have no interest in. Like the one concerning dead people. They’re dead. Knowing more about them change nothing. . . ”

“Nothing for them, Cayk. But for the surviving. It could change a lot. Bringing their mind to peace. Sorry to say that to you my friend. ” she begins. A sip is taken from the now ready tea. Then she finishes what she was saying : ” But I do not feel you are at peace at all regarding this particular dead person. My, to tell you the truth. I never saw you so tense in the years since I know you. That is why I was speaking of other matters while we were outside this place. ”

“You should stay on others subjects, then. ” He retorts now all amiability left out of his tone.

Ina sips her tea, considering her friend in silence while he sits. “Think of it like a necessary pain, Cayk, like an abscess that has to blow, eventually. Who would you prefer to do it with? Me or someone that will not suffer through this with you?” She offers to his assess.

“Just not today, I had a hard week. ” He whines, almost.

“Than there is more on your side than on hers that is enigmatic. Since I do not suspect you of being ill-intended when you told her you was her friend, you’re current behavior is perplexing me. ” She explains.

There is a silence during what Cayk just pushes on a pencil tip to open or close it.

Click ! Click! Click ! Click!

This would have fall on a lot of people nerves, not on Ina’s one. She is deep in her supposition, biting on the skin under her index. “Awe…that I took from you. ”

She says, removing the limb from her mouth.

Cayk stops his nervous game and laugh. “We took upon everyone we meet, it seems?”

Ina smiles. “Yeah. Meet for more than a minute. ” She says before a pause. ” I did not mean to upset you. I just want to help and for the past few years, you just acted like if you never met Kocha. It hurt me and I needed you to know. I just wished that the fact I was here could take us to a closure. ”

“A closure on what?” asks the man, now peaceful and assertive.

“I do not know. Did not find you this fact bizarre? I mean. She did not know me for that long and she opened up to me before even knowing who I was, what I was doing for a living. Even before she knew what gender I was, somehow. Did not you find it special that she was so honest with the both of us, despite we were strangers, bottom line?” she suggests.

Cayk just shrugs, at first.

“I would like to pierce that mystery. It became a mystery, since she is no more there to explain. You as I, we were never able to be that much honest with her. We hid things, it is normal. ” She continues.

“I thought it was perhaps a mental illness, so I pitied her at first. ” Cayk admits, slightly annoyed by that thought. His hand gives his state of mind as he is chasing , for an instant, an invisible fly around his temple.

“Really? Well, I do not know if it will relieve you. But she knew. She suspected you were thinking that of her. ” lets softly slip Ina.

The tall man looks intensely now to the woman.

“You’re not the first telling me that, you know?” he mentions.

“Yes, Logan certainly told you. ” Mischievously adds the woman, taking place on the couch, now. She rather lets herself fall on it.

“I do not believe in anything woo-woo. ” Hurry to announce Cayk.

“Neither do I. ” states the guest with conviction. ”I just accepted as true the explanation she gave of it herself : her life rendered her that way, tuned her to taps into what is hidden from her eyes in order for her to survive. You know that survivor skill that always made her retreat magically at the good moment to escape the worst situation. What made her so resilient? Not invincible, just never really giving up?” completes Ina.

“I would have just preferred she gave up on me. ” Repeats Cayk, going back on his prior bad mood.

“She was not on you. It was not you and you in particular. I think you definitely missed the big picture in that. “

He shrugs a couple of time while Ina seems chiding him. She even stands up again, fists on her hips. He makes a move her side. ” Peruses all you want from it. He pointed now to the heap of brown bags. ” Just do not forget the recharge the battery. The crank is in the drawer, second on the left under the working table. ”

He walks to her, hugs her and then waves a last time while passing the door, nothing in the hands. ” Do not forget to sleep. ”

The woman stays silent a moment, sipping her tea from the can.

After a time, she walks to the computer, grabbing her burlap bag with her at the position. She opens it and gets a pin out of it. ” Lets install that sorting software. There is no way I m going to read thoroughly all of that, one by one, Kocha. You wrote WAY too much stuff. What were you thinking giving that to Cayk?”

She sighs. ” You had more insight than a lot of people. And you were right, he is not having the slightness idea of what we, women, are made of or motivated by. But neither do I have any answers about what you left me with. I m lost in so many details…so lost…” she nags, looking at the pile of brown bags sitting where Cayk showed her earlier. ” What was your purpose in all that, Kocha? Where you doing like the beekeeper, trying to smoke us from something else?”

In all answer to her question, Ina has a bip coming from the computer, waiting for her command now that she had activated it.

She is distracted away from her thought and soon inserts the pin right where it goes. The software install wizard starts on its own and all she has to do is agreeing to the license things she never read in truth, and following the rather simple “Next” steps.

Once the installation is launched, she continues to sip her tea, the two hands holding the can as she drinks, and a moment. Then one hand move to allow her fingers to twist a particular strand of hair from the back of her head.

A soft knock at the door, then nothing but the sounds of nature waking up.

A yawn, then, heralds that someone is now behind that door where he knocked : a woman that just wake up. She opens the door, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, half-turned toward the inside, holding to the knob.

The new arrive is forbidden to enter right away by the woman’s pose, the man look at her from head to toe and then back to the head. Small puffed eyes, nostrils wide opened, dress full of wrinkles as well as the side of the hand and the cheek, where he can in more guess the imprint of a finger or even two.

“You haven’t slept?” He says, more astonished than chiding her.

“I did, I even overslept. I am not an early bird. I thought you would have noticed. ” she explains, and then she halts and looks at him with a bright, but sleepy smile. ” Wait, I forgot, you got away my presence for mostly all the time I was here. ” she wistfully mocks him, snapping her fingers. Then, after blinking and yawning again with the palm hiding her mouth politely, she announces with more joy : ” The sorting is done and I even had the time to find something very kind for you. ”

“So soon in the morning” I though you just said you were not an early bird?” says the man, following her inside. He turns look left then right outside before he finally closes the door to reach the woman behind her heels.

“Yes, indeed. ” she replies, turning and making a move back with an half-swallowed “eek! ” as he stands quite close when she finishes her movement. Closer than she ever sees him been. ” My! You scared me. Are you always following people of so close?” “Pardon. ” he excuses himself. ” Not always. ”

He respectfully paces back, a blushing on his cheek.

The woman nods and passes her hand in her disheveled hair. “You’re lucky I was dressed before breakfast, this morning,” “Oh, you hadn’t eaten yet?”

“You seem surprised? It is only 9 A M. ”

Cayk nods. ” I will fix you something. ”

And he moves passed her, softly holding to her frame when he makes place for himself to get to the cupboard. Ina smiles even more : “Great! Because with the time lag, my yesterday was something like thirty hour long. ” complains the woman.

The tall man laughs at the woman comment. He removes his navy jacket, slacks his tie and rolls his sleeves up until his elbows. “That is human beings, alright. They invented a way to get tea to boil in a can, but they haven’t figured out, YET, how to transport one of them without a lag from one side of the world . . . ” he begins before halting and raising his hand at waist height to trace a line with the finger. ”. . . all the way to the other. ” He grins.

“We go to Mars and back with less problems than from Whole-America to Australia. Amazing, isn’t it?” Ina offered totally amused.

“Oh, you went to Mars? How is Nystan?”

“Yes. Better than he was. ” The woman confirms.

“He was sick?” questions the man, narrowing his eyes and stopping all activities.

“Since Kocha’s death, apparently, yes. Apparently, my visit brought him to a miraculous recovery. He was very happy and better when I left, despite the incident. You knew that he lost he sight, right?”

“Of course, I was one of the first informed. I hoped he was not to lose his posting in it. ” He says, looking around, now, searching something.

“He is such a good natured man. He got over it with grace and humor. Always something to make everyone laugh. Not only did he not lose the posting : the nature of the incident, finally, serves him well to have stayed. He gained more followers than any of us did in a year for in a matter of months. This assured him the post, despite his disability. ” declares Ina, with a visible enthusiast.

“Oh, yeah. . . . that new policy of evaluating our posting in regard of how many new people joined in. ” darkly remarks Cayk. ”I do not think that it is a very good idea. I mean. . . that doesn’t encourage sincerity of heart. Result being that a very few of these new people are regular, long run, and fervent enough to progress, while our charge and responsibilities augment disproportionately. ”

Ina shrugs. ” I was not very fond of that, neither. But it has to get on us eventually. Remember of what Kocha complained so much about her work. Performance, performance. They were even timing how many time she was losing on the company time to use the toilet or to email a friend or to talk with her mother on the phone. She was evaluated by the number of words she was producing, not the quality of it. So . . . well. . . it was deems to happen for us as well. Only a matters of time. When the old guard was replaced by a younger one. Now we also are evaluated in term of profitability. Very sad. I wonder how much worth a soul for those people?”

“I prefer ignoring that and just doing my job exactly like I was before. Remarks that it gives me exotic posting no one wants of, but I enjoy rusticity. It has a good ol’time feeling in it, having to go from point A to point B in motorcycle, being all dusty when you arrive and thirsty. There is even some joy in it. Especially when I have to pass through that point of desert near by. Unlike Kocha, they cannot exclude us from doing what we are doing only on performance. ” The word “rusticity” stands apart when he speak about it, like if in fact he was not so much taking pleasure in it.

“Hum, I wouldn’t be so sure of it. We will live to see. Kocha did a couple of remarks about how we were working in one of the letters she wrote to you. ” Ina places in, skillfully. She looks at Cayk to know if he will swallow the bate.

Soon after, he answers : “She did? She decidedly had advice on everything. I am not sure I want to hear. Is it what you wanted to show me this morning?”

But when he turns, Ina is already on the computer. He sighs.

“Ah, here it is…no, that something else. ” she expresses. “Dear Cayk, of course…she always began with “Dear Cayk”, except when she was angry at you or disappointed. ” The woman comments.

How do you come to know that?” He questions.

But Ina already began to read the letter out loud.

“You wrote to me again today and you seemed surprised that I was caring not only about me, but also to people surrounding you.

You do really not know me, my friend.

Are you thinking my heart is so dry after all those years of starvation that it cannot tremor for something else than my own self-pity?

It is because I care more for the others fate than my own that I ended up here. They are not calling me ‘Mother-Theresa’ for nothing.

But why should I get around and tell to everyone about all the good deeds I did?

I cannot self-promote myself.

I do what I have to do to survive, I do what I have to do to put sun in others life.

I do not need to publicize it. It will be as vain as doing nothing if I was.

At least in my book.

That is why you are only hearing of me little things here and there.

You think perhaps I am a heap of trouble on two legs. . . no?

Cayk, I am what you want me to be.

In a sense, I just showed you what I wanted to show you in my email. This part of me that is so fragile and in need. But there is more to me than just this. I just hope you will one day realize it on your own.

I dreamt that you were coming without telling me around where I am going and that you spied on me for a few days without me knowing you were there.

You saw my routine; you saw what I am not writing to you, all those little things that makes strangers calling me “Sunshine” or “angels”. And that I am so soon to forget that it never ended in an email for you to read.

I do not need help with the good things. I am just acting with my heart. I do give a lot without counting. But why should I have to tell you in more?

Some people say I am a saint, a fairy, a sun, a star. . . I do enlighten their life and make them feel deserving.

Do you expect me to tell you that?

What would you think of me if I was coming to you, telling you I am nearest of The Lord than you will ever think I’d be?

What would you think of me if one day I was coming and tell you that most of my problems are not mine, that all I am doing is offering me so others can have a relief?

You would say like everyone told me so far : Give up!

It is depleting me.

There are so many takers that my heart look likes a thimble.

But each time I anger against myself and I say : Enough! I have to stop. I can’t save the whole World and each and everyone. An event comes to pass that makes me having to act again.

That is what I was referring to when I was saying to you I was full clad in armor and present on the battle field.

I never saw one of your Brothers or Sisters when I was patrolling in the deepness’ of this city.

Where are they the “Soul savers” when I have to hold the hand of someone that has just been shot at the exit of a bar?

Where are they when I am calling 9-1-1 for someone that is laying in a bath full of blood and water, wrist opened?

There is God, there is help at other level, but it is not the corporate gal working in front of a computer at 20k a years that need that help only. “ Reads Ina.

“Can you skip some of it?” asks Cayk from the kitchenette.

“Of course, it is exactly what I am doing, she wrote for five pages on that…I am skipping lines, do not worry. ” Mentions the lady, for soon after continuing with the text.

“I do not picture any of the chicks I was helping in day to day life pointing themselves to the bible meeting and asking to sits amongst the followers. No. They would do like I wanted to do.

They would not feel welcome. They will feel judge. But they need to hear your gospel the same way the other need it. They did some effort, you just never saw them because they sit in the corridor and listen, hidden of all those clean cut people. Or they mange to come near a wall where the window allowed them to hear without being seen.

The yield to hear it. But no one is coming for them.

What hurt me in this is : did your Jesus did not always say that He was there for the littler?

Nevertheless, amongst the littler I walked. Feeling one of their own. Sharing their load. And never I saw a man of God doing like me. Never had I heard any of them asking me to lead them there to show them what really this world is. Where are those tortured souls?

You do it for Africans, Haitians, Indians. . . prisoners, poor, perhaps. But I never saw any of you dressing with a jogging suit and running shoes, leaving the tie and the three piece suits to go and spy. Just being there and waiting in the wings. Trusting God you would be where someone is ready to receive the Gospel. And trusting me that you will not risk too much your life.

There is safe zone where criminal leave their wolf’s skin outside and just are human again, for a short time. Vulnerable, reachable.

Everyone is very prone and fast to segregate, even in that cleans world of yours.

But there will be someone soon that will understand that and that will stand up to help me instead of judging I am this or that. Someone that will look into my life and sees a sense in it and understand my only sin all this time is to have too much loved the Lord Creation in other to allow myself a place.

I so forgot my own self, if you knew, that I am without a name.

I am without a place.

How many time, when there was no more chair left, I ended up sitting on the ground, offering my own chair to one that I judged needed it more than myself. And I am happy doing it.

The only things making me unhappy is to have to explain myself, over and over, justify why I am what I am.

Oh, and being assaulted, but that is a normal and foreseeable reaction.

I just hope it will be before someone gives me a final blow.

I began to understand that perhaps it is not you.

It is definitely not Rice.

So why did He sent you at the first place? To give that final blow?” Ina finishes temporarily, with a sigh.

“And she signed : Kocha”

“Now, you have to tell me something. ” affirms the woman, letting herself fall in the couch like she did a few days ago.

Cayk stance becomes rigid once again. He swallows with difficulties, emitting that particular sound you do when you know you will soon get to hear bad news. His eyes flicker toward the door where he just came from. There are Ina’s legs fencing that exit and no other way to get out the case. His glance follows the legs up, discontinue the movement when it reaches the calf height to look straight in Ina’s eyes just as he interjects : ” I really have to fix you a breakfast, first. ” With his natural rolling “r” accent kicking back in and all the weight of his voice over the words : “really” and “first”.

“Suit yourself. ” replies Ina. ”But I am your friend, first, before being a guest. So you wont shove me that easily off topic, Cayk. ” she warns the man, imitating his manner on the word “first”. She raises, he looks at her, momentarily perceiving what? A threat?

She doesn’t mind him; she walks to the trap, opens it and fetches two of those canisters they were speaking about.

Cayk shoulders fall slightly forward. The tension momentarily disappears from his mien. Even though Ina announced clearly that before he will leave the case today, she will be done with him. He gets that bowl then two eggs from the wall unit.

Ina doesn’t release her grip, like a bulldog’s jaws over the arms of a man, she keep a tight clasp on the subject.

“It has been a week since my arrival, we barely saw each others. I am planned to leave in two days. Will you avoid me till then?” she question without emotion. “Avoid her? Nystan was more prone to speak about her than you are. It surprised me when you know that all her energy was rather on you. I would have expected, more? Perhaps?”

Cayk’s thumbs pierce the shell of the egg he is holding so carefully. He sighs nervously, grabbing the bowl with the elbow in it to position it right where the eggs are beginning to pour out.

“Now, now. The yokes are broken now, you will have scrambled egg instead of sunny side up. ”

Ina smiles, cheerfully adding : “I was not fond of the sunny side up anyway. I am rather messed up myself today. ”

Cayk examines his friends from her reflection in his glasses.

“You’re acting like her again. ” She blames him softly, smirking. ”You knew she kept her glasses exactly for that reason : it allowed her to spy on people that were behind her. That despite she could have had a laser correction easily. “

The man grins before telling a short : ”Useful, indeed. ”

“You kept them for the same reason?” she inquiries with a genuine curiosity.

“More or less. That and the fact I was not imagining myself without them in my face. I even dream of me that way, with the glasses on. It misses something when I wear lenses. ” He affirms. Like to prove his point, after he throw the shells of the eggs in the thrash can just near his hip, one of his hand move to pushes the frame of the glasses, by the nose bridge, toward his forehead.

His gaze raises toward one of the wall cabinets’ door, he opens it and he heedfully ferrets out some herbs from different jars, in and out several time. In between the movement downward and upward, the careful search is accompanied by a tick-tack of glasses as the bottles are tosses and pushes one against the other.

Ina stops her endless chatting the time Cayk is doing that, totally in awe.

She gaps several time, but as his hand gets in the cupboard again, she restrains herself in adding any words.

A whip is then fetched by the man, placed beside the bowl and he pauses musingly. His hands are spread on the counter and his chin fold on his Adam’s apple. He blinks multiple times, passing then one hand on his chin. He turns toward Ina. ”Spicy or not?”

“I would prefer nut, if you do not mind : Cashew. . . peanut. . . ” she jest before cackling in total mirth.

Cayk burst up laughing, briefly, then shakes his head indolently. He looks back into the cupboard, picks a couple more in the bottle content and dashes what he draw forth in the mix of egg. He starts whipping them energicaly.

Ina must speaks louder to be heard. She clears her throat, not used to talk that blatantly. Her voice sound, in truth a bit like the one of a teenager, with uncertain inflections in it. Way not natural.

“Can I talk of remembrance I have about her and what she was for me, then?”

He looks at her and nods in agreement before shifting his position to face her, holding the bowl slightly inclined with one hand while whipping of the other. He pushes against the base cabinet, making a slight and skillful movement that places him sitting now on the horizontal surface, his back supported by the opened cupboard.

The ensemble cracks and the sides of the base lean frightfully.

“Are you sure this will hold you?” asks Ina, a hand finding her cheek and her eyes widening, visibly concerned for his friend safety.

“Do not worry, go ahead. ” Invites her host.

Ina still peers at him a long moment, mute.

Cayk steps down, resigned.

“You also have a few points in common with her. ” He comments, doing so. Obviously annoyed to have to abandon his comfortable, albeit unstable, sitting location.

“Glad you remarked. Beside the “never giving up”?” Razzes Ina.

“Beside the “never giving up”, yes. ” calmly confirms the man while still beating the eggs.

Ina flashes a smile, all teeth out.

“You knew that we finally met?”

The man nod s, astutely replying : ” Of course, remember? She emailed me everything! ” He specifies in more, his eyes rolling to the ceiling.

“Oh?” expresses Ina, slightly disappointed. ”Then you already know the story?”

Cayk grins takes a nearly machiavelli quality. “All of them? “Challenges Ina, unbelieving it.

“Who can answer that? “ he grouses, at first. “And , at least, from Kocha point of view. You know how she could tint the reality so it gives you the impression of being like a ‘great adventure’, when in fact it was nothing more than, well, humdrum. . . “

“In details. “ they aver in chorus, the man on a miserable pitch and the woman on a kindhearted one.

“That was what was bothering you? “Suspects at once the lady.

“Mostly. She was kind of trapped in an eternal childish universe. Everything was important. I could received email where she was rapturous just because there was a sudden snowfall. Only five years old toddler view the life that way. “ he impugns sternly, making a dismissal movement with a hand.

“Oh. “ Ina articulates, smiling suddenly more extensively. ”Perhaps did she takes our advice of ‘becoming like a child’ to enter in God’s fold a bit too ‘literally’ sometimes?” she mocks more than enquires.

“Only sometimes? “ he notices, one eyebrow perking. “That must be it. “ laconically wraps up Cayk. Expecting this conversation will end there, most likely, he turns his back to Ina. The sound of the whipping stops, then there is the shock of the pan over the stove’s coil. A little tic and a soft wafting murmurs as Cayk light on the propane.

A brusk puff makes a steps back, arms briefly raising at his waist height, like to shield. He sniggers.

“What is that? “ inquiries Ina.

“Oh, the flame… always surprises me. “ comments the man, panting before immediately finding back his peaceful demeanor.

“My, you’re white. It will be alright? “ Wonders Ina, concerned.

“Yes, it is just an instinctive reaction of mine. See?I am already back to normal. “ Reassures the man. “You knew that I knew only another person doing that exact same feedback EACH time she was lighting the stove? That jolt back, I mean? “

For all answer, Ina gets the echo of a fat body touching the bottom of an hot pan. Cayk pours his mixture in and then turns the old half melted button to set it to a lesser level. The soothing noise dwindles to a pleasant purr, punctuated by some bubbling. He continues his preparation of the breakfast by cutting fresh fruits. The regular and slow “tock“ of the knife touching the cutting plank is heard a moment as sole reminder of life. “Then,if you know them all, stop me if it gets boring? “ she gabs, slaughtering the silence and the regular tempo of the food preparation. “With pleasure. “ makes Cayk, now proud and in full control. He returns to the pan, extends the hand to lift and slide down a spatula. He uses it to scratch the content with this specific look of fulfillment depicting on his mien. He takes a plate and turn the pan over it, using the spatula again to remove everything that glued on the pan. “Your eggs are ready. “ he announces, throwing the cut fruits on the side of the plate, randomly. “That is a man , alright. “ wigs Ina when he finally places the plate on the table.

“What? You wanted I take care of this plate like if I would have been a interior decorator? “ He disputes her kindly.

“Why not? “ mocks Ina, jesting during her motion to come and sit in front of the plate.

“Because it is a waste of time, you’re going to pick in it with your fork. That masterpiece’s life-span would have not last a minute, hungry like you are. “

“You cant presume. “ she says, sitting now. “I would have perhaps took a millisecond of admiration and flip to you an ogled gaze. The grace would have contain a “Bless the artist that made this wonderful achievement? “

“Get to it. ” He orders, flatly.

“One day, Cayk, when you will love someone. . . “ Begins Ina before her friend interrupt her.

“She will accept I have nothing of an artist in Grande Cuisine. “

“No, you will get compelled to do those things you qualified as a ‘waste of time’. “ she explicates.

“What do you know of that? “ He points out, crossing his arms on his chest. “I know, simply. I observed. “ Replies Ina affectionately. “And I seems to remember a certain Cayk that took time in certain of those things with a certain Kocha. If my memory serves me right. “

She says, inclining her head to mumble something for herself, fervent.

The man suppresses his answer to that new ‘attack’ time she gazes at him again. “No, I never did such a thing. “ He affirms, his arms tighten more on his chest in a protective stance, now.

“Do you feel attacked? “ asks Ina.

“No. Why. “ he throws.

“Your tone. . . “ she first says, then pointing with her fork on the man arms position, she also adds : “And this. “

He untied his arms and he sighs, tension leaving momentarily his expression. Ina takes a mouth or two of her eggs, leaving him the time to relax. “I do not think anyone would have noticed and pressure her to leave you and stops enticing you if you would have acted otherwise, you know? “ announces the eating gal on a mouth full.

“They were?” utters a surprised man, sitting at the table with her.

The woman nods while swallowing.

“She was held responsible for your reaction to her. Lot of people thought she tried to distract you from your chosen path and were displaying resent toward her because of this. I am surprised you never remarked that. Granted that they were a bit huffy. “ she gives in details once her mouth emptied.

He narrow his eyes, nods but do not respond more than that.

“Remembers, then. . . that time someone came in a convention, unexpected. “ carries on Ina.

“Someone did that?. . . Oh. . . I remember. Nachum talked about it, in Germany or something. Someone came unannounced and he was not of the country, not speaking a word of it. “

“Not a he, a she. It was Kocha. “

“Really? “ pronounces Cayk with an elongated tone and a gasping.

“Hum. Hum. “ makes Ina, swallowing again some piece of the breakfast. She tilts one of the canister that were brought from the trap earlier and that she did not open yet.

“She did not say that to me. “ claims Cayk, taking the offered container, opening it and then reaching for the second to unfasten it also before he returns it at Ina’s side.

“Probably because I chided her for that. She came to see me more than to assist at the convention by itself. I told her it was not a very good reason to come from so far with all the troubles this occasion, more for her than for us. She was not eating a lot and took very little space to sleep. “

“And she did not warned anyone before? “

“If she would have done it, I would have reasoned her. That was really foolish. One of her spontaneous deed. “

Makes the woman, sipping in her now ready tea.

Cayk imitates her with his canister, drinking a greater amount at once.

“Or I could have tried?” Cayk alleges, laughing.

“No one, including you, was able to make her change of idea on something. Specially since someone told her I was sick, apparently. Anyway, she managed to find the place we were on a map, the phone number as well as the name of the one in charge. We only had a call from her because she ended up lost and knew not a word of German. Otherwise, she would had appeared out of no where, made it on her own. ” The friend spiels.

“She did not mention to me about being lost. ” He says, rubbing his chin.

“It would have shattered her wonder woman’s image. ” Adds she with a grimace.

“No, see, with me at least, she rather adopted the poor weak victim in need of help role. So being lost in Germany would have normally been something I would have heard of. ” the man claims.

Ina nods, passing a finger on her lips, and then using the same finger to twist a strand of her from the back of her head.

She becomes more meditative and eats the rest of her plate, leaving it cleaned, during that time. Her eyes study the drawing in the plate a moment.

“That is one of her work?” She realizes.

Cayk nods as he stands, taking the plate from under Ina’s nose. He goes to the sink, but there is no faucet to it. Getting there, he sniggers. ”You did not do the dishes, Ina. Surprising that you had no night visitors. ”

“I knew not how to do it, sorry…” she offers on a sheepish tone before reversing the intention with an accusation: ”And you were no where to be found, remember?”

“Oh, pretty simple, you just place all in it, find the lid. . . ” he begins, searching in and around the cupboard. He doesn’t feel attacked by her last remarks. He finally put his hand on the said lid. ”You places it on the sink and you push the button. That is something not using water, It is a kind of static field. ” and to demonstrate to her the effect, he touches the lid with a childish giggling. All his hair raises. ”See? It tickles. . . ” he says, turning to her. But Ina is not laughing. She is sipping the rest f her tea, slowly, eyes lost in the void. So Cayk ceases his action and goes on sitting in face of her.

“Is there something else she did not tell me?”

“oh, I am certain now there is even things I did not hear of myself. Nystan learns me some as well, we can go on it later. For the moment, what is getting on the top of my head is…hum…Did you hear or read about that time she was caught in the tree?”

“For climbing? She was caught everywhere. . . I am not surprised. Nothing could make her behave like a normal person in front of a tree. She had to climb in it before you even realize she left your side. ” Reveals Cayk with a shrug. ”Tell me. ”

“Nah, that time it was not for climbing. ”

The man shakes is head, in negation, “Then?”

The woman laughs, remembering the events as they unfold back then.

“Someone, an old lady, came to us saying a woman was peeping into the Male Workers Quarter from a huge tree standing in front of it and partly brooding over it. ”

Cayk frowns, before butting in a : “Tell me she was not. ”

“She was not, indeed. But it looked like that from the ground, you know. She was in total contemplation, not expecting us to yell at her or anything. Her feet were even dangling if I remember well back and forth like do the children when they are all absorbed in their thought. But it was not for any of the boys that she was there; she just wanted to glance at an area framed by three building, one of them being the men quarter was just by chance. She was sketching, sitting in a precarious balance on a branch that threaten to bent and let her fall. But she was oblivious; it seems, to that fact. So my companion shouted at her, still having on his mind that this woman was peeping. ”

She pauses a moment, in taking a breath by the nose. Her chest blow, but instead of shouting, when she talks it is with a low powerful voice, imitating a male with a strong Scottish accent : "Hey, what ar' you dowing up ther'. Get down that tree right now. "

Hearing that, Cayk is in stitches.

Encourages by her companion’s reaction, Ina continues with more details about the adventure, showing herself merriment. “All we had in reply is the sound of branches braking together with a long strident shrill previous to we saw her face became visible at our height, upside down. Her feet were stuck and she was hanging that way. Nachum had her closer to him and he jumped back when she materialized there. "

"She got injured?" ask Cayk.

"Yes. But at that moment, all she said was a short and plaintive : "Ouch! " finishing in a wincing so Nachum never thought she was truly in harm way, except for the peculiar position. He was about to vehemently scowl her, presuming of her intention to be up there. He was not to ask, you know. He was convinced. Why else she would have been up there for? But he had his answer before opening his mouth. All her artist material fell on his head, one crayon after the others and then the sheets with the sketches, the tree’s leaves and sticks. Nachum was all blushing and confusing himself in excuse. He never managed to tell her why he was so furious at the first place because the branches creaked and he had to brake her fall by holding her at shoulders height. She escaped his grips, falling head first at his feet. He fussed around her for all the rest of the convention. " ends Ina, with a giggle.

Cayk laughs as well.

"But once she was on the ground with him, the skirt all rose at her chest, he did not know by where taking her to help her. We all laughed a lot of that and she was not angry by the situation, just surprised. She did not complain about any pain or anything. She even managed to get up by herself. But once up, she fainted. That is where we get that perhaps she did not have only scratches. But she protested and refused to go to a real healing place. We talked a bit and we discovered, to our relief, that she sincerely ignored it was the brother's dormitory there. She just spontaneously chose to climb at the view of the wonderful landscape the nature was offering her. " completes the woman, with a shrug.

Cayk though blinks and blushes.

"What is the matter? Why you made that stare?" immediately inquiries Ina.

"Hum, nothing. " denies the man.

"Come on, you're all in blush. Do not tell me you did not think to something?" objects his counter-part.

"I just wondered. . . "he leaves the sentence incomplete, turning his head slightly on the right, gazing by the window at Uluru bathed by the morning light, intensely.

Unsatisfied, Ina places both hands in front of her, piano taping of the fingers before trying to extract the information from her friend. "Wonder what?"

Cayk’s glance turns and weights on Ina.

She makes a movement with one of her hand barely distant from her chest and the table, tumbling in the air.

Answering to the invitation by shifting briefly the eyes athwart the room, then getting back on her, the man finally cracks with a sigh before : “I wondered if you saw something that could have corroborate all she was telling us for so long? About those attacks, assault and all she said she had. Because. . . "

He sighs again, and then adds : “I do want to believe she ever lied to me, but I never saw even a bruise. "

"And you doubted her?" the woman pries further, peaceful though and composed.

The man gaze get intense and he tilt his head, studying his vis-à-vis’ reaction.

"She knew you were suspicious. " she then adds.

"Ah. She knew?" exclaims the man, totally in awe.

Ina nods wisely, but says nothing. It is Cayk that talk again, unbelieving. "She knew but she never tried to make me change my mind on that?"

"How could have she? Undressing in front of you, mayhap. . . " suggests the woman, on a marble tone. She is just trying to keep the man's eyes in her clear view each time this one makes move to break away from her.

"No,no! Oh boy! No! I would have never asked her that. "

The man blushes even deeper while he denies, backing away from the table, but staying in his sitting position.

"Cayk, it would have been the only way for you to see something significant. " explains Ina.

"You saw her, then. " He fancies, though direct to the point.

"Partly. Enough to tell you she had a few lines too much on her. "

The man closes back on the table : "Scars?"

"It seems. Some recent, some older. Bruises do not stay long enough so I could have seen the one Rice would have , lets say, given her before she joins us. The one she had and the scratches were all linked to the fall from the tree and I mended all of them with cotton. Doing it, though. . . " she pauses and she turns sideway, taking her skirt up, revealing her leg till the upper knee, and she trails an index on the interior side of the right one.

Cayk leans, his elbows supporting his upper body on his calf, his hands pendant at his knees and his face near them, to look closer, listening at the same time to the woman describing.

"She had a bump there and when I passed the cotton on it to clean numerous minors scratches, it was getting whiter than the rest of her skin. I saw that kind of injuries before. " Ina keeps on, now letting the hem of the skirt go back down. "It happens when you have a serious contusion and the blood released by the bruise can’t go away. . . the blow had perhaps broken her bone there and she would have not noticed. Who knows? She never complained, but I saw her limping a couple of time when no one was paying attention to her. Otherwise, as soon as she felt watched, she was changing her gait somehow and it concealed the limping. So she had practice at it, certainly. “Makes Ina before she nervously plays with the strand of hair in the back of her head, pondering on something. Her look leaves the observation of Cayk. She looks vaguely to the table top.

Her friend advances his hand, touching her tenderly with his index in order to get her back to reality.

"I think she was covering more of the story than we may have thought, at first. But I never met her head-on with it. “Confesses she, biting her lower lips and now evading the man glance herself, like he was doing with her a few minutes prior.

"It was decidedly good she left him. Though I always maintained it was not far enough when she went. Not far enough. " She talks again. “Now, you absolutely have to watch that pin I found out. I stuck it on the cork board.” She declares out of the blue, making it to corner of the case Cayk himself never explored.

“Cork board?” he makes, surprised.

“Yes, Logan was gentle enough to hang one there for me. How do you know I keep track of everything I sorted up with the software? I can write on a pin, but will your sight allow you to read back?” Spoofs Ina with a corner smile.

She takes one of the pin and brings it to the computer. She inserts it.

“Now, be prepared to do a time travel. There is reference in there to classic of the past century.” She mentions on the confidence manners. Her eyes sparkle.

“Oh.no.” complains Cayk, face palming. “I like factual and actual. Stop bringing me in the past. If it has no influence on TODAY, I do not want to view it.” He argues, moving toward the computer, the hand already on the pin, ready to pull it out.

Ina pertly taps his hand where the thumb joins the hand.”Do not touch that.,. sit and listen. Or rather watch.” She protests.

He frowns.”Hey, I am not a toddler.”

“No, but you are certainly act like one more often than you should, Mister Nealson.” Admonishes the woman, crossing her arms at chest high, covering her breast. Her head swing scarcely, waving her curly brown hair from over her shoulders toward her back. Her nostrils budge. She stares at him, challenging any other movement he might have in mind. Her hands vanish in her elbows’ pucker.

He pulls on a chair, in retreat, barely looking into the computer direction.

The holo-projector cast a white point.

Ina activates herself and she runs to the window, closing the thick anti-UV curtain. The case becomes dark, like an old movie’s projection hall.

Cayk eyes blinks, adjusting to the penumbra. An dense shadow is all he sees now of Ina that is on the other side of the projected glimmering white spot.

“ok, I got your point, my case is dusty.” He jests, pointing to the dust playing in the circle of light.

“Shhh.” Hushes Ina.

Cayk startles, she is standing now very close of him and he did not realize she had move.

He concentrates on the show, with an annoyed attitude and a sigh.

There is a technological bip and some whistling he heard before, he just cannot pinpoint when. But it comes back to his memory when he sees the holo-character projected in front of him.

“That…it is from Star War.What was its name?” he makes, breaking the silence anew.

All he has is a mumbling and so he just turns his head to stare at the show.

Like in the movie, the white cylindrical robot stops his rolling advance and cast a holo-projection at its turn the one of a woman dressed in white. The image is unsteady, unclear.

“Hey Cayk. You never told me when was your birthday and your exact age, so I took on my own to make something memorable for you.” Speaks the lady dressed in white. That is Kocha voice.

Her rigid attitude, posing like the woman in the movie, shatter as she moves her arms around her, touching he garment. “I know, I look pretty ridicule in Princess Lea. I never was a swan, alright. But my heart is all on you today as I am coding and recording that perpetual birthday card. That is a name of my own. I coded it so you just enter your birth date here…” a dialog appears with the usual flashing caret. “… and it will wish you the exact happy birthday you are at. Neat huh?” she last said, with a tilt of the head and a fist on one hip. “I even coded more than one way to wish you happy birthday. So hurry up, enter a date.”

The animation stops, but Cayk as no time to act, he sees his birthday entered one digit at the time.

“Oops, sorry.” Utters Ina while hitting the backspace as she entered a 2 instead of a 5 in the number series.

“How did you learn that?” a stomached man now exert between his teeth.

“Kocha researched it and gave it to me a long time ago. She never double-checked it.” States the woman on a relaxed intonation.

“She made a little mistake, I m two years younger than that. And I will not ask how she did it. I do not want to know. That just prove me or obsess she was. Thank you.” He corrects dryly.

Ina giggles. ”Pathetic. Really pathetic.” She notices at Cayk’s reaction while she enters the correct date.

As she presses on the Enter keystroke, the movie continues.

“Sweet, you are thirty-seven today. Oh! That is nice of you to have open that pin precisely today, on the exact day.” Says the recorded edition of Kocha before blowing a kiss in front of her with her hand.

“Happy birthday Cayk!”

Ina’s hands weight on the frustrated man’s shoulders, one on each, tenderly. She whispers in his ear to echo Kocha timeless voice:”Happy birthday.”

“Now choose a way you want to be sing the happy birthday. You can scroll. I was unable to choose one that could rejoice you as you never shared that much of you with me. So I had to put more.”

A box appears after Kocha’s instruction.

Though Cayk felt still the weight of Ina’s hand on his shoulders, inexplicably, she is already at the computer, scrolling the list with a :”So?”

“Oh, I do not know. I do not feel to see any of them. Who know what she created again.” He speaks out on a flat dishearten manner.

“You got a lump in the throat, my friend. You did feel something for her after all?” affirms the lady, stopping her scrolling. Though while turning, her finger contacts the touch screen and a selection is made.

“Oh.” She articulates, seeking for a way to stops it while an pipe organ already started to rehearse the first bar of the “Happy Birthday song”.

“I forgot how Kocha was not very good in coding. She forgot to activate the Escape. We have to listen to this now.” Shout Ina over the sound.

The image of the robot and its projection deconstruct itself in lego block and a church scene appears at his place, precisely one of a choir all dressed alike.

Ina chortles. “Appropriated at least.” She exclaims.

Cayk doesn’t answer. He is stiff in his stance.

She pace behind him and squeeze the muscles on both side of his neck.”Enjoy, Cayk. It was made with all the Love she had for you. You should feel blessed that this got to you.”

The choir starts to sing the song with clapping hands and degression only a choir can make.

One of Cayk’s hands reaches over Ina’s one and he gently presses it before taping it thrice. ”You are right. I presumed way too much.” He begins on a voice throttled by the subdued emotion. ”But I persist to say she was a tad too infatuated by me.”

Ina smiles. ” Do not do that look. ” she says to the roughly shaved man standing beside her. ” Go take a shower and groom yourself, I will do a bit of reading. Beginning by. . . ” she looks at all the pins and picks one randomly. ” That one. ”

When she raises her eyes to see her friend back, he took her advice and she can hear the water recycling machine working to provide the shower supply.

“Very nice. . . ” she expresses contempt.

She inserts the pins and press play. The computer will not recognize her voice even if she would like. That is Cayk computer.

A list of document appears. It is email that had never been sent by Kocha, dating all the way back to the early beginning of the century.

She chose one topic : So ashamed I feel that way.

“This is certainly something Cayk should not read. ” she makes, looking behind her and listening if the machine is still working. Not only it is, but Cayk is singing now in the shower. Ina lips curve in to a crescent.

Then she begins her reading :

Dear Cayk.

You haven’t written for 2 weeks, but I know it is not because you are not thinking to me.

Did I ever tell you that anytime you do, I felt it inside of me and I know instantly it is not my imagination? It imposes itself so strongly.

So many time I reached for the phone that rang and I knew so strongly it was you, even though it as unexpected, that I have to restrain myself to answer, “Allo Cayk! How are you today?” or I will have very serious problem with the management here. First. And what if it was all the product of my imagination and it was not you one time. I would be so ashamed that I would hide for days under the desk.

It is not because you called a lot when I am at work. At most, what, five times?

Even though, so far, that twirling feeling in my chest has been true : Each time it was you.

So when it comes and the phone is not ringing, I speak to you in my heart. “I am there, everything s fine. I am still your loving friend. Go in Peace. ”

People here, if they knew, would see romance in that. I just see we share something more special that we allow ourselves to think about. Certainly not romance. I never felt that way when I was romantically involved with someone. Though, well. Who knows?

Perhaps I just refuse the obvious. But I do not want to think to that at all.

I felt like writing to you, but it would have been so depress that I chose to write from here.

Not that it is particularly dramatic.

I am just so tired. I just would wish that when I go to sleep, I would be actually sleeping.

Insomnia?

Nay.

Pain.

5 days on the crutches since the accident.

I prayed a lot.

It helped.

I feel I am magically (is there a better word?) supported and I am calm.

Only, bad events keep arriving.

A friend we both know said it was because the Devil, yes the Big D one, was not happy I’ve decided to follow the Lord. And I was like : Can you just stop thinking everything has to be explained by the Spiritual realms.

It is like blaming the factory that made the motorcycle for how the driver is handling it whenever it has an accident. Sorry but I do not think so.

If I do not know how to keep my balance on a motorcycle, I had to buy a car instead. And if I do not manage to drive around without an accident, it is not the factory fault, nor the fault of the road builder, nor the fault of a maple that crossed the street so I knocked in it. Trees are not moving. WE ARE. If Rice gave a kick that made me lose control, it is not the factory fault either. I now admit it is not my fault also.

This was very hard for me I always tried to find where my blame lay in a situation. I finally admitted that I have been given strength of X, qualities and flaws that come into the package. If one knows the weakness of my bike and pushes me of road, I am not responsible even if the insurance said so. I just have to built up muscles so next time Rice tries the same method to get me off road, he will hit in a more tougher opponent. Beside, big D and Big G have better things to do than being on my back. At least I hope for them.

They are not biding on a horse race, here. That must be so boring watching me acting over my shoulder. I think I can dig my hole very well alone, without Devil or Divine’s intervention, when I m at it.

My life has absolutely nothing extraordinary. I will not become anything extraordinary either. I am but an anonymous person that lives, breaths and eventually will blink out this life.

You know, like one of in a million bulb of an ad you can see in Las Vegas. When one alone burn, you still get the big picture. And soon it is replaced. But is this bulb really meant something specific for someone? Is someone felt for the one discarded? No.

I do not think anyone care that much for the little light bulb I am. And I say this without resent or tears. It is the reality. I am not going to stop the world turning if I vanish and even you will continue with your life mostly as if I was never there. Just sometimes you will look at the ceiling while getting to sleep and you will have a little thought, but you will not dwell on this. You will go on. . . it is a damn show and like every show, what ever happens to the actor, it must goes on. As for the explanation I have myself of all the bad events going into my life, I’d say it is just the season, a cycle. It is of it like leaves falling in autumn. I have to shove them out of my porch so it doesn’t obstruct the drain.

My neighbor seeing me at it each day for an hour is : To what avail? You are spending too much energy on this, leaves will fall and fall again, and you will never be done with them. Go inside. Enjoy TV, a tea. I did not retort. I was busy shoveling them. But there is also that if my neighbor was stopping pushing his leaves in my bellow the street entrance, I would have less leaves. And there is the wind. But like I care to sort the leaves and say : Oh, this s the one from the neighbor, it shall return to the neighbor. I am not collecting them in a bag to return each leaves he broomed in my entrance. I m just taking them out my entrance, putting them in a bag and then in the municipal trash-can.

Every single day.

Despite it is to be re-done and re-done again. I am not emotionally affected by it.

It just a thing that has to be done. And I do not have a TV. Eventually, leaves will stop falling and I will be finish shoveling them. Then, when snow will come, oh. . . perhaps there will be a leaf or two left underneath. But I will shovel snow every day, like I did with the leaves. So my drain stays clean and clear, ready to take the spring flood. Snow will thaw ice with it and I will have a whole Late Spring and summer to enjoy lazily and leisurely. You take care.

Kocha

Ina closed the document. ” Not that bad finally. ”

Uneasiness makes her shivers. She listens, and then she shudders seeing a shadow over the keyboard. No more the noise of the machine and the shower. All that time, in silence, Cayk was standing behind her. His eyes are stuck on the first few lines with an unbelieving expression.

She pats on his hand that is holding tight to the back of the chair. ”Hey, read the rest, do not stick on those few lines. ’ she requests of him, gently.

“She was just a very good friend, be glad of it. Accept it. ” The woman concludes in a soft whisper, a tear rolling at the corner of her eye, gradually drawing a line on the dry skin.

Cayk’s nostrils flickers, his Adam’s apple bobs, before his finger reach the switch of the screen, turning it off.

He walks to the window and get behind the thick curtain, peering to Uluru.

Ina joins him, a hand on his shoulder, looking in the same direction, not a word flowing from her lips.

There is a pale mass moving at the horizon line. She narrows her eyes, but the sound reaches her first, before she can realize what is out there.

“Baaaah! Baaah! ” , some “Yip! Yip! Yip! ” then some barking. Shepherds, dogs and their herd. More they move toward the case, the louder the paw pondering the ground makes a clamor. That clatter resounds into her ribs cage, modifying her heart beat as everything vibrates whit it.

She glances to Cayk’s face. The eyes still inflexibly fixed on Uluru, he swallows but he is not showing any tears. She brushes his back, pats thrice then move from behind the curtain back into the room, leaving him alone on his watch.

His hidden form lean, his hand appears as he supports himself with it on the window frame. No sound, no word.

Finally, the man arrives in the desert. He has to incline his head, holding with a hand to a panama, to enter the building. No door, just a burlap sheet.

He looks around. Although it has been five years now since Kocha’s death, most of her articles have been left there.

Covered of sand and dust. One bra is flapping in the wind in a corner of the little space, thorn mostly, but still recognizable as one. And white shirts.

Socks coupled and fold into one another lay in row on a shelf.

A ceramic bowl, broken in two.

Kocha had no one to recuperate her stuff and no one was in need enough to pillage. No doubt that the jewels or the money or anything valuable was already gone.

Ina was forbid to come as being a woman was kind of risky in the region.

The only other furniture, beside a makeshift table and a shelves unit was a big fat green couch.

“We remove the hammock. It was new and she never had a chance to use it. ” Makes a man, appearing in the entrance behind Cayk.

“Is there anything else you took?” questions the man while trailing his finger over the worktable. It was painted blue, but the heath and the sand make the paint chipping underneath the soft pressure of the index.

“Of course, everything we could use. Pretty dresses for my wives and my daughters, Mister. She would have allowed it anyway. She had a very good heart. ”

“How can you know this? You only saw her a few days before she disappears. ” Aggressively mentions the tall white man, stretching, almost threatening. His eyes narrow and he peers at the smaller man standing in the entrance.

“This, Mister can be felt in there. “Replies the man with a wide smile, touching Cayk chest, where the heart is beating. “And also to see people that she knew coming, like you. Someone only choose people to be near that one feel akin to. ”

The man in the three piece suit calms down and nods. “You took the computer?”

“There was a computer?” exclaims the disheveled man. “Where?”

“Yes…she never traveled without one. A laptop, old version. Very small. ” Cayk specifies, touching his pocket in search of something, and then he beams, proffering a computer battery. ”One that can function with that. ”

“Oh, no. Sorry Mister. I can buy you the battery. No computer, no need for the battery…a bath, perhaps, once a week for a month in exchange of the battery?” the man start battering.

Placing both hands on the powdery makeshift worktable, Cayk dismiss the offers : “No thanks, the battery is not for sale…” and he dives into deep thought.

He looks at the surrounding, thinking. “Where she could have put it, provide that she felt threaten enough?”

He moves to the couch, tossing the dusty cushions. Beside the dust that makes him cough so much he has to get his handkerchief out, only insects that nested into the furniture, undisturbed for so long went crawling out.

“Careful mister, you will awake her ghost. She is not at rest, you know?” nags the man, squealing partly and shaking, a fist coming at his unshaved chin. “I heard of it, yes. But I do not believe it. ” Cayk says, dryly, staring to the man by over his glasses.

This other gets white and, like mad, runs outside : leaving the visitor alone.

Cayk was to move further into his inspection when his big toe hit something, bringing him on one foot, jumping while stiffening a shout.

He sighs. . . replacing his foot on the ground and testing if it hurt again. Then he crouches to look closer on what he hit.

“Now, what do we have here?” He says after the initial reaction of pain settled. ” I am lucky I was wearing my boots, it is seems. ” He pinches the object. ” that is a metal sheet. ” He dusts it up. ” How come they could have all missed that one? It is so shiny and obvious. “

Relic of a carpet that must have hid the plaque falls as he opens to look at what is concealed.

Once the plaque removed, underneath, in plastic translucent bags, there is some personal effects that must have been precious to her, a dark red covered bible from which the gold is flaking off, some Tolkien books, writings on stack of papers, an obvious Dream Journal, and a laptop.

“Finally. ” Makes Cayk. ”The mysteries will be over.

He takes the battery and although there is still some juice, miraculously, in the one in place, he places the one he brought in the back-up slot. He flips the screen open and the computer grits. The disk seems having some difficulties running, but eventually, the screen light up and there, right there, there is the last thing Kocha was working on five years ago.

“She did not even have the time to close it properly…” states Cayk, frowning before he starts to read. “Dear Cayk.

I arrived in Azrou yesterday and I am getting unpacked.

I fell on my laptop and I had to write to you, despite you rarely answered me back in the past some month and that when you did it was to point me to extracts of the bible.

Which is not that bad, this is your job after all?

It was news of you that I wanted to have by giving you of mine.

Is it not what friends are for? Sharing the good and the bad in life? Walking beside us on our travel, holding our hand, pushing when it needs.

Well, you’re right if you think : What does she know of friendship. She never had friend. She never kept friend.

That is not because I never tried to.

I discussed with Anabell and she made me realize something that I did not want to admit inside of me. Perhaps, yes perhaps it is time to let go on you.

Cutting the monkey tail, she called that.

She might be right.

All that time I shared with you are not in vain if it made you see the world under another pair of eyes.

Even if I had doubt it did.

I will be alright here. I found my way. I finally am doing something I dreamt I will, more hands-on.

And I am glad I arrived to it without utilizing you or anyone of your organization.

I went there all by myself.

Life here will be kind of rough as they have no facility. It is like time had stop, modernity never really made it here.

I just Love it. That will make for interesting encounter as people cannot relay on technology and they are not bomb by it neither. The real rustic life.

I look to my roof and I am happy it is not raining in the desert. The roof is made of thatch, the wall of whiten adobe.

And no, the toilet doesn’t flush, Lucky Natalia is not with me, her that scream for spider. Just going to the pit, I met several big one. There is even one bigger than the anoles. Oh, yes. . . those green things still exist out there. I have a green wall. It is not paint. There is full of them, squirming. That will do a good soup if ever I am starving.

Here I go again, all in detail. I know you hate that so much. No one loved that part of me.

I did not know when I finally was allowed to join the rank of workers that it will be like that. No Mars’ posting for me.

No up to par technologies neither. An old Pentium laptop, no internet. I will have to find a place to upload this email and send it to you. I heard there is one four hour from here. I have to borrow the jeep and if I go for that, I will also have to get stuff back for the camp.

So I do not know if I will take the risk to venture toward there. I will never get an answer anyway, huh?

If Anabell is right, you never found in me any comfort. You called me ‘friend’ just so I believe you were and thus stick around and keep hope.

I do not know what to believe in all this. I do not know who to believe… And tonight it hurt.

I feel betrayed.

I think I will just take the opportunity this posting is offering me and I will give myself for that cause, totally.

Forgetting Anabell, forgetting Ina, you and Nystan. You’re too far anyway.

Soon the desert will be blooming, thanks to our team. Not thanks to me. I am but the one that will help with my hands in digging and piping the area for the brume to work its marvel.

And I will plough it as hard as I tried to be your friend.

As hard as I tried to keep the contact alive.

I think I will never understand why I was compelled to give you so much with almost nothing in return.

Perhaps Anabell is right, perhaps this was all an illusion I built to please myself. To keep me going.

Perhaps I never ceased dreaming to this old Prince Charming coming to save me on its white steed.

Even if I knew this was impossible and you had nothing of him. Not even the desire to come and save me, perhaps. But I can’t know you never told me.

Perhaps I forgot to grow up. Perhaps this is just that. I stayed a toddler while everyone was grown-up. Who want to bring the nagging toddler sister in the gang, huh?

I still Love you, my dear Cayk.

I am sure at a point I could have also loved you. I doubt I will be able anymore.

The fence is left half-opened. Just push it if you need. But I wont be expecting you anymore.

I will always be there for you, but for now on, in the garden of “our” friendship, I will be watching the grass grow.

Kocha. ”

The man closed the computer screen, a hand rubbing his forehead while supporting the weight of his head.

After a moment of it, he seizes the pin, pulls on it and in the same gesture throws it away, blindly.

He walks toward the couch; remove his panama and lay there, placing the arm with the panama on his belly while his other arm wraps to hide the light coming from the roof.

Getting out a blanched modest settlement without lingering in the threshold of it, a man todds toward a shed beside it.

He passes in front of a dead tree where bald vultures are perched, cleaning their long ebony feathers with their beak, not minding this intruder ambling casually between the closed by building. It makes like if suddenly the tree was having leaf, but of a nightly coloration rather than green, with white flowers where a skinny pink crooked stem perk out from the center. Quite jittery just by the fact they are there, silent for the moment, acting like one even though all for themselves at the same time.

Like the islanders here needed one more rapacious birds species. Those one, typical of South-America, were thriving to the worst outcome they can bring to all the marsupial and little rodents that once were the rename of the country.

One bird of the group keeps a good look through his icy orb, following the movement of the man at the same regular cadence, while the other groom themselves.

The man vanishes at that moment in the shed, not minding a moment the carrion’s eater. They are background distraction, so deserves no attention of him.

They do, on the other hand, react more to the man’s absence than they were of his presence.

The watcher roisters hoarsely; agitating its head up and down at the limits of its slender neck can do it without broking the natural crook. It then drops on a lower tortuous branch. Its claws whittle the bark as the stubby bird roves them over frenetically. It is noticeably upset. Like if it is asking:”Hey, human, what are you preparing in there that I do not see clearly?” The whole flock chafes.

Next comes the hawk of an engine starting off. A volute of bluish smoke escape from the shed before the noise died out. This abrupt return to the silence after the outburst of noise creates a panic amongst the feathery occupant of the tree. For those rapacious birds, it is the straw that broke the camel back and they fly at first in totally chaos, describing a circle then reuniting into one dark block and moving away, very far away from that phenomenon over their possible comprehension.

The tree that looked black leafed not an instant before neither is nor denuded. A few feathers lost in the excitement aftermath now spiral down gently to the ground near the stump, last remnant of the birds that flew away so suddenly.

Another mechanical cough comes from the shed. Then there is a rattles. The engine is running smoothly and regularly. It is deafening.

Then the rhythm is accelerated to a higher tempo. Smoke filters from the cracks in between the planks of the little building a mere instant before a flash of orange and navy erupt from the door. It is the man that entered a few moments earlier driving now a motorcycle at the maximum speed the vehicle he is mounting can go.

He wears no protection. A small bag occupies the back of his seat.

There is no road, only the reddish desert sand for miles around, some rock and vegetation. The man is basically making his way toward where ever he wants to head to. He does it as much straight he can, inclining to swerve to the right or to the left according to the obstacle he can see.

It roaming around raise clouds of dust and, soon, the navy pants, the navy jacket, is covered with a thin layer of it. It is barely affecting its darkness, but where there is fold like around the knees and the waist. There is accumulation in those places making like irregular artistic stripe that moves according to the air currents.

Something attracts the man attention on the horizon and rather than continuing in a coherent direction according to his starting point, he turns more leftward.

There is a regular very dark line in that direction. This is a fence made out of wood that had been damped in some tar to protect them from molding.

The percussion sound made by the engine peter out as it is halted, first, and then turned off.

A foot touches the ground immediately after with some sand flustering around in a cloud and a noise similar to the one of a wave breaking on a rock. Then the other foot grounds as well after it passed over the seat. The man is fully standing beside the vehicle, holding it by the handles.

He focuses more to a certain side near the fence. He makes an uncertain face.

After having deeply thought and probably doing some elimination of what can be what he is seeing, Cayk says out loud to himself:

“Oh. That must be Logan.”

It must be around no one by now.

The sun is so bright that it gives the impression of being everywhere though only a small white disk is seen when the man that was driving the motorcycle curve his neck with a hand placed on his brow.

He sweeps some sweat from there before he takes back the handle of his two wheels vehicle to roll it a while again, still in the direction of the one he think he recognize.

Surprising that the man is still out there, bent over the fence at this hour.

Cayk fear for a moment because nothing is moving from that farmer by his quite large point of view.

More he advances, more the greenery is motley the red desert ground. In a few zones, the vegetation is crammed so well that one would be challenged to figure out where one plant finishes and the other begins.

He is getting nearer by the second as somehow there is a sudden feeling of emergency creeping from deep inside.

He is seeing him by the rear end and he spies for any movement.

IN that region, you never know when someone can flare up against you for a baseball cap story and impale you on a fence, just so it relieve his inner pressure.

The preacher knows that his relative safety on Logan’s land is mostly due to the man still observing a lot of his ancestral tradition that are not in conflict with his new religion. When ever he looks outside, there is an unmistakable sign this man is scouting around, though he never saw him doing it. It is of him like of a phantom. You sense he is there but you can not prove it.

Finally, he saw something. The sun flares on something the man is using to scrape the perch of the fence.

Yes, this is Logan and he is working.

Cayk sighs in relief.

The gait dwindles and his pace becomes more prudent as he get closer. Logan is armed, he knows it.

Just the sight of this man would do enough to afraid any Canadian or North American used to conformist image of a human being.

Firs of all, the clothes of Logan are ample akin the one worn by some gangs. The jean is baggy and with the crotch dangling well below the thigh, almost at the knee. It is not a pant, but an overall with suspenders. In America, when you cross adulthood, overall is a thing of the past. Except from some people.

The shirt overflows loosely from anywhere it could do it, exposing on one side the rib section.

No tie, no bow.

The man is heavily haired too and he always places a kind of ocher crust of pigment to tint them blond, although, to have bathed in the lake with him once, Cayk knows the man is black all over. Blacker even than him. The color of the preacher hair is just matching closely the skin tone of the farmer. The hair of him is even darker when not colored by the glued particles.

If that was not enough already, the hair is so tight curly that it forms a ball around his head resembling to a hat. Though a baseball cap cover the top of it making his head look like a pear shaped object.

He does not see it now, but the man knows that it is a “Blue Jays” baseball cap. After God, the only fondness of this aboriginal man is baseball. Even though there is no more baseball. It is a relic. America had passed on something more important, to their view, than game: Controlling what is left of Earth resources and making profit out of it.

Darker than the skin tone, numerous tattoo adorn each joint of the hand he can see from his position.

Appeased down, Cayk stands and place him so the motorcycle can rest on his hips. His hands scuffed into his jacket. There is a leather strap that was attached to his chest and he pull on it to free a skin. He twists the bung of it and raises it to his mouth, putting the lips tight around the neck of it. He tilts his head backward and drinks, closing his eyes. His traits soften as he does. He pulls on the water holder, then, placing back the cork on it before he even open back his two eyes. The container is safely fastened back to his strap. He smiles, the give a shove to the motorcycle while placing his hands on the handles. Rather than mounting back on it, he pushes the vehicle.

Not that much noises beside the crickets that chirp night and day what ever the season here. No bird, no livestock and the few animals are not the very noisy type.

The other he is observing does not sing nor talk. He hammers something, guessing by the repetitive impact sound.

The oddly well-dressed man soon makes it near him and he leave the motorcycle he was pushing to be supported by the fence. The sandy ground do not take all the weight of the motorcycle, so it begins to lean more and more till the right handle hook to the upper traverse of the enclosure, stopping its descent.

The man distance himself from the vehicle.

He circumvallates a moment while approaching, judging by where it will be safer to approaches the man.

Logan is not dangerous. It is even of him like it is of a domestic cat. As long as he feels unthreatened, you are safe with him. But coming from his back has this particularity that it can make him startle and Logan has a very useful feature: his thumbs nails. They are as solid and sturdy than a good blade. Just not very straight, but since he can skin a possum with it, Cayk rather is not wanting to take a chance.

When he arrives close enough to pat him, he is thus closer to the head, his own hips close to his bent shoulders.

“Logan?” he makes, patting the one occupied at repairing the fence.

[Logan gesticulates and Cayk nods. “Yes, I do see that patch of greenery. What’s wrong with it? Do you want we remove them?”

A quick reaction comes from the black man. He fans his hand and cross them in front of his face quickly, at wrist height, to uncross them right after while shaking his head negatively.

“Then why?” emit Cayk, still trying to sign at the same moment than he utter the words.

Logan grins and more calmly try one sign after the other to see if Cayk can follow him in his thought. The preacher narrows his eyes and mumble inaudibly till he finally beams. “We shall be all like that? You meant?”

The aboriginal nods with a very wide smile that deforms his cheek tattoo. He signs some more and Cayk repeats his prior behavior.

“Ah, I understand I think.” he declares verbally, though there is just one gesture made over his abundantly smiling face.

“We should be all like these, different over the ground because nature makes us different, but with almost undividable roots underneath.” he summarize while Logan look at him with regal.

The farmer pats the preacher with another wide grin. He does like laughing when hi hand touches the man jacket. He does only one sign: Wet.

“Yes. It’s quite hot. I shall return to my case and let you work.” He says, starting a motion toward the motorcycle. Motion that is hindered by Logan arm.

He makes some gesture again.

Cayk shows surprise. “You invite me to your place?”

Logan nods and adds to this: Tea and time.

“Alright, though I can not leave the motorcycle here.”

Logan raise a hand, all fingers joined to halt his friend hurriedness, then he move to take the motorcycle handles and push the vehicle forward, resting it partly on one hip.

Of course, that means that for up until they make it home, the conversation is over. Logan needs his hands to communicate.]

[The deaf man gesticulates the sign for a heart then the one for a pair of glasses plus the one for friendship that Cayk already learned in an other session with him.

“Wait. Wait, Logan. I do not understand.” says Cayk showing an obviously confused attitude with his eyebrows frowning and eyes open like out of a surprise. He also gasps longer than necessary.

Logan nods and takes this occasion to teach Cayk the sign he should do to signal is non comprehension.

The hearing man imitate the gesture, saying “Like that? I do not understand you?”

Logan shakes his head and does the exact same movement Cayk just did, but then point to his face feature.

“Ah.” makes Cayk, beaming. “It missed my facial expression. I got it.”

He then do the gesture and all that it need to make Logan understand that he is confused about the two signs he did: the one for glasses and heart.

Logan makes two signs more that Cayk knows. “Oh, that is meant to name a person? Hum. Spell it, please.” ask the man, speaking faster with his hand when he already know how than he does with his tongue. The fact being that sometimes, Logan used only one gesture to summarize a whole situation.

The farmer nods and starts to spell the name out, beginning with a K, then the O and the C before Cayk stops him.

“Kocha.” he says with a clearer movement of the lips so Logan can read on them.

The black man beams and nods to his friend and then redo the two gesture that send them so far of the general subject: the one for heart and the one for glasses. Then he adds again the one for friendship. His attitude shows that it is a question.

“If the person coming is one of Kocha’s friend?” says Cayk, awkwardly trying to make Logan understand what he understood.

It is not that bad, after all Logan wants to understand so it simplifies the things. He nods, then as Cayk makes the sign to confirm that Ina is indeed one of Kocha friends, Logan smiles. Though his both eyes brims with tears. He makes the sign for sad and missing with the matching face’s expression. Then he adds: more, thrice.

“Yes. I miss her too.” Cayk admits while completing the thought with his hands movements. “And yes, that is one of Kocha friends” he re-affirms. “Ina.” he says, spelling her name with his fingers.

Logan makes understand how happy he will be to receive the woman, then.

Cayk sips his tea a moment, considering a thought and probably trying to figure out how to sign the matter.

HE begins with the admission he has a question.

Logan invites him to says it.

Cayk makes the one sign he just learn for non comprehension, with the full attitude. Then he manages to gets through with the full thought. “How comes you never told me you were a friend of Kocha too?”]

Orange’s hues of the morning glow still linger in the East. The sun’s rays scorch the desert where shadows fend a crawling sized space at the based of anything protuberant: trees, rock, animals, bushes, posts and benches.

Under a roof a thatches, a hymn heave like the haze formed by the heath beating on the earth.

People gathered and seated on narrow wood benches sing that tune with the best of their heart, if not with a lot of talent.

A man stand in front of them, dressed more solemnly and with a tie. They are all aboriginals. One lady dressed with a leopard fabric dressed, high heeled long boots and an exuberant hat matching the dress cools herself with a pink feathered fan. It hides the lower part of her face and all the left side in a way that she is but a white eye set in ebony, coldly fixed on the celebrant in front. Even the boisterous kids chasing one the others beside that roofed space is not daunting her concentration. It is hard to know if she is signing or not.

An peculiar old man hold his hymn book in one hand, read in it and makes movement with the other hand in the air.

A boy sits lazily, his feet dangling from the sturdy branches of a blacken tree.

Then suddenly, the lone eye peers toward the background, just where the minister shoulder angles with his neck.

She stops fanning herself, staring at the horizon.

Some women incline their head to whisper with one another, weakening the hymn tenor as they do.

Some men raises their chins to try to see what ever the young lady saw herself and their wives rumor about.

The minister opens his eyes, realizing that he is almost signing unaccompanied, but by a few elders oblivious at the moment of what cause that mayhem.

The odd old man hasn’t reacted, he just continues his manner, flexing fingers or straightening them.

The minister clears his throat twice, and then he sings even louder without having lost the tempo.

Called back to order, men lower their chins to read in the Hymn’s book, women do alike, except the fanning lady. Immovable, she watches.

The hymn signing pick up to new height, up until the nagging sound of a motorcycle approaching just makes it impossible to continue.

Then the men’s chins rise again, some hymn book are turned over, the thumb marking the page.

The astonished women gaze one to the others. If you can’t hear yourselves singing, rather you can whisper.

Someone shove in the rib of the old man and makes a sign to him when his attention is gained. Sign that make the old man wrinkled face unfold in joy like a rose button blooming in the morning light. He looks toward the same emplacement the other are watching for, repeating over and over the sign that the other made to him.

The minister sighs.

But the fanning woman keeps her watch with no reaction at all.

A cloud of dust moves steadily toward the gathering.

The kid in the tree jump, his feet taking position on the branch. He tiptoes and places a hand like a visor to the horizon. He stands there for what look like an eternity before animating himself with excitement, letting himself fall on the ground, landing on his feet and running toward the worshippers, arms spread in the air.

“Cyan’s back! Cyan’s back!” he yells to everyone that can hear his exalted shouting.

The hymn books falls on the ground, the minister crosses his arms and turn toward where he had his back, the kids joined with their parents. Everyone is smiling, but the fanning lady. Her lone eye refuges behind the fence of her pink feathered fan. She bows her head, but she stays in the same position she was.

The old man presses from behind the assembly. People move with a smile to him, letting him pass and progress toward the front without holding him back.

The white man is not long to make the distance, parking the vehicle near a post and roughing his hair to remove the sand in it. He smiles back to the small crowd, milling on the edge of the roofed space. The first to move and draw near is the celebrant.

-You’re late, wishy-washy. He said the more seriously of the world.

The infliction of his voice give the impression of such a displeasure, as well as the position he adopts, fist closed on each hips, that Cyan stays near the motorcycle, mute and arched brow.

There is a silence where the other makes the distance separating them. Arriving at arms length, the minister let fall his pretended stance to wield a smile and embracing a now stiff Cyan.

-Man that I am glad to see you’re back!

Cyan relaxes.

In the background, people laughs and like if it is the signal they were all waiting for, they leave their far-off post and circle both men, chatting as loud as was the motorcycle’s motor minutes before.

The fanning lady stays behind, glancing over the outer limits of her fan, immobile.

The kid that ran down the three tangles the legs of Cyan, making it impossible to walk freely. The man pats his head as the boy look up, clearly happy of this return.

The minister passes on his side, keeping one arm around the shoulder of his friend.

-How do you fair? Cyan asks, before some emotion changes his expression. The timid joy that could be read before turns into a more enlighten one.

-Logan! He says, waving to the odd old man.

The man can’t contain his joy and he hurries to meet Cyan and embraces him as well, for a split second. He then backs and starts gesticulating in the air with both hand.

Cyan shakes his head and

-Later, later we can take news of each other. Later. We have something going on. I was late, I heard? He says.

The minister smiles back as Cyan’s gaze reach him and they move back gradually to each their place.

Passing in front of the fanning lady, still dusty by the road and trudging because of the boy holding to his legs, Cyan inclines his head politely.

-Tiara. He flatly says to her.

Her eyes barely clearing the feathery border stares at him and follow him till he is too much in an angle for her to see him without moving her head. She resumes her fanning.

He walks two rows behind her, sitting beside the odd old man he called Logan.