6:16:28
He awoke on a crowed beach. It was dark but light was gaining. Sleepers were slowly rousting & starting to stir.
He was sleeping in close proximity to his family. One brother, then the other and a girlfriend.
As daylight gathered, those nearest the group stood to look in a general direction he could only surmise was northeast. The sun was about to rise.
The sounds of crashing waves and the howling breeze drowned out totally the din of hundreds, perhaps thousands that had slept on the beach. As far as he could see, isolated souls were standing, waiting for that magic moment when the grande orange ball broke over the horizon.
He wanted to see it for himself yet again and he didn’t know why.
Perhaps it was the deeply hidden symbol of hope or the promise of a new day about to unfold. But he knew better.
So without standing, he propped himself up on his elbow and looked towards the least dark part of the sky.
Sure enough, in spite of the blockages of low clouds, a haze at the horizon and the standing people, he could see the sun about 40% up over the line between sea & sky.
It rose full quickly and there we a few scattered cheers.
How cool would it be to spend the day with Mr Zed ? Just to hang out and listen to his stories ?
The Zed’s were Poles escaping just before the War and long-time friends of the Family. He was old now and slipping but still sharp. The label of ‘slipping’ he though was both kind & relative. He never found ‘slipping’ to be accurate. More likely ‘slipping’ was an act to throw off the receivers. Usually other family members & close friends that the ‘slipper’ had just grown bored with over time & could do nothing about it.
He then awoke alone on a dune near a house he recognized as Mr Zed’s. He was hearing the clothes he had been sleeping in apparently for some time. Black nylon shorts, a tee shirt and the unshaven face painted a picture that was both unsightly & unsatisfactory to him.
But Mr Zed would just be glad to have company regardless of the package it arrived in.
Accounts received were that Mr Zed was beginning to let himself ‘go’. Failing to keep up & maintain his own personal appearances as well as housekeeping chores.
The house was quiet.
He walked around to a window and peered inside cupping his hands near his eyes to cut down on the reflections & glare from the sun now behind him. There was someone having breakfast at the table.
But is wasn’t Mr Zed.
Walking on to the screen door, he shouted inside.
‘Anybody home?’
‘Who’s there … Alejandro !!‘
It was his Mr Zed’s son, the eldest, Eduardo.
‘Look at you. Where have you been?’
Before he could answer, a very large dog, perhaps larger that a St Bernard, lumbered thru the kitchen. It was Eduardo’s and was wearing what appeared to be a large, curly/kinky wig or hairpiece.
Perhaps Eduardo in his deeply hidden perversions had crossed a St Bernard with a French poodle and it was simply groomed that way.
It made no sense.
‘Is your Father here? I came to visit him.’
Before an answer, people started walking thru the kitchen.
Three younger men or older boys were speaking in Polish followed by a slender woman of middle age he recognized as Eduardo’s sister. The boys left and she stood at the sink with her back to the two boyhood pals.
‘I was going to hangout with your Father for a bit.’
Stopping to think, he gathered his wits realizing that he was now thousands of miles from the beach where he just saw the sun rise.
It made no sense.
He was feeling like the character Patrick McGoohan played in the Prisoner series. Always waking, not knowing where or why or even who he was.
It made no sense.
… to be continued …
It made no sense.
… to be continued …
