The café. An idea, an ideal, a beautiful project. The undertaking of a man who, in theory, should already be retired, enjoying his savings, taking care of his loved ones, tending to his garden: like so many travellers who, after years around the world, return home to live their old age surrounded by love and admiration… though also by a touch of envy, a silent touch of greed.
The café. It doesn’t bring enough to live on, but it gives him something deeper: the satisfaction of seeing how people — families, friends, couples — come and return, and do exactly what he once dreamed they would do: take time to let time pass.
They want to talk with him; they tell him about their lives, share ideas, thoughts; they bring and take books; they speak about books…
But no, it doesn’t give him enough to live on.
The affection, the café’s small fame, the pride of being “the soul” of the place, the admiration he senses in the eyes of many customers — and of some readers — are a great pleasure, a deep personal gratification. But what lies beyond that?
Will his accident mark a before and after for the café?
And what will that after be like — if it exists at all?
To keep the café going, to sustain that personal satisfaction it gives him, he needs to undertake something more: something that brings in income and that, in some way, “subsidizes” the café. That’s what he’s working on, from the bed: ideas, possibilities, first steps, slow results…
At times, the temptation: what if he just gave it all up?
The children come back from school.
What has he done during all those hours?
Sometimes it seems impossible that he has “no time” to do everything he intends to. Of course: washing, doing his exercises, the nurse’s visit… that’s already three hours gone. If he then takes time to read, play chess, draw, listen to music, write… that’s two or three more hours. And he must eat — even if he doesn’t have to prepare anything. Exquisite meals, of course, made by his wife, his sister-in-law, his mother-in-law; sometimes by his daughter.
Time doesn’t pass faster or slower: it’s perception that changes when one spends the whole day in bed.
He talks with the children, hugs them, asks what they did at school, whether they have homework, watches how they continue with their things, their activities…
They were the first to accept this situation of a father in bed, day after day. They’ve adapted.
Paul Rayment thought his life was over, or was ending, or had to end.
He doesn’t see his own situation the same way Paul does, but the stages are surprisingly similar and, in many of them, the same question returns: what for?
In the end, life continues, and life changes.
Life keeps changing.
Even if he understands that his life will continue, he still doesn’t know how it will change.
Leave a Reply