The Pier

The old man was sitting on his chair outside the house, staring out at the ocean. Again. I wordlessly took my place beside him, leaning against the wall.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It is the same dream again. A baby's cries, a telephone ringing in the night, a woman's voice, speaking in hushed tones. That raspy voice. A door opening. And then I wake up, in sweat. For three nights now."

"For the third time, I will ask you: Why are you telling me?"

I didn't know.

"How long have you been here?"

"Two weeks."

"And you don't remember anything."

"I don't."

He leaned back, "We remember what we choose to remember. Actually, you have been here for almost two months. You were just in a coma during much of that time. Two months ago, you jumped from that cliff. My granddaughter saw you jump and ran to me, pulling at my arm, gesturing wildly. We got the police over. It was a miracle you didn't die.

But maybe it is a curse. You were looking to die. No one who jumped from that cliff wouldn't have wanted to die. My friend tried to kill himself from there, just like you did. You were probably like him, trying to run away from something.

Trying to seek salvation in the sea."

**

"But you are naïve to think you can run away just like that. To think you can end it just like that. No, you can never get out. It is a bottomless Hell. Endless agony. Condemnation. He was condemned, condemned to eternal damnation for his betrayal. For betraying his comrades to save himself. That poor damned soul. As if he had one. He tried to kill himself, but he didn't die. God wouldn't let him get away with it just like that. That would be too light a punishment. Don't you agree?"

"It isn't your friend's story, is it? It is your story," I spoke for the first time.

He froze, but recovered his composure. "Come over, young lady. Don't stand behind me. Come to me."

I walked gingerly over to his side. He turned his head towards me and raised a hand. "You have a raspy voice…Bend lower, let me touch your face…I can't see very well…"

I did as he was told, and felt his hand on my face. His fingers, his palm, were rough.

"What is a pretty lady like you doing in this godforsaken place?"

"I am looking for someone."

"A man."

"A man," I affirmed.

"Who is he?"

"My husband."

"Why are you looking for him here… this is a place where only the hopeless come to. Like me, an old man waiting to die. Like my granddaughter, mute, abandoned by her useless mother. Like a man trying to kill himself. Why would your husband, married to a pretty wife like you, be here?"

**

"I had an affair with a colleague. It was on an overseas trip. I got pregnant. He didn't say a thing, but I know he suspected. I thought of abortion, creating an accident to have a miscarriage, but I didn't have the guts to do it. I gave birth to a baby girl. At first everything was all right, he seemed to have banished his doubts. We seemed to be a happy young family. Then the phone calls started coming. It was the father. He was telling me he wanted to see his daughter, that he wouldn't let us shut him out of it. I was terrified. I couldn't let him destroy everything. And then one day, he showed up at the door. I opened it and tried to get him to leave. Then my husband came down to see what the commotion was."

She broke down, falling to her knees. "After that he left. He packed his bags and left."

I put my arm around her shoulder, and she buried her face in mine.

"Why are you looking for him? Do you think he will come back to you?" I asked gently, brushing my fingers through her hair.

"I just want to know if he is all right."

"Does it mean a lot to you to know?"

Sobbing uncontrollably, she nodded.

"He was here," I whispered into her ear.

She looked up.

"He was here for 2 months. He left three days ago."

"How is he?"

"He is doing good. He was sad at first. But he is all right now. He has found salvation."

She looked at me with wide eyes. "Is he really all right?"

I nodded. "Now, go. Your daughter needs you."

**

After she left, I was all alone again. I stared at the rundown pier. I couldn't really see, but in my head, I was imagining my granddaughter walking the length of the pier, the planks creaking with every step she took. Right at the end, she would stop and place a bouquet of flowers, close her eyes for a prayer, and then walk back. It has been her routine for three days now.

I closed my eyes, listening to the ocean, enjoying a few moments of quiet before my granddaughter's return.