The words in the caption above present an obscure allusion, visible only to me until after I offer the reader an anecdote of the hours leading to the event alluded to.
The day started with a visit to the walk-in emergency medical facility at the Karolinska Hospital. They opened promptly at 8 A.M. I had had no breakfast, except, of course, coffee.
After questioning me, poking and prodding me, and extracting and examining some of my bodily fluids, the professionals at Karolinska said I needed a specialist at the Danderyd Hospital which is located around five English miles north, near the end of the Red Line of the Stockholm Subway system at Mörby Centrum. But, a taxi was provided for my use, at no direct charge, and I had a 30-minute window to get the day’s first nourishment before the taxi arrived at 12:10 PM. I purchased a lonely sandwich from the hospital cafeteria and ate it while waiting outside.
At Danderyd, bodily fluids were again offered and extracted, then a very long wait in a crowded, busy medical department until after dinner time when another professional poked and prodded and questioned. The conclusion: I was to get a CT Scan of my abdomen (it turned out ultimately to be some inflammation, easily dealt with). More waiting. Finally, at around 9:30 PM, the scan was done, and I had at least an hour to wait until the results would be known. (It turned out to be four hours, but “that’s not important right now.”)
I took the opportunity to travel one station north to the last stop at Mörby Centrum to find food vendors that might be open at 10:00 PM. Few were, but Mörby Grillen was.
Now to the nut of this story.
I took my 150-gram hamburger, with its over-size sesame-seeded bun and a generous portion of pommes frites, to the seating area outside the grill where several tables and chairs were available.
It was a pleasantly cool evening with no discernible breeze. I sat and amazed myself by consuming the burger in short order. All the trimmings were included in it. Now sated, I attempted to address the “French fries.”
Seated at the next table was a man who captured my attention as I picked slowly at the frites. He reminded me of my late high school pal Fred, pictured above.
My first impression is that he was thoroughly enjoying his cigarette. He sucked shallowly on it, looked at the remaining length of it, considered it closely, perhaps admiring it as an old companion (as Fred similarly did with his cigs), and then he took another drag, not hurrying this great pleasure.
His similarity to Fred seemed ever more apparent: Height, age, clothing, general manner, and posture. Fred would be my age now, 81, if he were still around; I regret deeply that he ain’t.
The man was around six feet tall, dressed neatly in tan/beige pants and a similarly colored light jacket, Fred’s usual attire when abroad (I couldn’t see the man’s shirt). He manner was that of a person not in a hurry. His posture was as erect as his upper back would allow (widower’s hump?); Fred also stood erectly.
Where this man differed from Fred in appearance is that he had a short, full beard, not too carefully trimmed, but not disorderly. Also, as he finished his meal of coffee and tobacco and started away, he moved with great care on joints that seemed reluctant to move quickly or fully.
I suddenly received the impression the man might have been a retired sailor, a merchant seaman or fisherman who use his body as well as his wits to accomplish his tasks. This is where Fred was different: he was avowedly sedentary unless confronted with an automobile or other machinery in need of mechanical or spiritual attention.
I imagined that this man, now having walked well away from me, and Fred, and I, could have had a good conversation, with stories to share and perceptions to confirm or debate. And, we could sit in silence with each other in the knowledge that we had seen much of the world and that only fellows our age could fully appreciate the depth and breadth of each other’s lives.