A Stranger's Place

Story ID:	210
Written by:	Robert Villanueva
Story type:	Fiction
Location:	Corpus Christi Texas United States
Year:	1970

A STRANGER’S PLACE

By

Robert Villanueva


It was a cool night. A nice night, the old man said to himself. On a night like this there was rebirth. There was a rebirth of the wonder the old man had felt as a youngster when he looked upon the cloudless, starry sky. There were so many of those nights. And there was a rebirth in the ocean before him, the ocean that shifted endlessly and held so many secrets. The dark waters had been inviting to him as a child, and now that invitation was renewed.

The old man sighed.

“Vamos, papacito,” the young man said. He was the old man’s grandson, and he was twenty.

“No,” the old man said. He had heard Miguel make his way down the wharf. He was not surprised. “No. You sit with me.”

The darkness at the end of the wharf concealed the two figures. The old man felt safe there. He could look up and down the beach and not be seen himself. He could admire the sky and the slightly discordant sound of the waves rolling on the shore as they made a hollow echo under the wharf.

The ocean breeze was pleasant, too. It was the same breeze that touched the shores of Mexico before it swept across Corpus Christi Bay. It carried the salty smell of the water along with it, but the old man did not mind. He was used to it, and he even liked it. It did not destroy the peacefulness he felt as he sat at the end of the abandoned wharf.

No one else was there now. The wharf was long out of use. Even the fishermen seldom used it because years ago a storm had taken half of it away, and now it was short, and there were no floodlights.

For a while, the old man felt that he owned this place. This place was his as a boy. This place always welcomed him and made him feel that he belonged.

“Mama and Papa were worried. They were looking for you.”

“Sit with me,” the old man said again.

Miguel slowly took a place beside the old man.

“Now it is complete.”

“I knew you would be here,” Miguel said. “I told them, and they didn’t believe me.”

The old man looked at Miguel.

Miguel could see he was thinking.

“Remember how I used to bring you here? You were just a boy then. A little boy. You liked feeding the seagulls just as much as I did when I was a boy. Recuerdas?”

“Yes, papacito,” Miguel said. He had always called the old man “papacito.” It was a term his father used, and Miguel had picked it up because he knew it was a nice word.

“Now look at you; you are watching over me now.”

The old man looked away. His eyes were old, but in them, there was life.

“Because I don’t want to see them put you away.”

“You have compassion to replace that which your father lacks.”

“He loves you, papacito. He was just so worried. The doctors said you need professional care.”

The old man laughed a short, bitter laugh.

“I need no help in dying.”

There was a silence for a minute. But it was only silence between the old man and his grandson. The ocean was still roaring. Along the beach, there were now three boys playing near the water. Their laughter was carried the distance by the ocean wind and died before the sound was completely comprehended.

The old man began gazing at the sky. Immediately, his grandson followed his stare. The sky was full of light. Sometimes the lights got brighter before they faded, but they were always there. From out of nowhere, a shooting star appeared. Its instantaneous flash of light was followed by a quick demise and sudden darkness. Both the old man and his grandson had seen it.

“It is like life,” the old man said.

Miguel did not respond.

“I am just an old fool,” the old man explained.

There was the silence again. The old man turned his gaze upon the water. The waves were becoming choppy and short. Miguel shifted slightly.

“Let’s go, papacito.”

“No. I am not sure you understand. Besides, I am too weak now.”

“Why did you come here if you were so weak? You shouldn’t be out.”

“I cannot live among strangers,” the old man said.

“You’re not going to live with strangers. Papa said you won’t have to go to a home if I take care of you.”

“I am not talking of a home. I am a stranger among my family.”

“No, papacito, you’re not.”

“Not with you, chiquito. But with your father and his wife. They no longer like to think about me. They cannot accept an old man now.”

“They try, papacito. They really try.”

“I cannot live among strangers,” the old man said again. “And I will not die among them.”

The old man’s voice was soft now. Miguel looked at the old man for a long time.

“I’m sorry,” Miguel said.

“It is not you.”

“I know, but I’m still sorry.”

“We are all strangers, Miguel. But every stranger has his place. This is mine.”

“And where is mine?”

“Right now it is here.”

Miguel was still staring at his grandfather. The old man was beginning to look tired now. He had left the house without much difficulty earlier that afternoon while Miguel was out. He was not missed until Miguel returned, and it was late in the evening now.

Miguel could not help but notice the tranquility in the old man’s face. It was not a look of resignation or even a look of forced composure. It was more a look of quiet satisfaction. Miguel smiled. After a few minutes, he put his arm around the old man’s shoulder.

“I love you, papacito,” Miguel said.

“I know, chiquito,” the old man whispered. “And you will understand me soon. You are the only one who will.”

The old man’s voice trailed off. It was a hoarse, sickly voice, and Miguel did not like it. It did not sound like his grandfather.

Miguel watched his grandfather’s eyes slowly shut. The old man’s body became limp in Miguel’s arms. Miguel did not move. Instead, he gazed at the ocean. The waves glistened in the moonlight, and now and then Miguel could see a fish jump to the surface. There was a small jellyfish directly below him that had been drifting in front of him through the latter half of the night. Miguel did not notice it until now. He watched it move. It was a shiny, crystal animal with a luminous, opaque body, and Miguel did not realize it before, but it was beautiful.

It was getting cold now. The ocean breeze was slightly stronger. But Miguel did not mind. He liked the ocean breeze. He liked the ocean. He liked looking up at the sky on nights that were clear. He searched the heavens and looked at each star.

He did not know how long he sat there. His legs were getting stiff, though, and he was beginning to feel sleepy. Still, he was not tired of being there. He wanted to stay there all night. There would be a beautiful sunrise, and the seagulls would begin to gather in large groups, making a sound that the old man used to call the “song of the ocean.” He looked around him again. He gazed at the ocean, the beach and the skyline. He was still fascinated with the place. He had been there for a while. He did not know how long, but he would have to leave soon. He stayed longer, though.

But he knew his parents would not worry now that he had gone looking for the old man. They trusted him even if they did not know why. The old man was Miguel’s responsibility. He had brought the old man back from his wanderings many other times, although this was not a wandering.

Finally, Miguel looked at the old man again. His face still looked tranquil.

“I understand, papacito,” Miguel whispered. “The ocean is the only place you could ever belong. It was the only place where you weren’t a stranger. And I’m not a stranger to you or it, either. And my being here did make it complete.”

Miguel looked away from the old man. He scanned the light brown beach. It was dotted with thousands of bone-white seashells. But even from where he sat, Miguel could see the decomposing carcasses of several sea animals.

He began to gaze at the sky again. In the distance, he heard the sound of several seagulls that had alighted on a faraway reef.

“And this place is beautiful, and the sky is nice when it is full of stars. And that shooting star is like life—just like you said. It doesn’t last long enough. And everyone is a stranger, and you are lucky to find someone who is not a complete stranger. And you knew all along that I would find you here. And you knew all along that you were going to die here. You even knew that I would stay here after you died and try to understand everything you said. You knew I would. I do understand now, papacito. I do.”

The waves were loud upon the shore. They made a sort of echo under the wharf that Miguel liked to listen to. It was a sound that was familiar to him.

“I understand, papacito,” Miguel said aloud. “But I almost wish I didn’t.”


THE END