The Old Man and the Sea

The thing must be done. At least it wasn’t the stuff. Just the thing. He wondered about going up to the Canteen run by Jesus and Maria. But then he’d have to put some pants on.

θαλασσα θαλασσα he thought. And he thought better of it. He turned and walked to the edge, then as far in as was waist high. He concentrated on the image. The image from Copenhagen. That image always helped.

As he turned back to the shore, he saw the old man. The other old man. One of the 300, perhaps. Was it Rick, or maybe Johnny or Sven? They had nothing to say to each other. Everything that could be said, had been said. Everything that must be said, had been said. Everything that must not be said, had not been said. It would not be said again until later. In the Canteen. Where pants really helped.

Such a relief. With pants, many things could be said.