A Brief Encounter

A strange thing happened to me once. I was on vacation from university and all my friends seemed either to be away or busy so I took myself down to the pub, alone but with a book. I remember it was Daphne du Maurier’s I’ll Never Be Young Again which – at the grand old age of twenty – I believed to be true. So, with a nice pint before me, I was immersed in reading when someone sat down at my table and asked me for a light. I looked up and saw a man of about thirty, dressed in a bizarre fashion, holding his cigarette expectantly.

I’d never seen anyone like this character before – imagine Russell Brand crossed with Johnny Depp, but without the good looks. His hair was unruly yet it shone with a kind of dark burning and his clothes – although reasonably typical of the fashions of that time – seemed flamboyant and vaguely theatrical. I offered him a light, which he took, and he inhaled deeply for a moment before letting out a stream of blue smoke as if he’d been toking on a joint.

“You see,” he said, and then paused to take another drag, “you see, the way I look at it is this: If you want to get on in life, you can always skip lunch but you should never skip breakfast.”

“Wise words my friend,” I replied, before returning to my book. He sat in silence for a while, smoking.

“Would you like to know what happens at the end of that book?” he asked.

“No thank you. I’m enjoying it and I’d like to find out for myself.” I was a little irritated that my peace had been disturbed.

He leaned back in his chair in a way that suggested both confidence and nonchalance. “I’ve never read it,” he said, “but even so, I can tell you what happens at the end.” He grabbed the book from my hand and closed it, laying it face-down on the table. I noticed to my dismay that one corner began to soak up a small splash of spilt beer. The man then leaned towards me and stared at me with eyes that resembled a wolf’s, and for an instant I thought I caught a glimpse of the frozen forests of the North in those cold and distant eyes. He took my hand and studied my palm.

“Something in your life has forced you to transform your personality,” he said. “The way you behave now is not your true character. Why is that? What massive trauma can have caused you to flip your personality on its head so?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” I said. “I haven’t changed anything about myself.”

“No?” He smiled and I saw a gold tooth flash like the beam of a lighthouse. “Then maybe I am mistaken.”

I knew he was not. I knew he was right, but I wasn’t about to admit it to him. Something had made me change my disposition, and the spirit I displayed to the outside world was already far, far removed from my true nature. I was astounded that he could have known this. He began to stroke the inside of my palm, not with tenderness or affection, but with a sort of puzzlement as if he were searching for something.

“I can tell you this,” he said finally. “You have a long and tiresome journey to make before you arrive at your chosen destination. But worry not my friend, for you will reach your desired goal eventually and when you do, you will devote all of your energy to it and you will find the peace and harmony you deserve. Your ending – when it comes – will be a happy one.”

He grinned widely, planted a kiss on my forehead, and said: “Unlike that book you’re reading.”

And then he was gone.