Nobody knew where the old man really came from.
He had lived alone in a small decaying cottage, out on the edge of the forest, for so long that it was never really questioned just how long he’d been there. He had appeared quietly one or two decades ago and was hardly ever seen. There were rumours of course. Lots of them. Some say he’d been a top heart surgeon in the capital city, with a fine home and a wife, but that was just hearsay. Others said he had a murky past that he didn’t want to share. Many said he was mad. Conjecture had been buzzing for years. The succession of lads on their bicycles that delivered his groceries and the like, out from the village, were often questioned as to his demeanour, but since the old fellow rarely spoke, nothing much was learned in this way. So, the locals had to be content with gossip.
One morning, a lad, like so many others over the years, peddled up to his front gate. He was unstrapping the box from the rear of his bike, when the old man appeared. This time, instead of waiting for the boy to carry his purchases to the front door, he came down the path to take them. He smiled and waved the boy to follow. It was the custom to pay for goods by way of cash in an envelope, along with the next order. This was usually done at the door step. This time he beckoned the youngster into the house and indicated a chair for him to sit on while he prepared money and list. The boy sat waiting patiently for a few minutes, in no way afraid, but curious about this new experience. The man returned, envelope in hand, and sat opposite.
He flapped it a couple of times, smiled, and said, “Tell me your name.”
The boy, taken aback by the question, reddened with sudden embarrassment.
“Your name?” he repeated.
But the boy just lowered his head. When he looked up he patted his mouth.
The old man said, “Yes, I thought so. You are unable to speak, I think.”
The other’s head bobbed.
With a great sigh the man sat back in his chair.
“Have you noticed,” he starts, “that the heartbeat has a double thump? Folks have tried to express these sounds with regular words, like ‘a lub and a dub’ for instance. Not easy.” He waved his hand and went on. “They are themselves most mysterious. It is all about the valves, you see? Such busy little things, thumping away day and night, until… well, no matter. More importantly, is what they hide; these double thumps.” He patted his chest. “To delve further, in there, tight-packed in between these sounds, sitting in that tiny space after the ‘lub’ and before the ‘dub’, there is an exquisite moment.” He leant forward. “Although very small, it eats away at time.” His old head shook slowly from side to side. “Ah! There are such hidden wonders that momentarily fleet within this hidden void,” he murmured, and fell silent for several long minutes.
The boy sat thinking, entranced at some of these ideas. Some of it understood, but not all of it. He decided that it didn’t matter. He was happy to just be there, listening.
The man’s old eyes widened, as though suddenly aware of where he was. He got to his feet and handed the new grocery order to the boy, who also stood. With a smile, he said, “I hope you enjoyed your visit here today?”
The boy nodded eagerly.
With a satisfied smile, he said, “Well then, I look forward to your next visit.”
As the bike rattled back along the narrow lane the boy turned and waved, and the old man, still lost in so many forgotten memories, waved back.