"Slow" by Baran

She is sitting in the café. It’s an old small café in the train station, a white china mug of coffee is in front of her, her blue and brown woven scarf around her neck, her look lost somewhere on the old steel table. Her cell phone lies still, just beside her mug. She grabs her purse and reaches for her cigarette box, finds it, takes a cigarette out, searches for her lighter that she can’t find. And then she hears his voice from the neighboring table:
-Here miss.
She turns and sees a middle aged man holding a lighter towards her. He comes over, lights up the lighter and brings it close to her face, slim beautiful fingers she thinks. She holds one hand around his hand, lighter and the cigarette and then takes a deep puff.
-Thank you.
She smiles faintly after saying this. He asks:
-Do you care if I join you?
She knowing that she may have a long wait in front of her just shows the other seat to the man and nods. He takes his bag and camera from his table and brings them over. She looks at the camera, it seems really professional. The camera is on the table now, just beside her cell phone. He is looking out of the window now, the sky is gray and cloudy, bare branches of a tree move slowly in the wind. He turns towards her:
-May I have a cigarette?
She reaches into her purse and brings out the cigarette box, shakes it gently and holds it towards him. He takes one and lights it up, she looks at the slim slender fingers, square finger nails. He is looking at her now and he smiles, not in a hurry to say anything.
-It’s going to be a long wait, she says.
-yeah…long day, but all days are long here.
And he looks at her cell phone. In a spontaneous gesture she puts her on the cell phone.
-Today is an extremely quiet day, you know.
She thinks oh so he knows it’s my first day here and she wonders if it’s that obvious or maybe it’s just because of the cell phone.
-You photographer?
He looks into her eyes and in a slow motion nods vaguely.
-for a news agency or..?
He looks outside the window before answering:
-No, nothing like that…just a personal diary.
She feels she had asked too much, a few minutes passes in silence. She is thinking of his imaginary book:” My personal diary of the war” and then she imagines her picture in it, a tired face in a far away café in a station in nowhere, surrounded by white strokes of smoke with a white big mug in front of her and a cell phone, a cell phone on the table and then she thinks what would be the name of this photo in the book, and she smiles out of mockery, a good name for it would be:” waiting” or maybe” deserted” or even” hope”…He touches her hand lightly:
-Hey…you ok?
And immediately they both burst into laughter, funny silly question. The laughter doesn’t last long, just a lightening and it’s dark again.
-how old is he?
She looks at him, her eyes suddenly shining:
-twenty six.
-When was the last time you talked to him?
-Two days ago…but the connection was cut in the middle of our talk, so…
-He’ll come…
She shrugs her shoulders and takes a sip of her coffee.
He says again:
-He comes…if…
-If what?
It takes him a while to answer; he is playing with his lighter:
-If he can.
She nods. He looks at her, she is not stressed by his answer, she takes another sip of her coffee:
- Yes’ he’ll come if he can, that’s what you would think…but he may not show up.
And she looks into his eyes now; her eyes seem to be hurt:
-He is that sort of a person, he may not come, just to avoid me or to be alone in his cave…
He let’s her talk, she seems tired. She looks at the cell phone now and she seems desperate, then she looks at him, he has a faint smile on his face and he says calmly:
-or maybe just to avoid the pain
She nods silently.
And then he reaches into his bag and brings out a role of contacts and puts them on the table and stares out of the window again.
She takes them and starts looking at the pictures.
Soldiers, children, women, old men, dogs…
And pain.
And disbelief.
Sorrow.
Silence.
Life.
And there he is, with a bottle of water in his hand, sitting on a dead tree trunk, staring hollowly at a little girl who held her dog tightly in her arms. A powder of dust covering everything. Silence.
A long time has passed, without a word. It’s getting dark. She raises her head, she knows every minute detail of that scene by heart now, puts the contacts back on the table. With a brisk voice she says:
-He won’t come.
Then she takes her mug and stands:
-Do you care for more coffee?