An Old Man and the Desert

 

It was my birthday a few days ago. I do not celebrate birthdays anymore, even when others remind me of it.

There was a lot of snow on the ground that day. The desert is accepting when it gets covered. The heavy and wet snow bends the alderleaf mountain mahogany brush to the ground. To the sand. And the Crocodile Juniper trees lower their branches as if elderly folks secretly remembering.

And the horizon becomes flatter. And the desert becomes the horizon.

So I sat in my chair that has taken my body shape over the years. And sipped on luke-warm green tea and thought of things other than my birthday.

Then, searched through my favorite books on shelves that kept them together. Upright. Gibran, Voltaire, Tennyson, Balzac, Alexis Carrel. Then, I stopped and pulled Hemingway out of the file line. “Perfect” I thought “The Old Man and the Sea” is good to re-read today. Maybe I will discover a new line; or a new meaning to an old line.”

I went to Chapter Two. I felt like joining the old man going to sea after eighty four days without catching a fish.

I have read Hemingway’s works countless times, in three languages. While translations tell of the story and not the author’s genius, I enjoy discovering how that genius is pan-human, touching culture and spirituality through thoughts and images beyond the subtleties of the original language.

.. And I rode alongside the old man in his small skiff. There were other fishermen going to the sea before sunrise. I thought I saw the lanterns on each fisherman’s skiff quietly cutting the waves. I was quiet too so I would let the old man feel lucky on that day. I knew he had told Manolin that he felt lucky this morning.

And then, I heard a whisper in my ear. It was Hemingway. He said:

“There were other boats going out to sea and the old man heard the dip and push of their oars even though he could not see them.”

I put the book on my knees, took another sip of the now cold green tea, and thought about my birthday.

.. The old man heard the dip and push of their oars even though he could not see them. I realised that at that moment I was also hearing the oars of passage, their dips and push. I was on different continents, in cities I have never been to, and with people many I had not met. Yet, I knew they were there but could not see them.  I was with descendents of native Samoans in the north of Taiwan; found myself in the catacombs of Prague; and relived the last time I saw my parents in Paris.

And then, I felt a touch on my foot. It was my old dog who had put his large Akita paw on my right foot and was looking at me with his honey-brown eyes. He wanted to go outside and play in the snow.

So, wondered when I will read Hemingway again as I put “The Old Man and the Sea” back on the shelve.

And went out with my dog to play in the snow.

An old man, an old dog and the desert under snow.

 

February 21, 2024

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2024