A Story, The Silent Cafe

The Silent Cafe

The workday ended, the watch fixer, the engineer and the accountant meet in their regular spot, at their regular hour, on their regular night. The work of the week complete, more or less, they promptly and precisely arrive at 8:42pm on the street to the back of the main street tastefully away from the bustle of people. The three chair table awaits them with water poured, and they take their places as per normal.
The watch fixer faces the back wall with the clock, naturally, so as not to be noticed by the casual patrons who may enter (although that is always unlikely). She has no need to look into the faces of inquisitive people with all their complications and emotions. No thank you. The clock will do just fine. Plus, it was a nice simple clock with big gears and a plain black and white face that could calm the most calculating of souls.
The engineer faces the juke box that he always thinks of investing in, but never does because, really, what if they don’t like the song he picks and laugh at him. There is always the chance that they will laugh at him. They never had laughed at him of course, and if he remained silent, and took few risks it just might stay that way. He liked the juke box with its dolphin decals and pink and blue colours. It reminded him of the days on the ocean liner where he saw the flying fish while sitting alone on the deck. Flying fish that he always hoped he would tell someone of. There were four burnt out bulbs on the juke box. “They should really replace those,” he thought, but never told anyone.
The accountant faces the window and looks at the garden in between the two apartment buildings, as it reminds him of that trip he took all those years ago. He always planned to go back, but, really, can you go back? Best not to risk it. The cost of gasoline and airfare and hotels and souvenirs being what they are, it seemed always better to stay home and look at the garden across the street. Within his head, the accountant always could justify doing nothing rather than doing something, as the risks and dangers were lower. “They do look lovely though,” he thought.
The waiter came back, and left knowing that the three would require more time even though their orders would be the same as every week. The three then sat. Murmured at times trite small talk neither meaningful nor personal. Thoughts swirled in the threes’ heads that, if today were indeed that day, may come out and be expressed in the company of friends. If today was that day that is.
The watch fixer looking at the clock and thinking of her mother at home in her upstairs room. Her mother who rarely spoke to her, and who walked around in a sort of haze cleaning and attending to the plethora of pointless duties a mother raised in a duty frantic world does. Her mother, who told her when she was young of the importance of soft words, and of the dangers of the World; her mother, who the watch fixer walked with during the festival seasons through the trees, but who embodied a sort of contagious loneliness and regret that dragged at the gears of the watch fixers being. The watch fixer thought of her mother, and glanced at the glass of water in front of the accountant.
“So she does love him,” the engineer thought. “I saw the look she had when she glanced his way,” he thought. The engineer, who always fancied the day that he would speak to the watch fixer about non-work related things, and investigate the possibility of maybe, in some way, perhaps, being able to see her. However, he had always thought that she fancied the accountant. Always had a feeling that she looked at him with a sort of wistfulness that those who fancy others look. He always had a feeling. Now he saw it again, and he was all but sure that she liked the accountant better, and confirmed the reality that he, the engineer, would always be alone and living in his company dormitory, smoking and watching shallow action movies on his laptop with headphones, so as not to disturb his neighbour. He always had a feeling.
“What if she were to die,” she thought and a sense of relief passed over her face. “If she was to die then I could walk alone,” the watch fixer thought, and almost smiled. She glanced at the accountant’s long finger nails and his white soft marshmallow hands and almost smiled at the thought of his weakness. She looked at the clock ticking smoothly and almost smiled. She felt full of inspiration at how strong she would be without her mother. “I could walk alone,” she thought over and over. She glanced at her water, and almost looked up to the faces of her companions, but thought better of it, as she did not want to lose the joy in her heart at the thought of the weight that would be lifted if only her mother were to die.
The accountant looking out the window was elsewhere. At one time he had taken a trip to London with a friend. It was an exchange of sorts where he was to learn the culture and history of London by touring the famous museums, and attend the famous theatres that boasted the best of Western History, or so he was told. He understood little, however, and spent the time trying with all his might to avoid catching glimpses of his friend and she stared with interest at the portraits of old white men in military dress and formal robes. He wished he could talk to her, but knew that he had little to offer of interest in the face of such interesting exhibits. Rather, he stood silently hoping that she would look at him. Thus it went, on and on, as they toured the libraries, museums, theatres, cafes, restaurants, parks, buildings and churches. She talked of the beauty and interest of the city, and in the end she stayed. She found a flower shop to work at, and a small one roomed flat to live in, and he left. He thought of her, and drank his water knowing that he wouldn’t go to her, but rather e-mail her an update about his work that week.
The server came back and took the predictable orders of the three. Two green teas, a coffee, a veggie plate, some fried potatoes, and a glass of milk. The server sighed, said thank you, and left promptly lest he absorb some of the intense empty sadness that seemed to ruminate from the three head table in the corner of the café.
The engineer thought of playing a song again on the jukebox, thought better of it, and left to smoke a cigarette outside.
“I shouldn’t do this,” he thought, as he knew that it would leave the door open for relations to be built between the other two, but he needed his smoke. He needed it to fill his stomach so as to avoid the loneliness that he knew was there, but could talk to no-one of. So he left, and smoked outside staring blankly at the passersby on the street.
“All these people walking by, but saying nothing, as they walk to their families or friends or coworkers who comfort them in moments of trial,” he thought as he exhaled his thirteenth cigarette of the day. The loneliness was so overwhelming that he almost was forced to take a knee, but he stood strong.
“They will never talk to me, and I can never talk to them,” he thought, “because what would I say to those who have everything, when I have nothing to offer. No one wants to hear of the flying fish of the Indian Ocean, and even if they did they wouldn’t want to hear it from me in all my ineloquence.” He inhaled with the force of Aeolus and watched a child pick up a stick off the ground and use it as a sword. Swinging it through the air, as he held his Father’s hand, the small boy made the engineer think that it was time to talk to the watch fixer, and start his life on a path away from the dormitory room and the shallow action movies, and towards the sea where he would find peace.
The watch fixer shifted uncomfortably, as the engineer got up to smoke and glanced at the window noticing how unclean the window was. Trying to focus through the window, the watch fixer thought she saw a coworker pass by with his son, and she quickly looked down at her green tea.
“What if he was to see me here,” she thought, “and with his son to boot. How horrible it would be to have others talking about me at the shop with all their assumptions and suppositions circling the rooms.” She sat focused on the green tea, and tried not to think of the looks on others faces as they discussed her strange liaison with these two men who were in no way related to her. The brief inspiring feeling of her mother’s death were wiped clean, and replaced with a shakiness that was nearly visible if not for the watch fixer’s stoic focus. Staring at the tea, and tightening the gears inside of her the watch fixer quelled the urge to pound her fist into the table, and slowly exhaled.
The accountant, oblivious to all the tensions in the world outside of his own shallow soul, calmly ate his fried potatoes and sipped at his milk. He would have to finish the accounts by the end of next week for his newest client, who owned a very successful company that made machine parts that were exported to foreign countries to be made into engines for tractors and other heavy machinery. It was an interesting account and whenever he worked on it he couldn’t help but think of robots. Robots that could be controlled by people, and that could do the jobs that people didn’t want to do anymore. Like accounts. They could do his accounts while he picked flowers, or cooked fine French food for his family that he could impart his wisdom on, and love. Happily he thought of these things as he ate his fried potatoes, and a faintly visible smile crept from the side of his mouth.
“So it’s mutual,” the engineer thought as he returned to his place at the table glimpsing the mocking smirk on the face of the accountant. Deflated and embarrassed he sat down. Glumly he drank his coffee and fidgeted with his cell phone, so as to avoid looking at the others or, worse yet, the others looking at him. He would go home tonight after renting a movie, put his headphones on, and drift away into his laptop. Things would never change, but he would meet them next week, and next week he would say something. Next week he would tell both of them of the flying fish, and she would want to enter his world. She would want him, and he would begin his journey to the sea.
“She will never die, and I will never walk alone,” the watch fixer thought as she finished the last cucumber on her veggie plate. With a focus that betrayed no emotion she sat and finished her green tea avoiding the eyes of the others. She would go home, and listen to her mother shuffling around like a ghost on patrol. She would stare out the window at the neighbours’ gardens and imagine the mounds of dirt covering her mother, freeing her to walk alone down the streets of her town. She would imagine driving to the mountains, and wind on her face and all else in between, and cringe at the images every time she caught her mother in her peripheral vision. She looked at the clock on the wall one last time, and got up to leave.
Watching the watch fixer get up to leave and bowing politely, the accountant sipped on the last of his green tea with a feeling of relief. The images in his mind circled and circled getting bigger and bigger until he felt himself king. King of a land full of flowers where he was interesting. Interesting in a way that she would notice, and in which he would inspire himself into doing things he never thought possible. Yes, he would be interesting he thought as he eagerly sipped his green tea and looked out the window at the passers by. The accountant would go home to his parents’ basement suite and read a mystery novel, and tomorrow he would go to work. He would work on the machinery parts maker’s accounts with energy and passion, and at night he would account for his life. Perhaps he wouldn’t return next week. Perhaps he would find the will to leave this town, and go to London. Or Paris. Perhaps he would have to cook a meal for ten at a dinner party hosted by him. Perhaps he would be giving a talk on the history of the West. Perhaps he would be elsewhere.

Perhaps.