fate

at the shop

the sun was low, its rays blinking for the last time in the windows of tiny two-story houses, spread all over the seashore. the houses were tucked in together so hard that from aside it might seem to you that there was a beaming vivid ribbon flowing out of the sea and wrapping up the whole mountain. when the night fell down on the town you didn't need a clock to tell it. all you had to do was simply inhale. there's a thing about southern places: they're all about smells. all over the clock your nose may catch different odors -- from the spices at the market and the washing powder from the clothes drying on strings on the backyards to the thick smell of those southern roses whose buds are so enormous that they are resting down on the sidewalks; but when sun sets everything becomes different. the wind changes its direction, the light stops bothering your eyes with lots of information which leaves space for more primitive feelings, more primitive senses such as the sense of smell. wandering around the streets almost blind you catch the slightest tones of odors. they become stronger, more complex, they start soaking in through your skin and you can feel it, the weakest touches of breeze run wild on your neck leaving flocks of goosebumps behind. in such places as this, night is as much about feelings as it is nowhere else. there is no space for words. however, on that night i somehow could speak. and, in fact, i did it a lot.

-- one bottle of water please, -- slid off my lips, sounding unnaturally in the room where the only sound was made by a fan and sometimes by a pencil scratching paper. i got no response. the cashier seemed to have not noticed me. i could only see the top of the woman's head while her face was buried in some cheap magazine. quite frequently, she tucked her thick dark curly hair back behind her ears so i could see her eyes. she looked really confused about something. i asked her again:

-- excuse me, can i get a bottle of water please? -- she heard me this time. the cashier rapidly lifted her head and looked at me with her big black eyes where you could see the frustration which comes everytime you get interrupted from something you were really focused on. the next moment she realized what happened and got up from the chair apologizing to me:

-- oh god, i am really sorry! it's just that i can't solve this bloody crossword. i've been onto it for two solid hours now but there's still this one missing word... what can i get for you again?

-- a bottle of water please, -- she nodded and went to the refridgerator.

-- still or sparkling?

-- still please, -- it would've annoyed me if it wasn't for the atmosphere. while she was bringing the bottle to the counter and journaling something in a dusty yellow spiral notebook i took a moment to throw a glance over the room: the shop was so stuffed with things while we were the only two human beings in there and no sounds were coming from outside that, especially in this hour, it felt like time was frozen.

-- that'll be 0,70, -- finally said the cashier. i opened my wallet, took a shining coin out of it and placed it on the desk:

-- you can keep the change, -- i took the bottle and got headed towards the exit, -- thank you, have a good evening, -- i said on my way out.

-- i'm sorry to bother you more, -- she screamed when i was already pushing the door and the bells above it had already rung, -- but do you know this word: 'the developement of events outside a person's control', four letters, the second one is 'a'?

i stopped and thought for a moment.

-- it's 'fate', i guess, -- she looked on the paper:

-- 'fate'! it's 'fate'! -- she exclaimed when i took a leave. 'thank you very much!', 'no more crosswords! never again!' -- i heard while i was slowly walking away, opening the bottle. i took a sip. nothing in the world makes you feel better than this liberating sip of cold water on a hot summer day. and for some reason there is never enough water to kill the thirst. 'it's "fate"!' -- was echoing in my ears when i was getting out of that narrow street.