The Man Who Watches Water

Part 4

"Hello."

The old man turned to face him, squinted up at him through the sunlight. "Hello."

Gregory thought for a moment that he might clap his hand upon the man's shoulder. However, this proved too bold a show of comraderie for Gregory to undertake, even under the assumption that his actions were necessarily correct by virtue of his nature. His inhibitions, built over years of frantically meeting the expectations of others, proved too deeply entrenched in his being to be overcome by mere clarity of purpose.

And oh, were his purpose only clear! For though he felt certain that his impression of the relationship between them was the right one – moreso now, that the man had not simply spurned him, but replied without vitriol to his greeting – even so, he was terrified by his own ignorance. How could a river flow without knowing its walls, the boundaries within which it may act? But no. A river has no eyes, no ears, no way of knowing anything at all. Yet it acts as it should anyway. The water flows rightly simply because it must. Then it was not the river's knowledge which Gregory envied – for it has none – but its ignorance! That he could be so, unaware of his behavior, acting only as he should without concerning himself with what that "should" may be – for even when a river overflows, or dries up entirely, is that not correct for a river? – ah, what a dream.

Something in Gregory ticked – the spin of a wheel – a single thought – but it caught in the dried hairs tangled in the cogs of his mind, and though some tore, they held firmly, weaved so powerfully as they were over the many years in which they had collected.

Again, Gregory's racing mind had imposed a state of silence on the conversation, but again, upon his attentive return, he discovered the old man wholly unperturbed.

"Can I help you with something?" the man asked.

Thunder struck Gregory's ears. "Ah – you may not remember me. We met, around two years ago, just over there." He pointed in the direction of their first conversation. Could he have been mistaken? Perhaps he was of no importance to the man at all; the whole of their relationship could have been one-sided, delusional, a mere imagined circumstance. Could the man have meant something entirely different – a total miscommunication – why, of course Gregory would be of no importance, how could he dare think –

"Yes, of course. I remember. Glad to see you again."

Gregory nearly collapsed with relief. For a moment, his smile simultaneously broadened and relaxed. Had Gregory been conscious of himself at this point, he would have registered the feeling in his face as a singularly rare occurence. He had not made such an expression since the summer of his senior year of high school, sitting atop a warehouse roof in his suburban neighborhood, his friends finally resolving an old dispute before his eyes, faces lit only by the smattering of stars brilliant enough to shine through the light his town cast defiantly up into the sky. He gave a small laugh.

"Yes, happy to see you too. I was hoping we might have a brief conversation – if that would be alright with you."

The two had continued to walk down the street while they spoke. Gregory, following the old man's lead, turned down an alleyway. He accepted the delay this would impose on his arrival at his workplace with surprisingly little concern. He was occupied presently in a much more important endeavor – although, obviously (and regrettably) inexplicable to his colleagues. Why, even he, faced with the man directly, in the present moment, failed to understand what it was they did; could only grasp desperately, as at falling straws of hay. Better yet, at a waterfall – for though he may have felt he grasped some small piece, some pitifully insignificant part of the whole, it only flowed out of his hands and into the ground the instant he opened them to look.