System

3. The Man on the Beach

The old man had lived in the hut all his life. It was a simple structure with a few wooden planks nailed together to make walls and some corrugated iron tied on top. There wasn't much space inside so many of his possessions were stored in old crates at the side.

There was a small vegetable patch at the back and the old man grew a few simple crops to supplement his diet of seafood and the occasional rabbit. His daughter tended the garden when she wasn't cooking or beach-combing.

There was a road which stretched all the way along the coast. Nothing had passed along it while the old man had been alive and it was rutted and overgrown. Thick weeds pushed up through the decayed surface and small animals lived in the widening cracks.

On the other side of the road was a broad strip of open ground before the edges of a thick forest began. On a clear day you could see tall snow-capped mountains in the distance, but the old man had never ventured far beyond the tree-line. It was too dangerous. His daughter would occasionally pick berries from some of the bushes, but she always stayed within sight of the hut.

The sandy beach stretched away for miles in either direction. The dunes were low and showed little sign of shifting, although they were beaten by waves on stormy nights. The grass was rough and course, and there were few large rocks.

The sea was their livelihood. Crabs, whelks and mussels were essential for their diet and the old man occasionally caught a few small fish. The sea also supplied innumerable surprises and treasures which were washed ashore on a regular basis. The two of them would walk along the edge of the water keeping their eyes open for things that they could salvage.

Pieces of wood were invaluable and could be used to patch up the hut. There were also occasional tins of food, pots, netting or shards of broken metal. One day the old man found an old bicycle which he turned into a bird-scarer for their garden.

The sea also brought the weather and they would often watch as storms came in across the ocean and they would usually have plenty of warning if conditions were going to deteriorate. On sunny days the old man would sit on an old box and gaze out into the distance where huge ships moved up and down on mysterious routes.

When she was younger his daughter had asked him about the ships. All he could say was that they carried things across the sea to places which were too far away for them to reach. This seemed to satisfy her, but sometimes he caught her staring at them as she twisted her long unkempt hair through her fingers.

Every day passed much as the last. The man was getting no younger and he sometimes worried about the future - but his daughter seemed quite capable. When he was ill, she was able to look after him, tend the garden and walk the beach. He knew she would be fine, but he didn't like to think of her being alone.

Which is why his heart skipped a beat when he found a young man lying face down on the sand.

The man was thin and had short brown hair. His clothes were simple and he had no shoes. For a moment the old man thought he was dead, but when he looked closer, he could see that the man was breathing.

He turned him over and checked him out. The young man was certainly alive and there was no sign of injury. He wasn't wet but it seemed likely he had been washed ashore from one of the passing ships. If so, he wasn't going to find it easy getting home.

The old man shook him by the shoulders and tried to rouse him.

'Come on you,' he croaked. 'What are ya' doin' here eh?'

The young man muttered something incoherent, so the old man left him on the sand and went to get some water. By the time he returned the younger man was sitting up by himself but seemed pleased to see another human being. He took the water and drank thirstily. He was soon looking more awake.