The man was sitting on a bench, looking at the lake. He seemed to be daydreaming. He looked a little sad, lost in his thoughts. Another man approached, holding a child by the hand.
“Excuse me,” he said to the man on the bench, “could you move a bit?”
The man shifted as much as he could, although, objectively speaking, there was more than enough space on the bench for two grown men and a child.
“I’m very sorry,” the newcomer spoke again, “could you move just a little more?”
He moved again. Now he was sitting on the very edge of the bench. The stranger spoke once more, timidly, visibly disturbed by his own words.
“I’m terribly, terribly sorry, but I have a very strong feeling that this bench should be empty.”
The man exhaled, apologized for the inconvenience, and stood up. He walked toward the shore of the lake. Water lapped softly through the reeds. The white blossoms of water lilies floated open toward the sky like drowning bodies calling for help. He stared at the hills on the horizon. Everything around him, everything living and lifeless, seemed to be calling for help. The lilies, the drunken hills leaning against one another, the shrill ducks and swans flapping their wings.
“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice called out, “could you move? We were planning to have a picnic right here.”
“Of course, sorry,” he murmured, and stepped down to the shallow water. There he sat, at the very edge of the lake.
He looked around. No one was approaching. He sighed with relief. He would be able to stay here for a few minutes.
Things had been like this for a long time. He could not remember when it began. Always in the way.
If he waited for a bus, even if he arrived at the stop first, everyone who came after him would move ahead by one place. The bus would leave, and he would remain behind, because there was no more room. If he managed to get on, they would make him give up his seat. Then he would move for those who were standing, until he found himself back at the bus stop again, wrapped in the dust the bus had left behind.
Shopping at the market took hours, because he was always at the end of the line at the checkout.
Wherever he sat down to rest, he would hear “Excuse me” or “Sorry.” He walked along the very edge of the sidewalk, close to walls, because it seemed he was always in someone’s way. Often he would collide with someone rushing out of a building he was passing. At pedestrian crossings, horns blared at him, and he would run as if devils were chasing him.
On a deserted park path, a stranger approaching him would inevitably step into his lane and say “Excuse me.” The man would move, even though the path was wide enough and not a soul was around.
What burned him most was the lack of strength to resist, to shout, to curse, to argue. In the moment, it simply did not seem important.
Even things moved him, it seemed. How many times had he fallen asleep in his bed only to wake up on the floor, curled in a corner like a beaten dog.
“Pardon,” he heard a voice behind him. He took a deep breath.
“I’m going, I’m going, sorry.”
“May I sit with you?”
This was something entirely new.
“Of course,” the man said, smiling. The stranger sat down.
“My name is Mordekai,” he said.
“Nice to meet you.”
“You look thoughtful.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“In fact, you look lost. Disoriented.”
“And what of it?”
“Nothing.”
They were silent. The man tossed pebbles into the water, watched the circles they carved into the surface, listened as they sank with a hollow splash into the depths.
“What shall we do with your situation?” Mordekai asked.
“My situation?”
“You know.”
“It’s always been like this.”
“It hasn’t always.”
“Do you know why I’m like this?”
“I’m guessing.”
“Tell me.”
“I assume you’re dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes.”
“But I didn’t die.”
“You did. Everything dies. You just kept living.”
“Nonsense.”
“Every place on Earth that you occupy should be empty, except for one.”
“And that one is empty.”
They both burst into laughter.
“Are you Death?”
“No. I just come across things. Strange things.”
“Interesting. And now what?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“I never got my turn to swim in this lake.”
“Now’s your chance. No one’s coming.”
“I’m glad we met.”
“So am I.”
Mordekai stood up and walked away. The man undressed, neatly folded his clothes on the shore, and swam out into the lake. The water was cold.
His death was declared an accidental drowning.
Thousands and thousands of swimmers would come to that shore afterward.
Empty places, somehow, always get filled.
More Mordekai Stories: The House Awoken, The Inverted Tree, The Glass Field, The Railway In The Plain
