starstone

That guy followed me from the garage sale exit.

It's all because I went to that old church to hear the organ played only on Sundays. It was late that day, and as Mass was ending, I crossed lightly, knelt at the altar, and came out. The church is next to the market. Too reluctant to leave, I sat down on a bench in the shade. The man, the man who followed me later, was sitting there. He was here first.

Every time I go back to Spain, I take care to choose a flight that arrives around dusk on Friday, so that I can lie in a hotel all Saturday to get rid of fatigue. On Sunday, you can get up early and walk more than half an hour to the market that only exists on Sundays -- a jumble sale that covers ten blocks. Then, go to church and sit quietly, close your eyes, and enjoy the organ playing in that old church.

Every time I went back to Madrid, I spent the first day or two in this way, or I didn't feel like I was back.

As I sat on the bench, the middle-aged man next to me, who in summer wore an old winter suit and a worn hat, began to speak to me. I answered him politely, patiently and kindly.

After we had a conversation, the person next to me asked me about my personal affairs. Are you married? What do you live on? How long are you staying in Madrid? Whatever hotel you're staying in. Naturally, I stood up, smiled goodbye, turned and strode off.

All the way through a bluestone brick paved old street, through the big square, stopped to see the street painters to give portraits, and went to eat an ice cream, bistro drink a glass of wine, standing watching people exchange stamps, see a bull poster for a while... Doing a lot of things, and the man I had shared a bench with followed closely. I didn't hate him, I didn't fear him, I didn't think he was funny, but I never spoke to him again. He would push past people to get to me, saying over and over, "Hello! Why don't you take your time and I'll go to China with you? Don't go away and listen to me."

I ran a few steps, down one underground station entrance and out the other, unable to shake the man.

I was in the middle of a central street in Madrid when this concealment began to wear off. I saw a sidewalk cafe and sat down. I raised my hand to the steward, who was still collecting cups from a distant table. He nodded and entered.

As soon as I sat down, the man with me arrived. He wanted to pull away a chair opposite me and sit down. I quickly said, "This chair is mine, too."

He immediately put his feet crossed on the chair and refused to let him sit down. "Hullo! I'm telling you, I've never been married, okay? What do you think?" He did not insist on sitting down, but bent down and whispered in my ear.

I thought for a moment, seventy or eighty percent of this man is out of his mind, and twenty or thirty percent of him is too boring. If I use a soft method, it will haunt me for a long time.

He was still talking nonsense, but I shouted three words: "Go away! Hate it! Crazy man!" It was so loud that it gave me a fright. Walkers stopped to look, and the stalker jumped over the bonsai in the sidewalk cafe, brushed it and disappeared.

The steward came hurrying up to me in a Don Quixote manner, asking what was the matter. I laughed and told him, "Little things, street comedy."

Ordering a drink only available in the Spanish summer, something like iced soymilk, he calmly put his feet up on the opposite chair, picked up a newspaper that someone else had left on the seat, and looked at it leisurely.

In fact, it is not so leisurely, I am afraid that the scolded people come back to rob me, careful to put the bag on the back of the chair, people lean on the bag sitting, eyes or looking around. Guard against.

By this time, it was about two o 'clock in the afternoon. It was hot and many passers-by had gone home to rest. At that moment, a chair beside me was gently pulled aside, and the steward came immediately. What the man ordered must have been very ordinary. He only said one word, and the steward nodded and left.

I glanced sideways at the man sitting next to me from behind the newspaper. Good thing it's not the guy I called off. It's a beard.

After reading the advertisement in the newspaper, I did not read any more, but just sat in the sun. Of course, the most interesting thing is the variety of people walking by on the street -- a nice view.

On such a hot day, I found the bearded man sitting next door drinking a pot of hot tea. He doesn't add sugar.

I thought to myself, one, this man is not Spanish. Two, he is not American. Three, he doesn't speak Spanish. Four, temperament is an intellectual. Five, Where did he come from?

At that moment, he unwrapped his travel bag and took out an English edition of the Spain Guidebook, which began to look.

We sat so close that neither of us spoke. He's been sitting there for almost an hour and he's still reading the book.

Men with full beards are largely shy by nature, and think it safer to hide themselves in their beards. That's my opinion.

Time went on and on, and I wanted to talk again. It is very sad not to speak in Spain, everyone talks about it, and as for being pestered afterwards, it is very, very rare. Who else would say anything?

"I say -- you can go to a bullfight this afternoon."

Slowly speaking a sentence in English, the bearded man put down the book, smiled at me a glance, that look, see quite deep.

"After watching the bullfight, the evening Frangming dance is also considerable." "Is it? He looked at me again with some interesting eyes, and his amiable eyes were still observing me.

I'm a little embarrassed to finally speak again. It's boring to scold a crazy person and then start chatting him up. Besides, he's a very sensitive person.

"I'm sorry, but perhaps you wanted to read, and I interrupted you --" "No, it's good to have someone to talk to. I don't know Spanish, and I'm trying to figure out where to go tomorrow."

"And he moved his chair, sitting right in front of me, and gave me a warm smile, a little shy.

"Where are they from?" They both said the exact same thing. There was a pause, and they both laughed.

"China." "Greece."

"It's an ancient country." I was a little surprised when he said the same thing again. He stopped and asked me to speak with a gesture and a smile.

"There happens to be an old friend in Greece. You must know him." I said. "I must know?"

'Socrates!

Then they both laughed. I smiled and looked at him. Then I said, "There are many philosophers and gods from your country." He gave me a long list of names, and I nodded and nodded, my heart rejoicing like a dry river being run through by a clear stream.

Maybe he hadn't spoken in a few days. Maybe he wanted to speak that day. I didn't dare ask personal questions, certainly not a word about myself. He told me most of it of his own accord, and there was an inscrutable sincerity in his tone.

Greek, living in Athens, taught college for ten years, got a chance to go to the United States to do a PhD, wanted to be a writer all his life, published a children's book but never married, expected to get a physics degree in another year, thinking of going to the Sahara Desert, Nigeria.

My heart beat faster when he told me, but never about writing books or deserts. I just watched him quietly. What a good-looking man! That deep and kind temperament, there is a kind of light, even in the day can not block the kind of light. "So after your holiday in Greece, you went to America this time, through Madrid?" I said.

Naturally, he said, his parents were lawyers, his father had passed away, his mother was still practicing in Athens, and he had come back from the United States to see her.

I was surprised again.

"My father and brother were law students, too. It's a coincidence." I said.

So the Yangtze River river talk on. From Socrates to constellations and light years, from "Casablanca" to "A Journey to India", from Sadat's assassination to modern Chinese history, from "the Book of Changes" to the computer, and finally fell into the vortex of literature, the vast sea of literature ah... The final conclusion is "movies are the most fascinating".

For a while, we stopped talking. There was, I suppose, some surprise and delight on both sides, and we did not speak.

He told me everything but himself, didn't ask his name, and he didn't ask me. In the afternoon, a mild warm wind blew through, bringing a comfortable leisurely. In this person's side, I am reluctant to leave.

Just because I didn't want to go, I left.

Leaving my share of the drink on the table, I stood up and smiled at him. He stood up and saw me off.

They shook hands with each other very strong, the polite words: "Nice to meet you." I mean what I say. Then, without saying goodbye, I looked at him again and strode off.