Horo

He sat on the park bench every late afternoon by the creek. On the other side of the bench, a beautiful samurai warrior painted under the bridge’s wall, with her red silk horo and porcelain face, she looked attentively at her master.

His book lay open at his lap and his gaze absorbed. I ran by after work everyday a habit I picked up to bear the quarantine, always desiring to stop and see what he was reading. Maybe I was longing for people contact and imagined he was too. The long Zoom meetings, all day working on the computer. The run and the sun where therapy. At times he would take notes.

I wondered where he slept, what he was reading? What about the notes?

My daily routine took me across the Millennium Bridge into Commons Park and then my favorite trail, Cherry Creek. He was there punctual, on the bench, across the Samurai’s mural under the bridge. Slender, with an elegant Clooney like pepper white beard, chukka boots, brown, corduroy pants, and a leather jacket. His wool fingerless gloves holding the book, thinking, staring, taking notes.

A fleece blanket on occasion, was taken from his leather duffle bag, to protect him.

At a distance I could see how he would stretch his neck as he faced away from his book and onto the sun’s warmth. Robust, weathered faced, life edged in. Deep eyes with a grin as I passed.

Always there, every afternoon. Even as the snow melted, after a morning snowfall, typical Denver weather.

Day after day, the same book. How many times he most have read it? Was he homeless, did the pandemic changed his livelihood as with so many others?

On the way back the same path, at a distance, I could see he was picking up things as if packing. I was not sure if he was getting ready to stay at the bench or go to a shelter. I would pass him before a determined scenario was seen. At times it seemed as if he would leave, only to sit again.

In one of my rare walks, which I did when I did not feel like running, but better than not going out at all; I caught a glimpse of his small black book where he kept his notes. I could swear I saw the name Gabriel written on the outer white paper rim. With his fleece cloak he was definitely an ancient messenger. This time he returned a smile as he seemed to recognize me.

I didn’t go out for a couple of weeks as the cold weather was relentless.

I opted for the gym in the mornings, Zoom work and Scotch and reading in the late afternoon. I often thought about Gabriel, his reading, note taking and his life.

Eventually it was back to running as the gym was fading, work was work, good stories flourished, but Scotch was dangerously taking root.

My first time back on Cherry Creek was really a walk as I didn’t even want to bother with running, plus it was important to take my time while passing Gabriel’s bench.

It was sunny, usual Denver weather, the ducks where bottoms up, diving for food and I was getting close. I could already see the samurai on the wall, she was wearing the red horo and he was wearing a black silk robe. Both looked at the empty bench.

As I got closer, I saw a single boot by the creek, it was not a chukka which relieved me.

I slowed down as I approached the empty bench. Couldn’t help myself, came to a halt and sat.

It sure was a different perspective as I saw a tall runner pass by, I smiled from the bench. My gaze absorbed in nostalgia, remembering Gabriel faintly as a shadow in the back of my mind.

I felt the warmth as I stretched my neck to face the sun and time must have stopped. I saw the tall runner that just passed me coming back from afar as I was getting back up slowly; I caught a glance of the samurai’s reassuring stare. Then, I looked down and saw Gabriel’s little black book on the ground by the bench hidden in the tall brown grass.

I had to sit-down again while holding this mystery in my hands. So many times, had I seen this and wondered about its content.

I gathered my things, stuffed the fleece blanket into my bag, and walked to my apartment where I was going to open it for clues over a scotch. I resolved then to learn more and come back every day to return it to Gabe when I saw him again.

I was sitting on my favorite leather recliner and had my scotch ready on the side table. I turned on the reading lamp and saw all the correspondence laying on the floor by the recliner, I had not dared to open any since Takiro…

He put his reading glasses on and opened his little black book.

Pages of what looked like Vincent van Gogh sketches, beautiful sketches, skillfully drawn and quotes that nourish the soul in waves over time, quotes by Hemingway, Conrad, and Fitzgerald. A delight, all so masterfully curated in themes weaved into a story. I was deeply touched by a person so close and so far away with such a delicate sense of connection.

I needed to return it. I kept flipping pages, looking for a “if found, return to:” hoping for his name again, but this time with a telephone number. I found nothing.

I was about to close the elegant book and snap back the black band around it when I noticed a pocket on the inside of the back cover. That is where I found a note.

It was an URL with a name, password and what seemed to be an account number.

I took my first sip as I stared into space.

Behind me was the desk with my computer. All I had to do was to try it out. Should I? Maybe I should try to find Gabe tomorrow? I just needed to find out more.

As I sat down by my computer, I read the URL again and realized it was for the same bank I use.

If I got in with his username and password, I could learn his last name, maybe his address and return this treasure to him. I could also stop by the bank and find out more or return it there for him to pick up later.

I logged on without trouble. To my surprise there was a seven-figure portfolio in his investing account and a six-figure balance on his checking account, and only $20,000 on his savings account.

Who would do that? Backwards, more than enough in checking and so little in savings. What did it say about him?

The sun was shining on his face which rested on the desk by the keyboard. His hand holding an empty scotch bottle. His mouth felt like cotton balls, as he squinted, slowly trying to open his eyes while covering the sun with his other hand stretched out as if trying to find something out in the dark.

He looked at the note and the timed-out bank screen on his computer.

As he was putting the paper note back on the book’s side pocket he noticed another note that read, “$20,000.00 reward if found.”

How strange.

I tried to find him on his bench that afternoon, and on the following weeks to no avail.

The bench was always empty.

After all this time, I felt so lost, so I finally decided to go to the bank.

I took the day off from work.

The manager greeted him at the door when he saw him come in with his leather jacket and corduroy pants. “Hello Gabriel, I was starting to get worried. How are you doing? It’s been a long time; we wrote when we heard about Takiro. I am so sorry. Please sit down, you look tired.”