As I have already explained, however, this tour of mausoleums and unkempt graves was not the strangest, or even most satisfying occurance from yesterday. As I was leaving the gates of the cemetary, back into the throng of noise and smells and general unquiet of the city, as I was being abruptly brought back into the fold of my life here--the worries and questions,--the doubts, I came across this old gentleman, sitting at a park bench, his reeboks taken off, and his pants rolled up to just past his knees.
He appeared to be sleeping, and I positioned myself across from him and casually lifted my camera from my bag, obviously hoping to catch him in that position. But, he had not been sleeping...he had been thinking, or he had been lost, or he had been waiting for someone.As I fumbled with the camera, he started to comlain to me, from his spot ten feet away, about the noise of the subway underneath of our feet, as it rumbled by. He complained about the rats, and he complained about people and their dogs. He didn't complain like I might complain. He more told a huge story, rarely stopping for eye contact, a gesture, or to even see if I was still there. What I mean was, he was animated, entertaining, sure of what he was talking about.
I guess that the tsk-tskers that walked by, and gave me the 'don't worry, he's just a crazy old man' look must have seen just that--a crazy old man, with a tartan golf hat, in his socks, with his pants rolled up, animatedly telling another guy, ten feet away, about how much he hates rats.
He then went on to talk about Argentine hospitals, expenses, and some other stuff that slipped by me due to the buses passing. Then, he asked me if I was receiving benefits from my work at the moment....I answered that no, not really...I was just sort of travelling in Argentina.--really? where are you from?
--Canada
(switch to surprisingly good english)
--Canada? C´mon over here and chat with me for a while..i've got about 15 minutes before I have to go in there and meet my wife.
Given that I have had generally nothing to do for about 2 weeks now, and have been reluctant to leave the apartment even, this chance meeting, this strange conversation, was perfect.
I forgot the tsk-tskers. I forgot that he had is shoes off, and that he had his pants rolled up past his knees. I forgot that I don't generally like talking.
What they, the tsk-tskers didn't see, or what they saw, but didn't realize they were seeing, was two lonely people talking-two lonely people, one talking, the other mostly listening, and enjoying their time. He was 82. I guess it did look strange, but it felt perfectly normal.He told me about his work---he was a banker.
He told me about his wife--she was a housekeeper, before she died.
He told me about fantastic vacations he had taken, all payed for with a morning job he had as a newspaper printer, before he went to the bank, each day.
He ended by asking me what I was doing in Argentina.
I told him I had a girlfriend here.
--yes, yes. but don't you have a job, a secure job in Canada?
--yeah, i guess i do.
--well, why are you here, then? what are you thinking?
--my girlfriend has to go to school...
--listen. listen to me. You have sacrificed enough. You've been here what? a year now? Listen...your life is Canada. Your friends are in Canada. Your future is in Canada. Here, you have no future. Here, nothing is secure. You have to look after yourself, first.
--me, stunned.
--I know it's hard. but, you have to sit your girlfriend down, and say, listen. I'm going back to Canada, because that's where my life is. Without it, I'm not, i'm not me. She'll understand, if she loves you. Trust me, she knows deep down what is best for you.It might be the best time right now to reiterate that I had not told him anything of my life, other than that I'd been here for a year, and that I had a girlfriend. I had listened to his stories, and that was all. It left me speechless, and I half expected him to disappear a la Hallmark Movie, like an angel.
Maybe it was the fact that I'd listened to an old man talking. Maybe no one listens to old men anymore---no one has time for that. I never have time. Maybe from that, he knew that I was not myself here. That I don't belong.
He looked at his watch and said it was time to go and meet his wife, and with that, he took my hand, shook it kindly, and told me again what I had to do....then, he stood up and walked off.
As I got onto the subway, still dazed and with my mind racing, I was thinking about how great it would be to meet him again, there. But no. No way do want that. Another meeting would ruin it, I'm sure.
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