Editor's Note: This Lost Chapter follows Four Chapters that were published in January 2014. They may be read by selecting January 2014 on the side panel. This one was hidden on an obsolete computer.
CHAPTER 5
To the he old man in the deck chair at the edge of the beach, his son and grandchildren were already three black specks as they pedaled along the flat sand exposed by the ebbing tide. He couldn’t distinguish one boy from the other even with his binoculars, though his son still stood out by his larger size. In thirty minutes he expected them to round the headland on the south side of the long bay.
He felt strangely at peace after the upset and pains of farewell. His son had sobbed with abandon, and the old man had been almost as bad as they faced the reality of never seeing each other again, and of the likelihood of not even being able to communicate. Now it was over; his family was disappearing fast and he was determined to let the image of their trek along the beach burn into his brain so that he would have access to it as long as he lived.
That was not likely to be very long. He had kept the information of his terminal illness from his family lest they risk missing their ferry by staying longer with him out of sympathy. Now he had to face it alone: he was sick; his weakness was coming from within his body, most likely from his pancreas, he had decided a month ago.
Gordon put his binoculars to his face reaching out with his eyes for the last time to the three remaining members of his family, mere black figures against the almost white background of the sand. They seemed to be going seaward as they approached the headland. In a few minutes they were going over the last stretch of beach he could see; then they were gone. He put down his glasses, having nothing more to look at, and sat back to watch the play of clouds over the water.
All at once a dark speck came into view half way to the headland from where he sat, and his heart missed a beat as a rush of adrenaline burst into his blood stream. Was one of them coming back, unable to leave the old man by himself? He fervently hoped not. He picked up his glasses and trained them on the object. It appeared to be moving rapidly and purposefully, though not as smoothly as a bike would travel over that sand. He removed his glasses to see if he could judge its distance with the naked eye and concluded it was about two and a half miles away and moving at too fast a pace for a person walking.
Another ten minutes and his glasses picked out the quartering run typical of a dog whose back feet would get in the way of his front ones if they tracked directly in line. Ten minutes more and the dog was black, had a tail, and was definitely headed his way. He would welcome a new friend with open arms, dried filet of salmon, and fresh water, and only hoped it wouldn’t prove to be a Faustian bargain, a small black dog turning into Mephistopheles behind his wood stove. He needed no surprises. To be sure, he determined to scratch a large pentagram in the sand in front of his door.
When the dog got within hailing distance, the watcher recognized it to be an emaciated border collie; he called out in what he thought to be a kindly voice, but the collie kept its distance and sat down on the beach panting. The old man got up and walked into his house to fetch provisions which he placed in front of the animal then retired to his chair. Once more he relaxed and watched the catspaws race across the bay, pushing little wave front before them on the water. He reflected how many times he had watched their performance from his sailboat, judging their likely impact on his sails by the height of the wavelets they produced and by their speed across the bay. He had always marveled at the blue-black color of the sea behind the cats paws contrasted to the almost grey blue it sported in front of them.
Out of the corner of his eye Gordon observed his new companion stretch over the water bowl before him and start lapping it vigorously. His thirst apparently quenched for the time being, the dog turned to the salmon and sniffed it cautiously. Finally satisfied it wouldn’t eat him, he tasted it, then; in the blink of an eye, he had wolfed down the whole filet. Gordon hoped his removal of bones had been thorough. After his meal, the collie backed away from the man and sat observing him from twenty-five feet away. Their acquaintance was likely to be some time developing, thought his host, who knew how slow collies were to make new friends.
When night came on it brought a change in the direction and temperature of the wind, which was now off shore. The man could feel its mountainous origins, dry and cool. He thought maybe the dog would come inside later on and appreciate some shelter and warmth. He would make a fire and lay out a bed for the animal, begin the process of making friends again; it might help to fill the void in his heart.
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