THE OLD MAN FROM TEL AVIV

By J. Andre Jeski

"Life is about hunger. When you lose it, there is not much left but the accelerated process of dying. Some, pass away rapidly, the others... hang on for a while, amongst the living. But no matter how long they remain around, there is no sparkle to be detected in their eyes, no surprises left for them in stock, no uncertainty triggered by the next day's sunrise, by the full moon, by the howling of a stray dog. They are just empty vessels, not marked any longer by any thread of emotion, not touched by the tides of tormenting ocean of passion; they tend to linger in a calm bay, hidden from the winds of desire, from the streams of uncertainty, from the waves of fear coming in the deep of the night. They know it all, they read all the books, saw all the films; life holds no mysteries for them any longer, certainty of death hovers over the paths marked by their steps."
He spoke in a measured way, in my native language, marked by just a touch of a foreign accent. When he finished, his husky voice still lingered in the dry air of the conference room. Then, for a while, he almost froze, looking through the window in front of him, into the New York night, into its blackness penetrated by myriad of lights. Suddenly, he turned back and looked at me, as if he just realized that I am still here, with him, in this room. That mystical aura he had when he spoke, was now gone from the intelligent face. Although an old man, almost seventy, a bit under six foot, he was still quite agile and handsome. The clean and shaved face was rugged though, as if weathered by the winds of life. His eyes were blue, the hair dirty blond and healthy looking. The manner of talking, gesturing and walking was that of a man of action, decisive yet fluent. No sudden movements, no jerky reflexes; he moved through the room like a tall boat on the sea, whose frame was covered by the patina of time, a passing of which left a gently touch just on the surface of the vessel.
He appeared in my office from nowhere, without making any appointment - just walked into the reception area of the office and demanded to see me on a matter of some significance to him. My secretary went to the reception area to speak to him, and then knocked at my office door, behind which  I was about to start my late lunch, surfing at the same time online for news from Champions League round of matches from Europe. You see, I am a European by birth, who on a beautiful summer day, many years ago, right after graduation from a law school, left his beautiful, medieval city in Central Europe, for adventure in the concrete jungle of New York. But now, I was in no mood for any unexpected clients. My secretary looked as if she sensed my reluctance, as if my body language betrayed me, so she quickly added:
"You know, he came in all the way from Williamsburg, Brooklyn...Besides, he is quite old, and very, very polite." Now, I didn't have any choice; clearly, she would have held a grudge against me if I sent him away. And I didn't want my secretary walking around pissed off at me, so I have asked her to walk the old man into the conference room and let him know that I would join him in several minutes. And join him I did. And now, several hours later I was sitting with him, listening to his strange and riveting tale, a bit scared that perhaps the story might be true, on the other hand hoping that it was true. My secretary and the other lawyers, with whom I was sharing the offices with, were long gone, the office cleaners were busy in performing their duties somewhere in the hall in the back, judging by the sound of vacuum cleaners, yet I was still sitting here in silence, pondering what I have heard while the old man was gazing into the night ridden with the flickering bright lights of the greatest city in the world, as New Yorkers proudly like to say.

To be continued (or, perhaps not?) The above story is a creation of fiction, not based on any real story or set of facts, and any resemblance to anybody's life or any resemblance of the characters in the story to any real person(s) is only accidental.

WARNING: Unauthorized use of the above material, without consent of the author, is a violation of author's copy rights and will trigger a legal action.

Janusz Andrzejewski is a New York City based attorney, writing on legal and other important community topics. You may contact him by telephone at (212) 634-4250 or through e-mail: janusz@januszandrzejewski.com