Breaking the Silence

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By Fathi Afifi

He hadn’t seen the man for years. There were the classic phone calls, of course. Hellos, How are yous, How is your sister, How is your wife… Then they’d enjoyed written correspondences, for a time. Times changed, and the letters became the emails, and the frequent became the scarce. Then there were prolonged periods of silence, phases when one or the other was caught up in the obligations and tragedies and triumphs of life, and could not remember to call the other. And then there was a prolonged silence that did not break. Until now.

He take lunch at the café he frequented after the office. He came still dressed in his suit, a lawyer in layers as well as in legislation, his shoes polished and his cuffs rolled up. He arrived first, slipping in and taking a spot at his usual table, motioning for the woman to come over with her steaming teapot.

Expecting company, he said briskly. Another cup?

Gladly sir, she chirped. She was a pretty young thing, brown ringlets and bright brown eyes, and if he hadn’t been so busy at work he’d have liked to enjoy a cup of coffee with her and not by her. But he looked at his hands again, empty for once of his blackberry and his notepad, and he remember how much work was waiting for him again back at the office.

He wasn’t really expecting company. Not today. Not any day. But he often said that, and the girl would come bring another steaming cup of coffee and lie it down next to his. No one would come, and the man would typically shrug, glance around furtively, and down the second cup of coffee. He would pay for both and leave, whistling nonchalantly, like a man who has been stood up on a date but is too sophisticated to show it. But he never expected anyone, and no one ever came. Until today.

He recognized him the moment the old man stepped in through the door. He was the spitting image of his photograph, emailed a few years ago; maybe a few more white hairs and a slightly thinned mustache, but nothing more had changed. The same gaunt face, the same haunted look, the same sad gentle smile. He looked across the room and spotted a man sitting there with two cups of coffee in front of him. Slowly, his steps brought him closer.

“Hello son,” he said.

The man glanced up quickly, confused. He froze. His eyes widened, his mouth tightened, his face paled. The two men remained as they were, statues of loneliness, until the young waitress cleared her throat from the behind the bar’s counter. The young man reached forward and pushed the second coffee cup across the table. The old man stepped forward and took a seat.

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