Short Story by James Wilson

Last Days of Sun

 

He was awakened by the late morning sunlight entering his bedroom window, warming his face, lighting his eyelids. When he opened his tired eyes, his little flat shone pink, dyed by his stirring membranes in an unwelcome reveille. He took a hot shower and shaved. He dressed in the clothes he had laid out the night before. The shirt was crisp and fresh. His jacket was new and smelled lightly of tobacco. He splashed cologne onto his face, staring into the mirror at the deep lines that cut into his skin, the contours of his expression spongy and round and disappointing. Gathering up his wallet and keys, the last thing he did before he left was open the cupboard and take out the white leather bag that lay inside next to the burnt metal bin, still smoking. He left and locked the door.

            The day was unripe, and a vagrant wind cooled his neck, hot from the sun shining down. Walking down the street, he stared into the faces of passers by, going about their business. He usually averted his gaze to the ground, slouched over and walked quickly, but today was different. He searched their faces, speculating about their lives and deaths, virtues and sins, and all the while taking large strides, swinging his white leather bag, shining in the sun. He reached the bank, withdrew the last of his funds and folded them in his pocket. He would have a good breakfast today. Further on down and across the road was the nice café, a place where he wanted to eat for a while. Little wooden tables stood outside the glass doors under canvas parasols. Students drank coffee and ate. Smoking was not permitted, even outside. In any case, the wind was a bit too fresh to enjoy this long awaited breakfast, so he went through the glass doors.

He sat down at a table in front of a fern and a fish tank. There was a young female student sitting adjacent to him, reading an old novel. He picked up the gilded menu and ordered the morning deluxe, and a coke. The coke and accompanying croissant arrived and he glanced over at the girl while squeezing the pale lemon juice into the caramel fizz. She was wearing thick framed glasses, and had her hair tied back loosely, occasionally brushing away loose strands of toasted black tint from her eyes. Looking at this young lady refreshed him and he somewhat forgot about his order. He looked at his watch. 10:57. He decided to order a beer in the meantime. Why not? Ten minutes later, his meal arrived, sausages, eggs, toast, black and white pudding, soda and potato bread, not to mention several crisps of bacon stacked up thick. He buttered his croissant and sipped his beer. He felt like a coffee was appropriate but he hated the stuff. As he ate he kept looking at the young student across from him until she eventually stood up and paid her bill. Now full, he followed, leaving several notes too many on the dish. The waitress stared after him as he walked out the door.

            The sun appeared from behind a cloud, greeting him as he left the café. He looked at his watch. 11:28. Turning left, past a row of empty restaurants he saw the wide blue horizon peeking out from an ancient alley, with nothing therein but an upturned rusty pail and a sleepy little cat returning back from a journey towards him. He went down. The lane led down to the sea, early blue and still. The summer festival decorations were falling down; before multicoloured banners adorned the old navy lampposts from one end of the tiny marina to the other. Beneath their shadows the boats rocked gently at the sinking pontoons, protected by the great sea wall, hard and grey and battered. In the shallower parts the water greened and as he looked through the clear surface he could see sunken glass bottles on a bed of tiny shells, broken and still. He followed the coastal path to its conclusion, the beginning of the park, not before turning back to face the sea again, and running his tired eye over the old war shelter built upon the brown rocks. Hopping over the iron fence, he laid a leather notebook at the foot of the building, and covered it with shells. It was 12:45.

Walking on through the aged trees through the entrance of the park he watched the leaves fall and scatter around him. They cleared, and he came to the pond. There was a lady in a business suit eating a sandwich on the bench. He sat down beside her, with his white bag on his lap. She looked a little unnerved and he felt her stiffen as he sat down. He sighed. The cool clouds sailed overhead, darkening patches on the pond outstretched before the two seated figures. The shadows moved across the surface of the water quickly, leaving a trail of shimmering flashes in their wake.

“Wonderful day, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes.” she answered quickly. There was a silence, and then she wrapped up her sandwich and left. That’s the way it is, he thought. His watch read 1:14. He really must press on.

The park led to a leafy walk to the school building, a few hundred yards; where he looked into gardens at empty houses, their residents all at work save for an old woman asleep in a lounge chair on her lawn. The houses gave way to the playing fields and the playground. He stopped and stared through the wire mesh. The miniature forms danced like yellow leaves under the high sun, now descending. The great square yellow building sat over them, proud and graceful. He saw his sailing clouds departing across the tops of the trees, without any trace or exhaust, leaving only a ripened blue sky. There wouldn’t be many more days like these. On that thought he began to sweat, and his throat tightened, like a taut rope wrenching his stomach upwards to be hoisted out of his mouth. He wiped the moisture off and stared up at the sun looking down at him, illuminating his form against the yellow clay bricks of the school, his shadow ever lengthening. He paused. Snapping his face towards the ground, he inhaled until his chest hurt, spat and coughed and gripped the wire fence, leaving red imprints on his palms until he made his decision, opened his eyes, jerked his neck up, exhaled deep and long and felt a flourish of serenity pass over him, like the clouds he saw on the water. Time to go.

Opening the double doors up the steps, down and down the empty corridor he walked, quickly, past the translucent half-windows containing flashing giggles between walls full of splashed paint on cream paper, glued shapes and scrawled names, fingerprints and faces, digits and glyphs that streamed past his head as he started to run, feeling their presence behind door after door until he reached the number he desired.

He pushed the door aside, and stepped in, not even hearing the noise or the blurry clambering forms in front of him while he clasped the strap around his shoulder. And as he opened the white bag and revealed its contents to the assembled class, the sun swept across the window pane, filling the room with a hot white radiance, causing the metal barrel in his hands to sparkle brightly, lighting up their smiling faces.