The Lost Umbrella: Part I

Splash! An unwelcoming shower greeted Mr. Hansen as a careless Audi rushed past him into the clamor of another monsoon evening.  Expletives were hurled without much result. Soaking and shivering, dropped shoulders, beads of muddy water hanging in the balance on a crooked nose- it was indeed a sorry portrait of an old man who had finally moved out of his cocoon of procrastination to start his evening-walks, a plan made long ago but each time discarded because of circumstances and reasons that appeared trivial to everyone but him. And he was paying dearly for his decision, it seemed.

But Mr. Hansen, portly and plump he may be, was today a man full of determination and daunt. He gathered the remains of his composure and energy from what had been a faux pas by his standards. But it was his fault only that he was being perished. Since his better-half had left the company of mortals like him, a red umbrella was his constant companion in his less than occasional strolls and journeys. It had a long handle with his initials curved upon it, but the surprising thing was it had a pointy end with metal finish upon Mr. Hansen’s special order. More of a measure of protection for Mr. Hansen from rains and goons, it served him well until the last Monday when in a hurried moment he left it in the sixth seat on the right side of the city bus. By the time he regained his consciousness, his umbrella had been someone else’s prized possession. After all, it was a crafty object.

The drops grew in their size as the rain came galloping down with intense thunders. Mr. Hansen hated rain, and sun too. Anything that made his skin tickle, be it the sweat-beads or the rain-drops was despicable to this man. His steps sped up. Ah, there is the five-point crossing. A Volvo appeared yonder as a savior of the poor soul. He ran across the streets frantically ignoring his age.

But a man without a face and with an umbrella descended from the bus as it came to an abrupt halt. It was a red umbrella, with a pointy end with metal finish and a long handle. Even through his nebulous specs, he could figure out the M.H curved upon the long mahogany handle. His steps retarded fast and came to a reluctant halt. A déjà vu or mere coincidence? Mr. Hansen’s thoughts ran wild as surprise took over his homebound urges.

A loud horn nearby brought him back to reality as he saw the bus going away. He didn’t run this time. Lonely streetlights, glistening asphalt, hurrying steps, speeding vehicles- everything spiraled down to this man. His eyes narrowed as the man stood there, motionless, as if he also was untangling decisions from indecisions. The man was a tall figure with a brown overcoat, with heavy boots and a pair of leather gloves to complete the aura of mystery and secrecy. Suddenly, he started with a brisk pace towards the north. Suspicious as he was, now Mr. Hansen could not but feel surprised. This man was walking in the direction of his home.

With no option left but to follow this figure, Mr. Hansen started off, keeping a few steps distance for obvious discretion.  Mr. Hansen was going out of breath to keep up on his quest as the man gained pace, but a quaint sense of urgency kept him going.