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.
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