Dwight

Testing out my new theory of not being afraid, I engaged in conversation a passing local citizen with whom I'd normally avoid making contact through use of combination of chance looks in wrong directions and strategic body placement.

Dwight appeared to me to be homeless and quite down on his luck. But, as I was no stranger to this time of night, I soon noticed a fairly regular walking pattern from him. Turns out, tonight I was on his path.

Clio just thought she was enjoying a cigarette.

Looks, however, can be deceiving.

Dwight was in need of medical and dental care. He either was missing part of his tongue or most of his teeth for he spoke with a marked speech impediment, and I found it necessary to concentrate with all my effort to understand his words.

At first, it was easy; she had just looked into his soul and saw the good in him.

Clio just thought she was introducing herself.

Then, his words changed from the weather to troubles times and he started speaking in a language I could not understand. Not one word or one syllable. Dwight's demeanor now changed from cheerful and pleasant, as was still the night, to scared and stormy.

I tried to understand, but all I could say was, I'm sorry, I don't understand, and he would repeat it again exactly the same as the way he had said before. I was beginning to run out of nice ways to say, "I can't hear you" when finally he shortened his sentences to just one small phrase: In the Navy. "In the Navy," he kept saying louder and louder until I acknowledged my understanding by repeating back the words.

Then again, for a brief moment I could understand his next few words, but he was speaking very quickly and his words were becoming more and more affected. At first, it was just a word here, a word there, but soon it became hard to make sense of what my ears were sensing.

In the end, I could pick out a story about parents, and it wasn't happy. Whatever trouble it was, he appeared to be saying, "it has been a year."

But since I had followed along till the end, he expected me to act in a way I could not, since I could not understand his thoughts. I could tell this would upset him, so I did what Sandra taught her to do back in London: whenever someone was talking to her in words she couldn't understand, she agreed.

Then I let slip I was from here, not realizing I just earlier agreed that I just been here a year. Both were true statements, but this seemed to set off a large number of bells and whistles in the man's psychic alert system and he suddenly became eager to part. He eagerness to leave was matched only by desire to say just one more thing that he then repeated. The last half of what he said was:

Monday afternoon. Give me until Monday afternoon and I'll get it for ya.

As he left, the rain began to fall from the sky like tears from the faces of Angels.