I just had the strangest meeting with a stranger this afternoon.
After coming out of the Imperial War Museum, I found a tree on the lawn, planning to stip under it and read a little bit the book that Doug sent me: Tortilla Flat by John Steinbeck.
Right after I started to feel warm and into the book, a guy in loose shirt with blue and white checkboard pattern also sat down under the tree, about 1 meter away from me.
I knew this guy. I had seen him when I just cam out of the museum and sat on the bench to have an apple for lunch, and this guy was sitting at the other end of the bench, He looked quite focused on something in his mind, and I was too heedless to have the apple in haste. I don't think we even had eye contact before.
Of course he has to freedom to chose where to sit down and take a sun bath. However, if I had been him, I would have chosen a better seat with the spectacle to see the bikini girls on the lawn, rather than sitting next to an Asian stranger. So he must have something in his mind.
As I expected, he spoke when he lit the first cigarette, which made me quite upset: "You are reading John Steinbeck, no?" Based on politeness, I have to answer this kind of formular opening. "Yeah, it's a gift from a friend."
Silence.
The intermittent conversation went like this for about five minutes, and I retold my exchange experience in Ireland and my European trip project, all over again, while I pulled my bag, with a camera and iPad inside, closer to me. I didn't pay much attention to this guy and felt just a weird atmosphere in out conversation because I didn't answer him with attention, yet he seemed to ask me out of chance, just for killing some time or for his entertainment only.
This inconsistent feeling disappeared after I told him my major and I took some course about Joyce. According to my experience, the best way to close a conversation with people is to tell them you like authors like Joyce or Woolf, and they usually change the topic or the table right away. However, I failed this time.
He started to ask me how do I like Joyce. I told him I like him because his works are really hard, so hard that work like Finnegan's Wake is rarely taught, even in Ireland. I thought I, as an excellent closer for the game, successfully ended the conversation again. To my surprise, he lit another rolled cigarette with his trembling hand and started to talk about the mythical structure and the connection between Ulysses and Finnegan's Wake.
I didn't pay much attention to what he said because I could not believe this man, was exposing the aspects of Ulysses and Finnegan's Wake and making some comparison: the mythical structure, the passion about life, Joyce's writing, etc. I was wondering if I met a Oxford or Cambridge student. After all, this is London, and it's quite possible to meet some genius under a tree.
Not until then I payed more attention to this man: his losse sloppy hair and slightly obese figure made him like a copy of Jack Black, and his simple outfit explained he might just be on a casual walk on Saturday afternoon. He spoke with an ease in his face, as if he were murmuring solely in the breeze, and by that time I noticed there's scarlet scar on his lower right chin. The scar caused a dimp in his chin, and the scarlet lines were left by stitches, an obvious consequence of clumsy surgery. When he was speaking, he didn't even look at me. On the contrary, he looked like obsessed with his own ideas with the works, and he was going through a complicated process of recalling and analyzing the information in his mind. The absent-minded look and cigarette in his shivering hand somehow reminded me the movie, Rain Man. His understanding about the works made me doubt if he just love reading or he has some extraordinary skills in specific aspects.
We talked about Lord of Flies and The Catcher in the Rye later, and he was also quite familiar with these works as well. To a native English speaker, it was not difficult to be familiar with these two books, as long as he was a diligent student in high school. Nevertheless, I was still amazed not because of his knowledge but aslo because of his nonchalant attitude, flat tone, and the careless look. During our 30-minute talk, he consumed about 5 cigarette, and I could not help looking at his trembling hands whenever he was fumbling for his lighter and cigarette. Either he was really addicted to nicotine, which is unusual for a man around 24, or he had some nerve problems, like my senile grandmother does.
As our conversation became more heated, two man came over. One black and one white, they were dressed in plain shirts and pants, which made me guess they were employees in specific institute. The white one came closer and told the man: "We are leaving in 12 minute. Watch the time." The fat man just squinted at him and nodded slightly to answer his notice. These two man reminded me why I felt uneasy about the man's sedated calm and flat tone in our conversation.
The two men stood about 10 meters away from us and waited for him to leave with them, while the fat man just composedly finished the last cigarett and slowly stood up. I still believe the 2 men were pretending to be casual, while they were minding us all the time. We shook hands before he left, and I could not tell him what kind of revelation had I gotten from the short talk with him. Somehow I felt he might be there because some mysterious destiny. Although he was not an Angel (at least I didn't see his wings), I was sure that I became more convinced with chances and the necessary hospitality to strangers.
Looking at them leaving, the fat man always keep a specific distance from the others, and this showed they were at least not close friends. Was the man a sage walled in his world or a lunatic on his Saturday afternoon break?
I will never know.
Silence.
The intermittent conversation went like this for about five minutes, and I retold my exchange experience in Ireland and my European trip project, all over again, while I pulled my bag, with a camera and iPad inside, closer to me. I didn't pay much attention to this guy and felt just a weird atmosphere in out conversation because I didn't answer him with attention, yet he seemed to ask me out of chance, just for killing some time or for his entertainment only.
This inconsistent feeling disappeared after I told him my major and I took some course about Joyce. According to my experience, the best way to close a conversation with people is to tell them you like authors like Joyce or Woolf, and they usually change the topic or the table right away. However, I failed this time.
He started to ask me how do I like Joyce. I told him I like him because his works are really hard, so hard that work like Finnegan's Wake is rarely taught, even in Ireland. I thought I, as an excellent closer for the game, successfully ended the conversation again. To my surprise, he lit another rolled cigarette with his trembling hand and started to talk about the mythical structure and the connection between Ulysses and Finnegan's Wake.
I didn't pay much attention to what he said because I could not believe this man, was exposing the aspects of Ulysses and Finnegan's Wake and making some comparison: the mythical structure, the passion about life, Joyce's writing, etc. I was wondering if I met a Oxford or Cambridge student. After all, this is London, and it's quite possible to meet some genius under a tree.
Not until then I payed more attention to this man: his losse sloppy hair and slightly obese figure made him like a copy of Jack Black, and his simple outfit explained he might just be on a casual walk on Saturday afternoon. He spoke with an ease in his face, as if he were murmuring solely in the breeze, and by that time I noticed there's scarlet scar on his lower right chin. The scar caused a dimp in his chin, and the scarlet lines were left by stitches, an obvious consequence of clumsy surgery. When he was speaking, he didn't even look at me. On the contrary, he looked like obsessed with his own ideas with the works, and he was going through a complicated process of recalling and analyzing the information in his mind. The absent-minded look and cigarette in his shivering hand somehow reminded me the movie, Rain Man. His understanding about the works made me doubt if he just love reading or he has some extraordinary skills in specific aspects.
We talked about Lord of Flies and The Catcher in the Rye later, and he was also quite familiar with these works as well. To a native English speaker, it was not difficult to be familiar with these two books, as long as he was a diligent student in high school. Nevertheless, I was still amazed not because of his knowledge but aslo because of his nonchalant attitude, flat tone, and the careless look. During our 30-minute talk, he consumed about 5 cigarette, and I could not help looking at his trembling hands whenever he was fumbling for his lighter and cigarette. Either he was really addicted to nicotine, which is unusual for a man around 24, or he had some nerve problems, like my senile grandmother does.
As our conversation became more heated, two man came over. One black and one white, they were dressed in plain shirts and pants, which made me guess they were employees in specific institute. The white one came closer and told the man: "We are leaving in 12 minute. Watch the time." The fat man just squinted at him and nodded slightly to answer his notice. These two man reminded me why I felt uneasy about the man's sedated calm and flat tone in our conversation.
The two men stood about 10 meters away from us and waited for him to leave with them, while the fat man just composedly finished the last cigarett and slowly stood up. I still believe the 2 men were pretending to be casual, while they were minding us all the time. We shook hands before he left, and I could not tell him what kind of revelation had I gotten from the short talk with him. Somehow I felt he might be there because some mysterious destiny. Although he was not an Angel (at least I didn't see his wings), I was sure that I became more convinced with chances and the necessary hospitality to strangers.
Looking at them leaving, the fat man always keep a specific distance from the others, and this showed they were at least not close friends. Was the man a sage walled in his world or a lunatic on his Saturday afternoon break?
I will never know.
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