A Father and A Son

The City Café had not changed much for half a century. The cane backed chairs and round tables and long mirror on the wall. The wrought iron railings and wooden bar, and the shiny copper espresso machine. It all looked pretty much as it always had in the memory of the old men who gathered every morning in the corner beside the large window overlooking the square. They would sit together and sip coffee and remember things, and then they would share stories about what they remembered. It used to be this, she used to be that, they used to…and so on. Somehow everything said was ever new enough to be interesting, while at the same time familiar enough to be a comfort to men who had known each other when they were not old, but whose days now were measured more in yesteryears than tomorrows. All knew it, though they didn’t talk about it, except for the occasional joke at which they would all laugh before falling silent for a moment or two.

One of the men was an old doctor named Teo. After the others had gone, he would always stay and keep talking as if he was not alone. The locals did not look at him then because they knew him, and they liked him, and they would even protect him if anyone bothered him, though no one ever bothered him. Even the tourists passing through would look at him only for a moment and then turn away, somehow understanding that he was as much and as natural a part of the City Café as any of it. The waiters would bring Teo his sherry, and espresso with two sugars no milk, and his still water, and when he left there was never a bill, just a“see you later.” Then off he would go for lunch and a nap and a shower, before coming back to the café in the evening for another sherry and espresso with two sugars no milk, and a still water. The waiters never asked what he wanted. They would just bring it.

He had thick glasses, and white hair long like an artist’s that was cut nicely. His clothes were clean, and he always wore a tie even in summer. Because he talked to himself, the impression given was that somebody must take care of him. A wife perhaps, or a housekeeper, or maybe he had grown children with families of their own, and someone in the family took care of him. Because talking to himself like that, it was easy to think that he could not take care of himself.

The oldest waiter in the café was named Marko. He had started work there as a young man when his uncle was chief waiter. It was the only job Marko had ever had. Now his uncle was long dead, and Marko himself had become chief waiter. When he was not serving, Marko liked to stand in one corner of the large room with the high ceiling and the brass chandelier and all the people. He would look around“his” café with sharp brown eyes that saw and understood everything. One thing he could see was that because of all the electronic devices everyone carried, old Teo was often not the only one sitting alone while talking. Many people talked through their phones, orto their phones, yet somehow even without any kind of device the old man looked more natural doing it. He would hold a cigarette in one hand and wave it as he talked, though the cigarette was never lit because smoking was not permitted inside the café. Still, he would hold th