When the celebrations and warm welcomes and newspaper headlines had come and gone, and Robinson and Friday once again
sat alone by the fire at night
what did they talk about?
Did they hear a small argument through the thin walls -
a mother gently imploring her daughter to find a new suitor -
and think how beautiful the sound of it was?
Or was it that moment when Friday mentioned that he missed it when it was just
the two of them?
How often did Robinson walk to his job and remember
that the sound
of newspaper boys, horses’ hooves, street vendors and church bells
weren’t all there was to this world?
As time went by, did he sometimes forget that
there was
more?
When the meals with appetizers, chats with colleagues, disagreements with clients, jokes at the tavern
consumed his day
Did Robinson sometimes realize that he hadn’t
once
thought
about the island?
When he no longer thought of mending the goat enclosure
And he no longer worried about when he would find the next skull left by the cannibals,
did he sometimes wonder how
paying the landlord and getting a good price on eggs
had come to completely overtake his thoughts?
When Friday reminisced about the quiet of the sea breeze and the smell of roasting goat meat as the Milky Way circled above,
did Robinson say,
“It’s not here,
not now,
old friend.”
No comments:
Post a Comment