Trouble in Mind

I sat on the café terrace and observed as the town came to life.  Faces were becoming known to me slowly and I experienced the first pleasure of my needs being anticipated as the waiter placed a coffee and a copy of the morning newspaper in front of me.  Having slight knowledge of Latin languages I was able to understand some of what I read as I tried to come to grips with the language of the country in which I had decided to make my home.  I had made a nodding acquaintance with a few of the other expatriates who had accepted by now that I wasn’t just on holiday, but our natural wariness had not yet led to our becoming any closer.

Just as I began to feel that I was starting to settle myself into the community a face appeared which broke the spell, smashing my new foundations, and dredging up a past that I’d hoped I’d left behind.  There was nobody that I would have welcomed less than this man who knew more about me than any other.  The secret which had haunted me for years came back to torment me and I cursed the ill luck which had brought us together again.  I hadn’t exactly chosen a remote village in the Andes, but even here on the south coast of Portugal his arrival seemed to be more than just a coincidence.

On further acquaintance I realised that I had thankfully been mistaken.  There was an uncanny resemblance but it transpired that the stranger wasn’t the same man I’d known and I began to relax again, though the shock of seeing him had still disturbed my peace.  As time went on this man took to inviting himself to sit at my table which I couldn’t very well refuse without appearing unnecessarily rude. His presence continued to bother me, as he gave the impression that he recognised me and, on the pretence of being simply curious, I felt that he was probing subtly into my affairs.  This, coupled with the fact that he already seemed familiar to me, and was a constant reminder of something which I was trying hard to forget, started to eat away at my peace of mind, and any enjoyment in my new surroundings was undermined.

One morning, after I’d put down my newspaper in irritation at his unfailing ability to catch me at the café at whatever time, the stranger begged me to forgive his presumption and asked me whether it would be possible for me to loan him a sum of money to free him from a temporary financial embarrassment.  I was taken aback by such a forward suggestion and fully prepared to refuse his request on grounds of our not being sufficiently acquainted, when I got the distinct impression that such a refusal would not be greeted lightly.  In fact his bearing implied that it would be against my better judgement to turn him down.  I was, it seemed to me, in some way being blackmailed by this man.  There was no way he could know anything about me that would cause me to pay him to keep quiet, but his resemblance to the man who did know my secret, and the fact that I couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease which had settled over me, inclined me to indulge him.

The sum that I loaned to the stranger was not great, but as the weeks passed without his making any reference to it or attempting to reimburse me, I became consumed by my inability to take back control of the situation, and began irrationally to believe that he did somehow have a hold on me.  The belief intensified the longer the stalemate endured and my feeling of being trapped was increased when he appeared at my house one evening.  Far from offering to return the money that I had lent him, he actually proposed that if I could possibly increase the loan somewhat he would be eternally grateful.  He didn’t attempt to explain why he needed the money as though I would appreciate his desire for discretion, and again it was made clear in some unstated manner that he ought not to be refused.  Despite some misgivings I turned him down on this occasion which caused him to arch an eyebrow and impudently declare that he would let me sleep on it and see me at the café in the morning.  This implied threat angered me beyond reason and I sat up with a bottle of whisky trying to come up with a solution to the situation I found myself in. The implausibility of my being held to ransom by a complete stranger, coupled with the fact that I did indeed have something that I would prefer not to be made public, assailed me with thoughts that were alien to me, and I even considered the possibility of killing the man if I thought I’d get away with it.  Such was my turmoil at not being able to escape my past that I didn’t immediately dismiss this idea, and in the sober light of morning I wondered if I wasn’t becoming unhinged.

Seeing him the following morning as affable as ever, yet insistent that I advance him more money, had me seething inside whilst I acceded to his request and told him to come up to see me that evening.  He didn’t turn up although the police insisted that he was seen entering the gates of my property.  His battered body had apparently been found in a dried-up streambed which skirted my boundary.  I was unable to explain his presence and swore that I hadn’t seen him since the previous morning.  For want of another suspect I was held in confinement, unwilling to detail my relationship to this man, but unable to deny that I had known him.

Lacking any real evidence but determined to find some, they’re in no hurry to release me.