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2014 03 A 10h Sur le bancBy Marc Rugani10 o'clock at the bench Tock Tock Tick Tick Tock Tick Tick
I love my stick's fluctuating staccato along the path, its way of saying hello to the things it meets – a pebble, the edge of the pavement, a paving stone, or the tarmac on the road.
As if the stick was a musician and they were all playing strings of black and white notes from a score.
Tick Tock Tock Tick Tap Tap
Yesterday my daughter phoned and said "Dad, let's meet tomorrow at the park, on the bench near the lake. At 10 o'clock. Will that be OK?"
My daughter wants me to go out and take some exercise, get some fresh air, and she wants me to rub shoulders with the world and hear it. She wants to see me leave the cosy nest of the house.
My daughter loves me and she's always thinking about me. I said yes. And now I'm on my way.
Tick Tick Tick Tock Tock Tick
My stick is singing a melodious song: it's a talented singer! But as well as that, my stick is a good friend and a great help. I never go out without it.
"Good morning Mr. Perrin". "Good morning Adrien".
"Good morning Mr. Perrin". "Good morning Lucille".
"Good morning Mr. Perrin…good morning Mr. Perrin". "Good morning children".
All the local children know me; I've watched every one of them grow up and we're fond of each other. I can't tell you how happy their games and frolics and their marvellous youthfulness make me.
Tap Tap Tick Tick Tap
It's not very far to the park; my daughter always arranges sensible places for us to meet – a ½-hour walk, or ¾ of an hour at the most, along a fairly easy route.
Nonetheless, the walk requires effort and attention on my part.
There are always unforeseen obstacles: a treacherous branch from a dead tree; a big stone, dislodged by the rain, which rolls under my shoe; an unexpected hole.
Tick Tick Tock
"Good morning Mr. Perrin".
It's my neighbour. "Good morning Mrs. Dubois. How are the children?"
And suddenly: bang! What have I done? My attention strayed momentarily, my shoe hit the edge of the pavement, and I found myself spinning to the ground!
"Oh, Mr. Perrin, have you hurt yourself?"
Mrs. Dubois rushes towards me and the children come running.
"I'm fine, thank you".
Mrs. Dubois helps me up and dusts me off. "Are you sure? Wouldn't you like to take my arm? I can walk some of the way with you if you like".
"No? Really? You've dropped your stick, here you are". "There's some mud on it but I haven't got anything to wipe it off with, I'm so sorry".
"It looked lovely when it was completely white and it won't look quite so lovely now!"
"Oh! It doesn't matter. Thank you".
Tick Tick Tap Tap Tick
A little tumble – no harm done; not the first and definitely not the last!
My white stick, not so white now and a bit muddy, is singing again as we walk along; it doesn't care about a bit of mud. Am I imagining it, or is it sounding more cheerful? Is it because we'll be meeting my daughter soon?
We'll sit on the bench and chat about this and that. We'll enjoy ourselves.
Come on, let's go faster, but not too fast: my white stick only gives a gleam of light in my darkness.
Tick Tick Tock Tap Tap
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