Listening to the Captain's Friendly Conversation

Inside, it was as if he was carrying a huge, dark and damp pit. He walked dragging his feet, his steps were weary, disorganized. The smell of iodine in the air burned his nasal passages. He cleared his throat, for a moment he felt like throwing himself into the diesel-smelling waters of the harbor. It was even better than drowning in the emptiness inside. As the thought of being breathless in the diesel waters of the harbor began to gnaw at his brain cells, he was left alone when he least expected it, just as he was about to hold on to a strand of hope, just as he was about to experience the last spring of his life.

He was left with a broken life and his loneliness. In a way, what she went through was similar to what everyone goes through. But there was no life partner, no friend, no lover to whom he had given his heart with his devotion, dedication and vagrancy. He became an angel and took his soul with him. He had left behind a wreckage and now he was carrying a dark and damp pit inside him.

She followed the ducks staggering along the shore in front of her, passed the fishermen's huts, and as the winds of the seagulls' wings blew her gray hair, she found herself caught in the captain's nets. When she couldn't take her eyes off the dome-shaped pile of nets made of green shuttle rope, she tried to maneuver to go back the way she had come. Obviously the captain must have read his wounded heart in the steps of his silent guest, for he said, "Take this stool, sit down against the sea. And don't you know that he who doesn't tell his troubles can't find a cure, my friend? Both the sea and I will shut up and listen to you," he said in a hoarse but heartfelt friendly voice.

The Captain's home was a makeshift fishing shelter. He gave himself to the sea with his cat and ducks. His old boat was tied to the pier, ready to go fishing at any moment with the first light of the day, ready to set a net. When the seagulls flew overhead in a flurry to bathe in the lightning, he shuddered for a moment, and when he had a momentary indecision between sitting on the stool and not sitting on the stool, the Captain's decisive voice once again dispersed the serenity of the evening." Pull the stool under you, our door and heart are open to the guest of God. And I said I would listen! If you want, I'll start telling the story, don't tell me, you'll fall apart in front of what I'm telling you. "he said with a smile. For a moment he saw a wrinkled face drawn with the lines of the nets he had repaired.

He sat on the stool, "Don't sit crookedly, son. Relax, pour out the poison in your heart, see how light you are like a bird. Consider me a friend. You'll see that the world has become lighter as you share the burden, you'll grow wings like a feather," he said. "Besides, the cat cuddled at your feet and loved you. Don't look at his sluggish purring, he is a good judge of people, he understands the best of people. Touch his food, your emptiness will be filled, your heart will warm, try it, don't be afraid!"

That night they talked with the Captain until daylight. They talked about his childhood, his youth, his affairs of the heart, the sudden departure of his wife in the second spring of his life, the dark pit inside him.

While the night wind was making his hair stand on end and the moon was playing chase with the clouds, when the stool he was sitting on in the twilight against the morning slipped out from under him, he threw himself on the nets in such a way! The rabbit-blood tea brewed by the captain not only warmed him up, but also gave him the energy to embrace life from where he left off.

Being listened to by a friend was like medicine for him. For some reason, the stars shone differently this evening, and as dawn broke, his heart became a white sailboat, sailing out into the vastness.