THE MAN ON THE BENCH

The man hitched his trouser legs up as he lowered himself onto the faded varnish of the bench. A deep sigh slipped through his lips and then his shoulders drooped causing him to look older than his sixty eight years. He stared across the park grass without blinking until, with a start, he shook his head as if to bring himself back to the present.

Then his right hand slipped into the pocket of his tweed jacket, moved around and carefully brought out a tiny crust of bread. A smile eased the stress of his lips and fingers, long like those of a pianist, rubbed the bread into crumbs that fell on the palm of his left hand. Taking a single scrap between thumb and first finger he held it out in front but slightly to his right and let the breeze gently transfer it to the concrete beneath his brown leather shoes.

He waited expectantly for a few minutes and then moved his chin to the left, pushing his lip upwards and distorting its shape to that of a child forced to kiss an elderly and unsavoury aunt. Then he made a gentle whistle punctuated by soft chew, chough puffs of air. His eyes scanned from side to side, and then opened wider as a robin hopped out from beneath the nearby rhododendron bush.

With its red breast held out importantly it moved closer in short bursts of speed. Its head flicked in both directions, making sure no other birds were threatening the territory, before grabbing the speck of bread. The man continued his bird song and the robin cocked its head to one side, leaving one sparkling eye staring at his source of food and entertainment. The beak opened and shut three times, but no sound came. Then as if feeling more attention must be grabbed, it fluttered off the ground and flew to the other end of the bench and back.

Another scrap of bread dropped to the ground and, more confident now it had definitely grabbed the man’s attention, the bird proudly thrust out its bright red chest to acknowledge the source of his lunch.

This time the man spoke properly but softly. “Hello, little one. How are you today?” The remaining crumbs floated down as he brushed his palm. “Let me find you some more.” His hand dipped into his jacket and came out with another fragment of toast. “Won’t you join me on the bench?” he asked, patting the wooden seat with his left hand and sprinkling titbits on the varnish

The robin stared uncertainly as though thinking to itself, ‘I normally only eat off the ground.’ It moved its head and stared with the other eye. Then with a flutter of wings, it rose into the air, made two circuits of the park bench and landed by the crumbs. It ate most of them and then fluttered upwards and hovered, almost dipping its wings in thanks, before flying onto a branch of the rhododendron.

The man smiled before twisting his lip to respond as the bird began its tick tick song. As the bird flew away he part lifted his hand in a wave. A movement in his peripheral vision made him glance along the path. His grin faded as a tall, grey haired lady came closer. She wore red slippers on her feet while a black and white printed skirt flapped behind her.

Reaching the bench she stopped, slightly out of breath, and turned to face him, placing her hands on her hips. “You silly old fool,” she said. “You should have told me why pieces of toast were always in your pockets?” She stepped towards him as he patted the clean end of the seat.

His arm moved to the bench top and, as she sat down, he stroked the back of her blue knitted jacket. Looking into each other’s face they both began to smile. Then, without speaking, the man on the bench leaned towards his wife and softly kissed her waiting lips.