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Open the Door
The poster at the travel agency's door was loud: shrill colours, stereotype illustrations of the most famous places in foreign countries, large letters.
"Thomas Cook – We open the gates to the world for you! India – Australia – Africa – Europe! Discover the world's last miracles. Book today!"
The man who stood there in front of the advert was anything but loud. In his mid-thirties, dressed all in black from hat to boot, standing very still, arms crossed, shoulders slightly hunched, head tilt to the side, he was obviously devouring the promises on the poster. And he did it with a most peculiar expression on his tanned, grown-up face: childish fascination.
San Francisco was a noisy city, particularly here, at the harbour. With all the carts rumbling on the pier and the ships grating on the docks, with the all the cranes squeaking and the rope winches screeching, with all the animals whining and the people yelling, all those loaders, packers, sailors, traders, the noise was overpowering, deafening; drowning everything. But, amazingly, over all the hustle and bustle, a dark bellowing voice was to be heard, "Adam? Adam! Where in tarnation has that boy gone now?"
The man in black winced slightly when the port breeze blew the booming voice to him. The boyish delight fell from his face and made room for a frown. He looked over his shoulder, briefly, and then turned back to the agency's door and the colourful advert. And suddenly his face lit up, a slow smile conquered his irritated features; he nodded to himself, pursing his lips and raising a single eyebrow to a perfect arch. And with the air of an explorer, he pushed the door open and stepped through.
As he was gone, a last roared "Adam!" wafted over from the piers and powerlessly dissolved into thin air.
***fin***
When one door closes another door opens, but we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us. ~ Alexander Graham Bell