Ohrenschmaus

The lonely rider left the saloon. He had been the last guest anyway. There was only the barmaid left who stood behind the counter. He had met many people that night but for some reason now all their faces had become blurred images. Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe his tiredness. They had talked about this and that. Nothing important really. In the beginning he had tried to listen to what the others said but after a while their voices had turned into noises he couldn’t make sense of anymore. Whenever he had said something the others simply had ignored him and had carried on with their talk. And he couldn’t blame them really. For he had said too many things he shouldn’t have said to people he didn’t know. Outside of the saloon they were strangers.

In the road a fresh wind from the North was blowing. It was a relief. Slowly his mind cleared up again. The barmaid stepped out of the door and started the conversation:

B: Hey man, you forgot something.

LR: You know that’s what I am really good at. Forgetting things. What was it this time?

B: Your notebook. I have seen you writing in it when you were sitting at the bar on your own a couple of hours ago.

LR: Oh yes. You are right. But you know what. I think I wanted to forget it and apparently it worked. I didn’t forget it like I forget umbrellas in cafés when the rain has stopped. It was kind of intentional. If you want you can keep it.

B: Are you sure?

LR: Positive.

B: Can I ask you something personal?

LR: Go ahead.

B: Where are you going at this time of the night?

LR: I am going into the desert.

B: You mean you will ride into the desert?

LR: No. I don’t have a horse. I will walk into the desert.

B: And what will you do there?

LR: I will try to get back to the heart of things. There is a world outside the saloon, you know.

B: Will you ever come back here?

LR: I guess so.

B: When will it be?

LR: Count your heartbeats, girl. When you are at half a million you will see a man on the horizon. That man will be me.

B: And if I get the counting wrong?

LR: In that case we will never see each other again, I guess.

She counted till one hundred until his footsteps had died away. The lonely rider disappeared into the night, heading South.