The
morning air is cool and the rusty, corrugated rooftops await, impatiently, the
ascendancy of the tropical sun. In the feeble
shade of emerald-leafed tress I sit on decrepit concrete that is also cool, waiting for
Angie’s to open for breakfast.
An
older man passes by. He has a silver
cross dangling from a string around his bicep. He is carrying an old bible in one hand and a short,
bent metal pipe in the other. He nods at
me and smiles, flashing his few remaining teeth and their gold caps. His skin has been beaten senseless by the sun
and both his gait and his manner are unsteady.
“Kaselehlie.”
I greet him. “Kaselehlie.” he replies
pleasantly. “Yairum?” I ask him how he is doing. He responds, “Gelial.” He is feeling strong this morning. He asks me if I know Pohnpeian. I confess that I do not. He assures me that it is easier than
English. I promise him that I will learn
more.
A
promise to a stranger. Will I keep that
promise? I do not know. My past is full of kept promises and broken
promises - and of forgotten promises too I’m sure. And how many promises have I broken over all theses years anyhow? Promises of love and
promises of return. Promises to change
and promises not to change. Promises of
glory and promises of prosperity. Promises to myself and promises to the moon.
But
it’s not always my fault you understand - sometimes Life breaks promises for us and makes them seem tenuous and
sometimes even ridiculous.
The
man smiles once more and wanders off into the middle of the street and shouts
“Good morning!” at a passing car as it swerves violently to avoid running into him. Then he shouts again to no one in particular
this time or maybe it was to a passing cloud.
I don’t know but it seems I have made a promise to a crazy person. Well, crazier than myself anyway. Yet still – a promise is a promise. I’ll do what I can.
Photo
of some cool shade on Pohnpei
