“…Hello.”

I’m so astonished, I can’t formulate an answer. Why is he here, of all places? There’s a well near him, isn’t there? Why come to this one, in the middle of town? Where has he been? What have these weeks been like for him? My mind is bursting with questions desperate for answers, and the silence begging me to break it. 

“How are you?” I blurt. Smooth, Felix. Nicely done. I remember how he replied the last time I asked, and I don’t want to invade his privacy again. As well as this, I’d never usually be so informal with someone who’s barely an acquaintance. To my relief, Ari only gives a half smile. “I must confess I’ve been better.” 

Now he’s said it, I can tell: his skin looks flat and dull, even in the now pearly moonlight, and there are dark circles under his eyes. “I- yes, I’d imagine.” We lapse into deeply awkward silence again. This is terrible — usually I’m good with words, and I’d even go as far as eloquent. But for some reason, that skill has decided to abandon me the moment I need it. Traitor. I try again. 

“Do you… come into town often? You know, for the markets?” Even worse. So random; what is wrong with me? Once again, however, Ari rescues me. 

“Not very often. I grow my own vegetables, but I come here for flour every once in a while. I bake my bread as well, you see. Not that I’m very good at it,” he laughs. Somehow, he keeps finding ways to keep the conversation going through my blundering. 

I laugh too. “I’m sure you’re fine at it, but… I could show you? I apprentice at the bakery and…” I trail off. Once again, an absolute disaster. Humiliating. I really need to do something about this — it’s getting ridiculous now. I had the perfect opportunity for a normal answer, but did I actually give a normal answer? No, sir. No indeed. Just brain-to-mouth without any kind of processing. 

“Well, actually… May I take you up on that? My baking skills really are poor,” he says apologetically, and I almost double-take. Have I finally started hearing things?

“Really?”

“Really. If you don’t mind, that is.” No, I do not mind. 

“I— Not at all. All right then — I’ll teach you to bake! When, um, when works for you?” I say, going my best to disguise my amazement. I was fully prepared for him to politely but firmly tell me to mind my own business and kindly never speak to him again. Extreme thinking, I know, but you learn to expect it, in the back of your mind, when you tend to ramble first and ask questions later. (Although I usually ask questions at the time as well. Maybe it should be consider later.) 

To try to combat this, in the mornings I plan basic responses for all kinds of scenarios that I can flesh out when necessary. It gets me smoothly through the day, and works like a charm most of the time because — luckily for me — I have a great memory and adequate improvisation skills. Although, I did say it works like a charm most of the time. Today is clearly an exception. 

Ari is tilting his head slightly to the side, considering. “Saturday at eleven bells?” he asks. “And we can use my house, if you like.” 

I’m fairly sure Saturday is fine, and even if it isn’t, I’ll make it so. I need to rescue my first impression. (Third impression?)

“Thank you, that’s very generous — Saturday it is! I’ll look forward to seeing you,” I say, managing to claw back some dignity. Another silence falls, but this time it’s comfortable. I pick up my bucket from where I dropped it, retying the leather strap where it’s come undone. “I had better return. My mother... Well, let’s just say I’m rather attached  to my ability to sit down.” I say, hefting the bucket. Ari snorts inelegantly. I’d wager good money that was the first time he's laughed in weeks. 

I start to walk away, but pause. “I… it really was nice to meet you. I hope you… I hope you have a nice evening.” I smile tentatively, and internally curse myself for my seemingly built-in sentimentality. That does no one any good around here – the young men in our village are generally brawn over brains, and have the emotional capacity of a thimble. 

With a final wave, I turn and disappear, homeward bound, into the dark.