The Sky Above

By John Fajo

Soon to be abandoned by his remaining family, our elderly protagonist sets out to find a companion he could spend his remaining life with in peace, and perhaps find the love he has been searching for since he had lost his first wife. As we follow his endeavours we gain a look into the life of an average man with an average life. Will he find what he was looking for? And what does the sky above look like?
In case anyone gets the impression, this is no love story... but a rather sinister insight into what old age might have in stock for someone. Because whether growing old with someone or alone, one still has to face the end by himself.
The third iteration of a man’s life (1. Software Evolution, 2. Wild Duck revisited) that was actually the first to be written by the author, shows the last stages, the last fights, the last attempts to find what a man is about.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Fajo
• Release date: Dec 15, 2020

John Fajo

The author has written since the age of 8, has received formal education in biochemistry (MD), mathematics (PhD) and law (MD). His main interest in writing is connected to character development, emotions, thinking processes and social conflicts from a somewhat biased point of view, many times contrary to the established line of thinking.'Software Evolution' can be said to be the first and to this day the major work of the author, written at the age of 21, that he deemed to be presentable to the public. The book attempts to introduce several parallel story lines, and some important emotional and philosophical aspects of scientific research. The work is the third and final version of a project that was to be science fiction in the beginning but the sci-fi aspects completely disappeared in the end; what it evolved to could be termed drama instead. 'Software Evolution' was not only influenced by the author’s study subjects at the time of writing (natural sciences) but by the places and various social systems he had experienced in his childhood (80’s-early 90’s), socialism (Budapest), capitalism (New York) and protestant Puritanism (Bergen).The book 'Wild Duck revisited' was greatly inspired by the second part of a ten-year stay in Bergen (Norway) that included high school and some university classes, and a short time spent at Fantoft Studentby (a student hostel, the ugliest building complex in named city), where all kinds of nationalities could be met. Many passages of the book are conversations that actually took place there; in such a way, the work shows some thoughts on the Scandinavian lifestyle from an outsider’s viewpoint.The author had moved to the south since then.In recent years, the author has been co leader of a contemporary modern art gallery profiling the interconnection of art, science and technology. He is currently secretary of an art academy.John Fajo is the author’s penname, after his grandfather, anglicized. Profile picture taken around 2002.

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The Sky Above

by John Fajo

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 1994, 2020

Proofreading and consulting, respectively: Erik Fossen (1994); Eirik Olsen (1995)

Short description, cover design and editing: Csaba Mengyan (2020)

For correspondence write to [e-mail]

License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage others to download their own copy.

I.

Now this letter was really promising. From the beginning, dear Annie had been the kindest of all. He had met her on a short vacation some years ago. He hadn’t heard of her since. But now she had written a letter. When he opened the letter, he struggled to remember the vacation on which they had become acquainted. It wasn’t as easy to remember events of the past nowadays as before. He was getting old. Nevertheless, when he concentrated he could list up everything that had happened on that vacation.

It had been summer with those hot and sunny days around July. The flowers had blossomed. He had been holidaying in an Inn of some sort. It had been close to a beautiful lake. Well, he couldn’t quite remember anything more about the grounds where he had spent his two week vacation. But then again, this wasn’t of importance anyway. He attempted to focus on Annie, who she had been and how she had looked. He had always been good at remembering faces. When he was young, he had met people of all sorts, having served in the Great War. Therefore, it wasn’t at all hard for him to see Annie’s jovial and round face. She had been a dark haired, small widow in her 50s equipped with spectacles. She had been gregarious and affable in every way. He hadn’t forgotten the hours they had spent talking together on the riverbank. Of course, now he realised that there was a devious river that ended in the lake. He could even see trouts swimming and jumping in its clean and refreshing water. He had liked fishing. For a long time it was his hobby. Even in the war years, he had slipped through the cordons to fish when the guns were all silent. And then there was... Here he stopped for a moment. He realized that he had wandered far off from his main topic. He shook his head and pinched himself. He tried to continue his line of thoughts where he had left off, and picked up the thread quickly. He was still fully conscious and aware of all of his actions, just somewhat slower in everything.

Annie appeared before his closed eyes as sitting on a bench puerilely playing with her legs, which didn’t touch the ground. The bench was of normal size though. He thought about how tenderly small she was. Although weighing somewhat more than the average, she had been very slim in her youth. She had told him that it was after her last child was born that she had gained weight. Of course, to him the only thing that mattered was her genuinely amiable deportment especially towards him.

They had a great time together. They had laughed and walked along the riverbank together. But he admitted that it wasn’t more than friendship. He had needed a companion possibly more than ever, for his partner in life had passed away just before that. He realized that in his age, with his philosophy of life love was out of the question, but, nevertheless, Annie was someone he adored very much. He wasn’t quite sure why they hadn’t kept in touch during the past two years. He wasn’t a good speller or writer for his part, but he could surely have written a couple of sentences. Why on earth hadn’t he?

Well, now it was all right. She was courageous enough to write. For two years had elapsed and many things could have happened during that time. Maybe he hadn’t written to her, because he thought their friendship was only meant to be for the time they had spent together at the Inn. Who knows, he pondered.

But now providence once again sent her to his aid. He knew, there was no good in denying, that his energy was vanishing from his hardship-stricken body. In the two years since that holiday he had developed into an old man. He remembered for a second that it wasn’t even three years ago that he had worked and toiled on his daughter’s farm. Strange that he now could hardly lift a shovel. It seemed unbelievable that in three years his condition had changed so drastically. It was probably due to the hardships he had had to endure in his life. For raising three children and paying for another two was by no means easy for a common bus driver. The war years had left their marks on him as well.

And now he was to be left entirely alone. Of the three of his children who he’d had contact with two were living thousands of kilometres away. They seldom visited him, just once or twice a year. The third, the oldest, a lawyer whom he had helped on the farm was about to leave town. Her husband, a renowned artist had been invited to a University abroad. Thus, they were soon to be leaving him. Just like a fortuneteller had once, long ago, prophesized it to him: …and when you grow old, all your children will be far, very far away from you… Not that he would ever believe such oracles. Though it was still somewhat eerie.

But, he thought, he worried needlessly. He smiled. Dear Annie. He was certain that with her he could spend the rest of his life in peace. This letter he was holding in his hands might have opened up a new phase in his life. The letter itself didn’t contain anything totally unusual. It was rather a courteous attempt at renewing their friendship, but with an invitation at the end. Annie had invited him to her place. It was in the country. He had travelled a lot, even now, so he vaguely remembered where this place was. He liked the thought of getting out of the apartment house he lived in. For there is nothing better than the fresh country air, he thought. He himself had been born of a quite wealthy family in the countryside. He had spent the first fifteen years of his life mostly on the family’s estate. But then they had succumbed during an economic downturn, his father went broke and the estate was gone. Since then he had mainly lived in the big city working first as a cabdriver and then as a bus driver. He had always liked the city’s buzzing and tumult, the constant action that was there. Now, however, he longed for a much more peaceful existence. He dreamed of being able to sit under a great oak, relaxing in an easy chair, looking out onto the fields or whatever there might be in the country. He desired the calmness of the rural area. And again good fate had sent sweet Annie to his rescue. All that he had to do was to pick up a pen and write to her. He was a bit confused for a moment. He hadn’t written too much in his entire life, besides, he thought it better to consult his oldest daughter about what to write. He was sure that she would be able to help him. Deciding so, he put the pen back among the others and laid the letter on the desk in front of him.

For a short moment he sat silent. Then he sighed with relief and after looking at his watch, he dressed up. He was to go to carry some hardware from one end of town to the other. He was a still working man, for his pension didn’t stretch too far.

Not long after he had returned from his short purveyor trip, the doorbell sounded. He opened the door. His oldest daughter, Judith, was visiting him. She was dressed in the latest fashion. Although she was a modern woman, she was too loyal, he thought. Why on earth does she have to go abroad with her husband? Then, suddenly, he realized that it was none of his business. Still...

How are you, dad? she asked plainly upon entering his apartment. He moaned something like okay, and waved his hand as if saying, come in. He closed the door and asked with the husky voice of a man who rarely speaks: Have you eaten yet? By this time he was entering the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, took out this and that and sat down by the table, undisturbed by the fact that there was someone else besides him in the apartment.

After his daughter had taken off her coat, she joined him and sat down by the table. He was devouring food of much calorie. Judith was explaining to him how she had managed to leave the office so early, for it wasn’t more than two o’clock in the afternoon. In-between two chunks of food he asked hoarsely: Aren’t you going to eat something? When she answered that she had eaten already he shook his head and said: Stop acting so ridiculously.

Judith tried to broach a new topic, but he looked fret. Indeed, he was irritated, no matter how his daughter attempted to persuade him that she had lunched. Finally, after about five minutes she agreed to eat a little. Thus, she was free to go on chatting.

It was mainly she who spoke. She tried to explain to him that she would be visiting him quite often after she had gone to live abroad, and that she would be sending him money regularly. Hearing the latter, he again became angry.

Don’t you worry, I have enough money. I’ll say so if not.

Well, if you say so, dad. Judith knew that it was better not to argue about such things with him. It was probably those troublesome years during and shortly after the war that made him act so harshly and irrationally in matters of money and food. When Judith was young they could afford meat only once a week. He did not wish to remember those years. His first wife died in a routine operation at the age of 30, leaving him with three toddlers. Maybe that was why he could not accept the fact that his children could ever be well nourished.

He finished eating. Judith was mentioning that her son was coming along with them as well. But what about his studies? He was merely curious. Didn’t he like that electronics school?

No, there is nothing of the sort, said Judith while helping him put the dishes away. It’s just better if our family is together. Besides, he seemed to want to come himself.

Well, anyhow, if he changes his mind he can surely stay with me.

Thank you, dad.

After they had finished cleaning the table they seated themselves in the living room. Judith asked him about what he did during the day, and he told her briefly that he had carried this and that from one end of the city to the other.

Then there was a short period of silence. They could both hear the old grandfather clock ticking. He himself had to endeavour to a certain extent to be able to perceive these muffled measures of time. Sometimes he could only notice the ticking through the imagination of his mind. But he had never admitted that he had any hearing disorders. Not to anyone. Not even to himself. For he was of an obstinate making. He had inherited stubbornness, which had only been augmented by the passage of time. His father, the large estate holder, had died because of his own pigheadedness. When diagnosed as having an inflammation of the vermiform appendix, his father had refused to undergo a routine operation. The estate holder had had a painful death.

Judith was looking at the wall. There was a somewhat blurry picture of her mother there. She often thought of her. Her mother had died when she had been no more than four. It wasn’t at all good to be the oldest in a family of four without a mother, where the father had worked late to seek out a livelihood for them. It meant that she had to keep the house clean. All the responsibilities of motherhood were laid upon her. Until the age of 18 she was to be home before 8 o’clock in the evenings. Her sister and brother were much better off.

Finally, he broke the silence. He needed this calmness to get his thoughts in order. He spoke with a voice much gentler and clearer than before. He was about to ask for his daughter’s help in composing a letter to Annie. He coughed and put on his reading glasses.

You know, when I was holidaying in that Inn close to that beautiful lake…, can’t recall the exact name…, anyway, I met a charming person. I haven’t told you this before, because I haven’t heard of her since. But I have received a letter from her today. I was wondering if you could help me write a letter in answer to the one I have here. He rummaged for a moment and then handed the paper to her. She looked questioningly at him. Just open it and read it, he said.

While Judith went through the letter he was half drowsing. Now he could definitely hear the ticks clearly. He also felt that his ears caught the sounds of the city. Certainly, there was an interesting musical cosmos existing in the living room. The foreground was made up of the rhythmical sounds of the clock. In the background the noisy sounds of the city could be heard pervading through the open window. This was unusual, for he lived in the outskirts. In this fringe moderate prized and comfortable apartment houses had been built just recently. He lived in one such. The mixture of the rhythmical beats and the noises of the vortex seemingly far away mesmerised him into a doze. Then, suddenly, he awoke to his daughter’s voice. He couldn’t hear the background tone of this strange musical melody any more. He was confused for a second which state of existence was the real one. Then the veil thwarting his thoughts was quickly gone.

It’s very nice of her that she has written, Judith said.

What should I write to her? You know that writing is not one of my strengths. He was wiping his spectacles, not that he needed them at the moment.

Well, write about how you are, what you have done since your meeting. Tell her how glad you are to hear about her, and that you were thinking of her all the time. You only need to write a couple of sentences. Then I can type it all out.

Should I say yes to her invitation?

Well that you have to decide for yourself, she smiled comfortingly at him. Thus, he set to work. It proved to be quite a mind twister for him to write this letter. Lack of practice, he murmured to himself. He scribbled the letters slowly one after the other. While he was doing this Judith opened a drawer and took out an old photo album. In it were pictures of her mother, whom she could faintly remember. She felt that the passage of time went slow.

After about forty minutes he had successfully completed the reply letter. He carefully slipped it into an