The Man In The Suit, Asking For Tobacco

In 1948, my daily routine was something that had been more or less the same since returning home from the war; get out of bed, pick out a shirt and trousers, select one of the many ties in my wardrobe, put a coat on, and get ready for my job. Post-war work was a lot less tense than the things we had to do during service. It was a good change of pace to be able to take well thought pictures without bullets ringing overhead. Going home to develop them was the part I enjoyed the most, though I was always anxious to see how they would turn out. After all, I couldn't sell a picture to a newspaper if I hadn't exposed it correctly.

Once I'd develop my roll of film, I'd take off my blazer, and sit in the corner with my briar pipe in hand, letting the aromatic tobacco smoke swirl around my mouth before gently blowing it out and watching it dissipate. During these times I learnt to let my mind wander, and in the drawn out streams of thought, I found comfort - comfort I had not felt since before the bloodshed.

As I was resting in my armchair, I heard two knocks on the door that pushed the focus out of my head and into the space that surrounded me. They were not stern knocks, nor were they aggressive knocks - they were light and almost graceful ones that would have been inaudible if I were located anywhere else in the house.

I was agitated, because I was not used to disturbances. Who could it possibly be at this hour? This was a question that I could not help but wonder as I headed to the knocking to find out.

Opening it, I was welcomed to a tall man whose suit hung baggy against his malnourished body. His cheeks were hollow, eyes wide and alert, his bloodshot vessels plastered against his sclera.

"Any tobacco?" Was the first thing he asked. It was obvious to me that this man had been trying to get the attention of all of my neighbours, and I was the only fool to open the door - but It felt as though that was the only option I had. After all, he shook me out of the intense state of daydreaming I had been in.

I couldn't help but drag the silence out a little longer as I stared. "Of course, come on in," I said eventually. Since I answered the door to this man, It would be my duty to fulfil his need.

He walked hastily past me, and I watched as he seated himself on the sofa, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and loosened his tie in the process. The brown fedora he had been wearing a second ago was now resting on the spot next to him, revealing the slight balding on the back of his head. He was losing his medium length brown hair bit by bit, the colour of it strikingly similar to mine.

Across the living room I fetched what he wanted. "Here - I only smoke condor, so it'll have to do," I said at an almost whisper.

Moving his gaze across my outstretched arm and down to the tin clamped between my fingers, he took it, and began his ritual. He took a pinch of tobacco, spread it on his hand, and flipped his corn cob pipe, rubbing it over the leaves until they were nicely packed into the reservoir.

"Condor is good. Thank you very much."

Out came the matches from his blazer pocket, and with a flick, he carried the flame to the top of the bowl, simultaneously sucking through the stem until his mouth filled with smoke and he was certain it would stay lit. Afterwards, he gave the matchstick a swift wave and the flame died.

I took out a packet of woodbines instead of using my pipe, and prepared a drink in the kitchen for both the guest and I as the unfiltered cigarette hung out of my mouth.

Through the large window above the sink, I stared at the darkness which had enveloped the outside world. Gas street lamps casted a light glow across the desolate landscape. I threw my cigarette into the glass ash tray on the kitchen counter.

My eyes blurred, and each of my thoughts coiled around one another into a mess; the air I breathed felt different.

The guest had left.

Later that same night, I changed into my nightwear, smoked another cigarette, and let sleep take me in its clouded arms.

In my dream, I was taking pictures, just as I did in real life.

The shot I had lined up is of an old milling building which sits on the outskirts of a small town. Beside it, lies beige fields of dead autumn grass, and in the back a mountain is sitting in wait.

The shutter clicks, and the photo is taken. Now the man I had let into my home stands ahead of me, his face inches away from mine.

"Over here." A voice calls from the apple tree. The figure in front had disappeared.

"Hello?"

"It's me, the man. You remember me differently. I am not a human in this life, but an owl. Wont you come and join me?"

I look up towards him, his claws dug into the branch, and his beady black eyes looking down.

"How will I get up?"

The bird laughed. "Fly up - you are just like me after all."

And looking at myself I realised that he was right. I ran and spread my wings, gliding around before finally perching next to him.

"I have been searching a long while for your whereabouts," He paused. "And now I have finally found you. What do you dream? How is it that you think and feel?"

I looked up from my bed, now awake somewhere between imagination and reality.

"I'm not sure, Mr owl. Would you stay a while longer? I need your help."

"If you need me, then I will stay for however long you require."

The next morning, I followed the same routine as I had always done, but now with the addition of a man who visits me for a smoke in the early night.

I must always let him in. Without him, I have no bird, and without the bird I cannot follow the dreams that i find myself yearning for.

"What is it you do, bird?" I asked with curiosity.

"I travel in many different forms sir. To some I am a deer, others a whale, and perhaps to another I appear as a nimble grasshopper. Whatever I am, my role is to give people guidance and comfort. This helps them find their path in life. The path I speak of is not something that I have created, but in fact something that YOU, the dreamer has. It contains your wants and needs, and your hopes and desires. I cannot get to everyone all at once, but to those I visit, I offer them an opportunity. There was no guarantee that I would meet you, and the time I chose could have been during any other point in your life. But here I am, and here you see me - the man in the suit, asking for tobacco. Tell me, what do you wish for?"

"I wish for everyone to love one another," I whisper, tears running down my eyes.

The man, the bird, the giraffe, the crocodile, the penguin, the cat, and the dog look at me.

"If only that was something I could do for you."