My Lost Friend George
I had a friend several years ago. His name was George. He believed in the quotation of Plutarch ‘Know how to listen, and you will profit even from those who talk badly’.
George was a very passionate, talkative and loveable human being. Most of the time, he was happy but when unhappy he tended to be grouchy and childish. He was very predictable and tended to be monotonous, at times.
He was fun to be around you. He dominated all his relationships and wanted to have the last word. He was caring and loyal. Respectful to others but he quickly lost his respect if you did something untrustworthy. He did not forgive and forget, no matter what. He practiced, during his long life, the quotation of Epicurus ‘A free life cannot acquire many possessions, because this is not easy to do without servility to mobs or monarchs’.
George lived alone over the years, for his character made it difficult for him to easily settle down with a woman. He was more than happy to associate with his friends. The years passed by. In his old ages, and as his health deteriorated he was put in an Institute for caring of old people as he exhibited confusion, irritability and aggression, mood swings, language breakdown, memory loss and a general withdrawal of his senses.
One winter night George, my good friend, without knowing how, and wearing a hat to keep his head warm, stood on one of the hills making up the range of Hymettus, the mountain to the north of Athens. This mountain is colloquially known as Trellos or Trellovouno (crazy mountain), probably coming from French colonials in the 15th or 16th century, calling the mountain Tres Long. He stood there, overlooking a wide expanse of the main city, the green forest climbing up the mountain and a short field near the mountain range.
By the full moon hanging low in the eastern horizon of Attica he knew what he might not have known otherwise. That it was clearly near the hour of dawn, that time which marks the beginning of the twilight before the golden Greek sun rises in the clear sky of Athens.
He thought he saw a light mist or a light mass of fine droplets of life-giving water in the atmosphere near the earth. He had an instant vision about Pidraya, the Canaanite Goddess of Light or Mist. He was sure that she was present in the immediate surroundings. In his mind she was responsible, he said to himself, for veiling the lower features of the landscape and the city below, as well as the tress in the mountain above him.
Several apartment buildings were visible through the morning haze, but in none of them, naturally, there was any light. Nowhere, indeed, was any sign or suggestion of life except the barking of several semi-wild dogs living in the mountain caves, which, repeated with painful iteration, served rather to accentuate than dispel the loneliness of the scene and the moonlight.
George looked curiously about him on all sides, as one who among familiar surroundings is unable to determine his exact place and part in the scheme of things.
'Good Lord!' he said to himself--and again it was as if another had spoken his thought--'where am I?'
Then a thought of self-apprehension came to him, a strong sense of personal peril, such as one might call fear. He felt a distressing emotion. He thought he was in great danger. He did not know why. And that made him more distressed.
He stepped quickly into the shadow of the closest tree. And still the silent thoughts inside his brain terrorized him.
The chill of a sudden mountain breeze upon the back of his neck drew his attention to the direction whence it came, and turning to the east he saw a faint grey light along the Attica horizon--the first sign of a brilliant, golden, and sun-lit returning day.
He finally realized that he was lost! This increased his apprehension.
'I must get away from here,' he thought, 'and return to my home or I shall be discovered by police and taken back to the Institute.'
He moved out and started walking rapidly toward the greying east and hid behind a large bush and a bunch of pine trees. He had lost his sense of time and where he was and why he was there. He sought with a terrible desire a solution of the mystery of where he was, and why, but sought in vain.
He tried to consider the quotation of Antisthenes ‘There are only two people who can tell you the truth about yourself - an enemy who has lost his temper and a friend who loves you dearly’. But still could not make sense of the environment around him or the conditions he was under.
When at last he roused himself from his abstract thoughts and deliberations, the sun's rim was visible above the hills of Attica. His understanding was still not getting any better. It was as dark and in doubt as before. He started walking down the hill towards the first buildings, in a very erratic way, like a stray dog or other wild animal of the forest.
He seemed that he was begging for his existence, looking for food, safety and shelter.
Finally, a stranger came up to him, very concerned with what he was seeing.
‘Sir,' said the stranger, 'although it is not my affair to bother you, are you perhaps lost? Do you need any help? I can help you. I am a doctor.'
'I am O.K.,' was the non-committal reply by George.
The stranger, a physician, paused a moment and looked sharply at George, as he could not just do nothing. His medical training and status could not allow him to leave anyone in distress without help. The stranger remembered the quotation of Anaxagoras ‘Appearances are a glimpse of the unseen’. He therefore thought to himself ‘I must do something’.
'Kindly tell me,' continued to George, 'what has happened here?
Where are you going? What is your name? Where do you live?'
George did not reply.
The physician regarded him curiously trying to decode George’s mood and code of conduct.
After the required professional scrutiny of the moment passed, the doctor, prolonging his thoughts and actions to the limit of politeness, continued.
'Pardon me, but are you perhaps wounded, in some obscure way?' he added, smiling.
George removed his hat, put his hand to his head, passed it through his hair and, withdrawing it, looked at the doctor. He did not respond immediately as he could not basically understand the condition and the situation, he was under.
Finally, after a deadly moment of silence, George said ‘I don't quite understand where I am and what my name is. Please help me'.
The doctor felt an absolute sense of relief. At last he could help a sick fellow, as his medical profession and moral consciousness demanded and commanded.
He called the local police reporting all the relevant facts known to him at to the moment.
Some time passed before the police arrived. They finally arrived. The officer in charge checked all the reported data of the incident and politely guided George into the police vehicle.
The police had no trouble returning George to his place of residence as George was reported missing by all his dear friends for a couple days before his sojourn into the mountain.
A few years passed on after that horrible event. George never remembered what happened those two terrible days. He passed away quietly one cold night.
His inscription, according to his wish, in his final place of residence read:
‘Here in lies George who lived with excitement and joy most of his life in this small planet. Never concerned too much about the little miseries of every-day life. Dearly remembered and loved by his friends forever”.
