A Stranger on the Doorstep

My fingers were about to hit the keyboard of the laptop which, after some reluctance had come to life, when there was a loud bang on the front door.

It was the first of February - my birthday – so  I expected it was the postman delivering loads of wishes from relatives and friends, but when I opened the door the smiling man facing me was not the postie but a complete stranger.

“Can you confirm your name, address and your date of birth?”, he asked.

I automatically did that without querying why he wanted that information but before I could ask him he had started a conversation.

“I take it that you are Italian”, he stated on hearing my name and when I agreed that I was, he began enthusing about my country of origin.

“A beautiful country that I visited many times and one that I would have gladly revisited but for the recent pandemic's restrictions”, he said wistfully.

“I've been to Rome, Florence and Naples but my favourite city is Venice”, he sighed, “and the hospitality of your compatriots is unparalleled.”

He went on to tell me how, when he was a lorry driver, he had been stopped at the border by customs and by the time the inspection of his vehicle was completed all the restaurants nearby were closed except a pizzeria that was about to shut but the owner invited him in and they they were up until three in the morning eating, drinking and talking about the political situation.

I felt that it would be polite to respond to this loquacious individual and noticing that he too was not a native of this country, I asked where he was from and what his name was.

Hearing that he was from Cyprus I expected his name to be Stavros or Stefanos but, surprisingly, it was simply John.
I told him that I knew his island and loved Paphos but he said that he didn'tknow that place and he lived in Limassol.

I had by then realised that he was a despatch courier as he had a wrapped box in his hand and a big parcel lay on the ground.

My hopes that I was going to receive some nice birthday presents, rose. 

Our conversation came to a natural end and the reason why he called was revealed.

“This is for you”, he said and handed me a box of prescribed medications whose delivery had been arranged by the local clinic.

It transpired that the big box that I hoped was a birthday present was nothing of the sort. He picked it up and, before walking away with it, explained that it was for my next door neighbour.

My disappointment didn't last very long. My postman came along soon after laden with a sackful of birthday cards and a several parcels wrapped in vibrant colours.

This time no words were spoken and I relished the silence.

© Luigi Pagano 2022