Old Friends

I do like Johnners. Now, that is important. I would say that, yes, I do regard him at the very least as a friend and know that we could surely have become best ones too. We were in the same school-form together; of course that was thirty-five years ago - we are now both of us, middle-aged - and he may have forgotten who I was. And yes, he devoted some attention to me in those days, though of course I was never within the inner circle. And so I was surprised when he seemed not to recognise me. After all, I recognised him right-off, striding into the square.

Our town is a warren of narrow ways that pass between wood-fronted shops, eating-houses that smell of strong herbs or oil, and high warehouse sides patched with irregular boards and tarred sheets. Many ways are always sunless. Others conceal deep watery pools so, you see, you must tread carefully in these places. Where our town-planners have been able to push back the buildings, there stand the tiny squares, though it is clear that these town-planners have faced many problems for we have only a scattering of these squares. And indeed, they aren't much use, for within them there is scarcely enough room for half-a-dozen passing men to stand in comfort. And thus you can understand how cramped I was when he strode up against me with his two companions. I was, in fact, pressed hard up to an eating-house window, though naturally he could not have noticed my discomfort. Had he done so, he would have stepped back a pace to relieve the pressure. He is friendly in that way.

I saw him first and nodded him a greeting, but, as I've told you already, he didn't seem to recognise me - ignoring my nod, or rather turning to his two companions before my nod was completed, he winked at them and grinned.