The Old Man's Here

The garden's timeless stillness was disrupted by a faint shimmer at the arrival point. Tagitsa, kneeling beside a cluster of vibrant chrysanthemums, paused mid-motion. His gloved hands hovered above the soil as his emerald eyes shifted toward the soft glow rippling across the earth. The shimmer pulsed gently, like a heartbeat, growing brighter and more defined with each passing moment.

Standing slowly, Tagitsa turned to face the light. His scarf fluttered faintly in the breeze as he moved with calm deliberation toward the arrival point. The energy there coalesced, its form growing sharper until it solidified into the figure of an elderly man.

The man appeared hunched, his thin frame draped in a loose cardigan over a wrinkled collared shirt and slacks. Sparse, gray hair crowned his weathered face, and his bushy eyebrows furrowed as he scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. His sunken eyes darted nervously, filled with equal parts confusion and weariness. His hands trembled slightly, clutching at the hem of his cardigan as though the fabric alone could tether him to something familiar.

The man muttered under his breath, his voice rasping and uncertain. "What… where…?" He glanced at the vibrant flowers, the koi pond shimmering in the distance, and the cherry blossoms drifting lazily through the air. The tranquility of the garden seemed to unsettle him, his expression twisting into one of disbelief.

"Where am I?" he asked aloud, his voice shaking as he took an unsteady step forward. His gaze landed on Tagitsa, who stood silently a few feet away. The old man's eyes widened slightly, his trembling hands clutching tighter to his cardigan. "Who are you?" he demanded, though his tone lacked conviction, the question laced more with fear than accusation.

Tagitsa remained still, his sharp emerald eyes fixed on the man. His posture was calm, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he spoke, his voice steady and devoid of emotion. "You've died. This is Purgatory."

The man's face froze, his bushy brows lifting in shock. "What?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. Then, louder, more desperate, he repeated, "What did you just say?"

"You've died," Tagitsa said again, his tone unchanging. "This is where you've been brought."

The old man took a shaky step backward, his trembling hand reaching up to clutch his chest. "No… no, that can't be," he murmured, shaking his head as though the motion alone could dispel the words. "I was just at home. I was sitting in my chair… and then…" His voice trailed off, his eyes narrowing as fragments of memory began to surface.

His breathing quickened, and he staggered slightly, his weathered face pale as realization dawned. "I remember feeling… tired," he muttered, his gaze unfocused. "And then… nothing." He looked back at Tagitsa, his sunken eyes pleading. "But this… this can't be right. I'm still here. I'm still…"

His voice cracked, and he fell silent, his trembling hand lowering to his side as he struggled to process the reality before him.

Tagitsa remained impassive, watching the man without judgment or sympathy. "You're here because of something unresolved," he said. "Something you regret."

The man's head snapped up at the word, his lips parting as though to protest. But no words came. His face twisted into an expression of uncertainty, his trembling hands clenching into fists as he turned his gaze away, unable to meet Tagitsa's piercing emerald eyes.

The cherry blossoms swirled gently around them, their soft petals brushing against the man's wrinkled hands. He stared at the garden, his confusion and disbelief slowly giving way to something deeper, something heavier.

"What do I regret?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible. "What did I…?" He trailed off again, his shoulders slumping under an invisible weight.

Tagitsa didn't respond. He simply stood there, his presence as steady and unyielding as the garden itself, waiting for the man to take the first step toward understanding.

The old man's shoulders sagged under the weight of his confusion. His trembling hands clutched the hem of his cardigan, fingers gripping the fabric as though it could tether him to some semblance of stability. His sunken eyes darted around the garden, lingering on the vibrant flowers and the still waters of the koi pond, searching for something familiar to ground him. But there was nothing.

"I don't understand," he muttered, shaking his head as if trying to dispel the fog of realization creeping over him. "I was just at home… sitting in my chair." His voice grew softer, trembling with uncertainty. "I remember the television was on. Something boring—news, maybe. I wasn't even paying attention. Then I felt… tired. Just tired. And then…"

His words trailed off, and he raised a shaking hand to his forehead, his fingers brushing through the sparse gray hair there. He closed his eyes tightly, as though willing the memory to come into focus, but his expression only grew more strained. "Nothing," he whispered hoarsely. "After that… nothing."

Tagitsa stood silently a few feet away, watching the man with his usual calm detachment. He made no attempt to fill the silence, giving the man the space to piece together his thoughts. His emerald eyes remained fixed on the hunched figure, observing the subtle shifts in his posture and expression.

After a long moment, the old man opened his eyes and looked at Tagitsa. His voice wavered as he asked, "Why am I here? What did I do?"

Tagitsa tilted his head slightly, his scarf fluttering faintly in the breeze. His gaze swept over the man, noting the deep lines of worry etched into his features and the way his trembling hands clutched his cardigan as if it were a lifeline. "You're here because of something unresolved," Tagitsa said, his tone steady and factual. "Something you regret."

The man's frown deepened, and his bushy eyebrows knit together. He shook his head, his voice tinged with frustration. "I don't… I don't know what it could be. My life wasn't perfect, but… regret? I—" He broke off, his voice faltering as he struggled to form the words.

Tagitsa remained silent, his expression unreadable as he waited. The cherry blossoms swirled gently around them, their petals brushing against the old man's weathered hands, but he seemed unaware of their delicate touch.

After a few moments, Tagitsa turned and began walking along one of the winding garden paths, his steps deliberate and unhurried. The old man hesitated, his trembling hands releasing their grip on his cardigan as he glanced around once more. Then, reluctantly, he followed, his movements slow and uncertain.

The two walked in silence for a time, the vibrant garden stretching out around them like a living painting. The old man's gaze flitted between the flowers and the koi pond, his steps faltering as he spoke again, his voice quieter now. "My son," he said, the words tentative and heavy.

Tagitsa glanced at him out of the corner of his eye but said nothing, letting the man continue at his own pace.

"I wasn't… the best father," the old man admitted, his voice carrying a note of shame. He wrung his hands together as he walked, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. "I always thought I was doing the right thing, but… I don't know. Maybe I pushed him too hard. Maybe I…"

His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, his bushy eyebrows furrowing again. "He turned out okay in the end," he muttered, as though trying to reassure himself. "He didn't need me as much as I thought he did. He's strong. Smart. He's fine."

Tagitsa observed the man's hunched frame, noting the way his hands fidgeted restlessly and the tension in his voice. The old man's words hinted at deeper regret, an unspoken wound he was unwilling to fully confront.

The old man cleared his throat, his voice taking on a defensive tone. "I did what I could for him. Maybe I wasn't perfect, but who is? I tried to teach him to be better than me. Isn't that what fathers are supposed to do?"

He glanced at Tagitsa, as though seeking validation, but the younger man's calm expression offered none. Tagitsa's silence pressed the old man to speak further, to fill the void with his own reflections.

"I don't know why I'm here," the old man said finally, his voice barely audible. "But… if it has to do with him… I don't know what else I can say." He brushed the thought aside with a shake of his head, his shoulders hunching further as they continued walking.

Tagitsa said nothing, letting the conversation settle into the quiet rhythm of their footsteps on the garden path. The koi pond came into view again, its surface reflecting the soft blush of the cherry blossoms overhead. The old man's gaze lingered on the water, but his expression remained conflicted, as though the answer he sought lay just beyond his reach.

And so, the garden waited. And so did Tagitsa.

The garden path twisted gently, the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet the only sound as the old man's voice wavered into the still air. "I wasn't a bad father," he said, though his tone carried more uncertainty than conviction. His weathered hands trembled at his sides, occasionally clenching into loose fists as if to steady himself. "At least… I didn't think I was."

Tagitsa walked beside him in silence, his emerald eyes fixed ahead. He made no attempt to interrupt or prod the man, his calm presence serving as the only encouragement needed for the story to continue.

The old man's sunken eyes turned downward, watching the ground with an intensity that suggested he was seeing something far removed from the garden. "He was… bright," he murmured. "Smarter than I ever was. He had so much potential. I just wanted him to use it, you know? To be better than me."

His voice grew quieter, trembling. "But I didn't… I didn't know how to say it. Every time I tried, it came out wrong. I'd get frustrated, and he'd get frustrated, and we'd just end up shouting at each other."

His steps faltered, and he came to a stop, his hands clutching the hem of his cardigan as his gaze dropped to his feet. "I wanted to teach him things, to make him stronger, but… I think I just pushed him away." His voice cracked, and he shook his head. "I didn't mean to. I just wanted him to do better. To be better than me."

The tremor in his hands spread to his shoulders, and his face twisted with unspoken emotion. "But I never told him that. Not in the way I should have. I… I don't think he ever knew."

Tagitsa turned to face him, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever. "You can't move on until you confront it," he said, his voice low and steady. "Until you face what you regret most."

The old man looked up at him, his face etched with confusion and desperation. "But he's not here," he said, his voice trembling. "How can I… how can I fix it if he's not here? I can't tell him now. I can't…" His voice broke, and he shook his head, his hands trembling more violently.

Tagitsa observed him silently for a moment before speaking. "I'll be him," he said.

The old man blinked, his wide, watery eyes snapping up to meet Tagitsa's steady gaze. "You?" he whispered, disbelief etched into every line of his face. "But… how could you…?"

Tagitsa didn't answer immediately. His emerald eyes remained fixed on the old man, his posture calm and unwavering. "You've already begun to speak to him," he said. "It doesn't matter if I'm not him. What matters is that you say what you need to."

The old man stared at him, his bushy brows furrowing deeply. His trembling hands gripped his cardigan tightly as though bracing himself against an unseen storm. "This… this is ridiculous," he muttered, shaking his head. "You don't look anything like him. You don't sound like him."

"Does it matter?" Tagitsa asked, his tone as calm and detached as ever. "If he were here, what would you say to him?"

The old man opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, his lips quivering as no words came. He looked away, his gaze falling back to the garden path, where a few fallen cherry blossoms rested like scattered memories.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint rustle of the breeze through the trees. Slowly, hesitantly, the old man nodded. "I don't know how this is supposed to work," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But… I'll try. If it means… if it means I can move on, I'll try."

Tagitsa nodded slightly, turning back to the path. "Then we'll begin," he said simply, his tone leaving no room for doubt or hesitation.

The old man followed, his steps shaky but determined, as the garden waited to witness the start of his journey toward confronting the regret he had carried for so long.

The garden felt both expansive and enclosing as Tagitsa led the old man to a quiet corner near the koi pond. The sunlight filtering through the cherry blossoms created dappled patterns on the path, the soft pink petals continuing to drift lazily through the air. The man's steps faltered as he glanced at the bench, his trembling hands gripping the edge of his cardigan for reassurance.

Tagitsa gestured silently for him to sit. After a moment's hesitation, the man lowered himself onto the bench, his movements stiff and uncertain. He glanced up at Tagitsa, who stood beside him, his tall figure framed by the serene beauty of the garden.

The silence stretched, filled only by the faint rustle of the breeze and the gentle ripples of the koi pond. The man fidgeted, his hands twisting the hem of his cardigan as he searched for words. "I don't… I don't know where to start," he admitted, his voice heavy with doubt.

Tagitsa remained still, his expression calm and unreadable. "Wherever you feel you must," he said simply.

The old man let out a shaky breath, his sunken eyes focusing on the pond as though it held the answers he sought. "You always were smarter than me," he murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and regret. "Even when you were a boy, you'd come home with those books. Always reading, always learning. I never understood half the things you said."

Tagitsa didn't respond immediately. When he spoke, his tone was measured and neutral. "And what did you say to that?"

The man hesitated, his brows furrowing. "I don't know," he muttered. "Something dismissive, probably. I didn't mean it, but… I wasn't good with words. I always thought showing you would be enough." He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I guess it wasn't."

The conversations continued in fits and starts, each word dragged from the old man's heart like a reluctant confession. The pauses between sentences were filled with tension, his thoughts unfinished, his emotions raw.

"I just wanted you to do better," he muttered, his trembling hands clutching his knees. "I thought if I was hard on you, you'd learn. You'd succeed. I didn't want you to end up like me—struggling, always behind, never enough."

Tagitsa stood quietly, his emerald eyes fixed on the man. He didn't offer validation or critique. Instead, his responses were sparse, questions carefully chosen to nudge the man further without leading him. "And do you think he understood that?" he asked.

The old man's breath caught, and he shook his head, his voice cracking as he replied, "No. No, I don't think he did." He rubbed at his face with a trembling hand, his frustration spilling over. "I didn't know how to tell him I cared. I didn't know how to say I was proud. It all just… came out wrong."

His voice grew quieter, his gaze fixed on the rippling pond. "I think… I think I made him feel like he wasn't enough. Like nothing he did was good enough for me."

The weight of his admission hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, Tagitsa simply observed him. The man's hunched frame seemed smaller, diminished by the burden of his regret.

Finally, the man spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted him to know I cared," he said, his hands shaking as they rested on his lap. "But… I was so bad at showing it."

Tagitsa remained silent, his steady presence giving the man space to reflect. The garden's tranquility seemed to cradle the old man's emotions, amplifying the tension between his guilt and his longing for redemption.

The old man glanced up at Tagitsa, his watery eyes searching the younger man's calm expression. "Do you think…" he began, his voice faltering. "Do you think he forgives me?"

Tagitsa didn't answer right away. He turned his gaze to the koi pond, where the water's surface shimmered with the faint reflection of the cherry blossoms above. After a long pause, he said, "That's not for me to decide. But perhaps it's for you to find out."

The old man's gaze fell back to the pond, his reflection rippling as the koi swam just beneath the surface. The silence that followed was heavy, yet it carried a sense of anticipation—a promise that the journey was far from over.