When he returned once more to the viewpoint, the sea was there, spread before the coast with the same vastness as on the first day, as though everything that had happened since they met had left no trace on the landscape.
He approached the parapet. The islands rose in the distance, the coast faded southwards and light moved slowly over the water. It could have been the first day: the same spot, the same sea, perhaps even the same desire to hold that image before it changed.
Instinctively he reached towards the pocket where he kept his phone, but did not take it out.
There was nothing wrong with photographing what lay before him. A photograph could preserve a detail, let him find it again, show it to someone. But he was in no hurry.
He looked.
The first time he had come this far almost without noticing what lay behind him. He had searched for the best framing, moving a few steps to fit the sea, the islands and the coastline into the screen.
He remembered the photograph from that day.
The cliff had appeared at the edge of the frame, almost cut off. It had already been there, and he had not seen it.
He turned around.
The Guardian stood a short distance away, facing the sea.
He could not have said how long he had been there. Perhaps he had been waiting, or perhaps the tourist had simply failed to notice him. He did not ask. After all that walking, finding him there felt natural.
Neither spoke.
The tourist let his gaze wander towards the road climbing to Brivadi. The restless expectation of their first meetings was gone, when every silence seemed to conceal a question. For the first time, nothing more seemed necessary.
From the road came distant voices, the clatter of dishes from a house, a car briefly passing. A little farther on, a woman drew something in through a window and disappeared inside.
The tourist followed the gesture.
Once he might not have noticed it.
The woman had already closed the window when he sensed something beside him and turned.
The Guardian was walking away.
He watched without understanding. There had been no farewell, no words declaring the journey over.
“Wait.”
The Guardian stopped without turning.
The tourist could have caught up with him. He still had questions, perhaps more than at the beginning. He would have liked to ask many things, even why the Guardian had chosen him, if there had ever really been a choice.
But none was what he wanted to ask at that moment.
For the first time since he had met him, he did not want the Guardian to show him something.
He only wanted him to stay.
That was what surprised him.
He had often thought about the questions that would remain unanswered. He had not imagined a time would come when they mattered less than the Guardian’s presence.
The Guardian did not turn.
The tourist began a step towards him, but stopped.
The Guardian began walking again.
This time he did not call him back.
He followed him with his eyes as he climbed the road. At the bend between the houses his figure remained visible a little longer, then disappeared.
The tourist kept looking at that spot. Part of him waited for the Guardian to reappear, as though his disappearance might be just another of his strange pauses.
He did not.
After a while he returned to the parapet.
The sea was the same as when he arrived: the distant islands, the coast, the horizon that seemed endless. Nothing had become less beautiful, and nothing he had discovered behind him had diminished that beauty.
The sea simply no longer filled his whole gaze.
He stayed a few more minutes, then left the viewpoint and took the road climbing towards Brivadi.
After a few steps he turned back.
The Guardian was not there.
His eyes returned to the bend where the Guardian had vanished. For a moment he had the distinct feeling that something was missing.
He did not try to fill that absence.
He began walking again.
The road ahead continued between the houses.
