“Amongst the shadows of we tellurians, dwell the shades of snollygosters and hues of superbious faces clinging to the society as parasites to a host,pretty transparent, yet we are the deluded by trust and victimized by betrayal, an infinite circle of family and foes”
“Are you Xenodochial?” asked the pyknic man sitting right next to me at the cafe, nearly three quarter away from me. He was grey, but had an eerie of calmness personifying his stature among all the gentlemen present at the noshery.
It was sunset, a rose pink tint illuminating the overwhelming sky. I had never seen the majestic azure to be so captivating ever before. The place was well lit and as always I was carrying a classic read, paperback to be precise. Traffic was minimal probably because it was vacation time, the coffee shop anticipating their resurrection post the days of vacation however there we were just me and the stranger, the unlikely saviors of their wallets.
He was wearing a fine ochre coat in the unusual time of the day, along with plain black silk braided trousers,light sprinkling of freckles on his nose,from his sturdy look one could derive that he enjoyed a fair share of wealth probably in the real estate or maybe hereditary. I presumed he was from the south, the voice clearly resembled chords of pride.
“Are you Xenodochial?”, he asked again.
His straight-forwardness and candid provoking stature stimulated a defensive gesture on my side which I was complete alien to at that moment, however the change in his facial expression clearly conveyed me the message, a look of defeat of not being replied to was clearly read-able from his face. An open book perhaps, but he had something about him which intrigued me. Or probably it was just my mere observational attribute drawing unnecessary conclusions.
“Yes, I am. Why do you ask so?”, a reply brined in a forestalling tone which I guess he didn’t notice.
“Why are you xenodochial?”, he asked in the same cold voice. A slow breeze taxied inside the room, before escaping. I could catch a sneak view of the window, darkness engulfing the sky. The clock in my mind ticked on without mercy.
“Well, what good of someone if he is not hospitable towards a stranger?”, confidence building up as I took a slow sip of the warm coffee from the fine china, the aura of the exquisite coffee beans inundating the room however my mind was fixed to the term “Xenodochial”.
“Young man, do you have the knowledge of whom to label as strangers and of whom to label to as friends. Of whom to label as foes and whom to label as family. Only if you knew, with the risk of trust comes the devil of betrayal. My word, Shadows are as much as your family as it is a stranger.
Good day to you sir.”
And he quietly stood up picking up his coat and hat, transferred to the outside world to embrace the night leaving me in the solitary confinement and with a million questions.
But before he did leave, I happened to have heard him mumble the phrase which has since then captivated me.
“Of Strangers and Trust
Of Shadows and Xenodochy”