>>13251679When I was a young boy there was a man who moved into my local village, went by the name of Pescado Lenguado. He was a smart man, of course an average man would be smarter compared to us village yokels, but he was of particular intelligence - a scholar even. He'd tell us tales of his travels throughout Europe; some, anecdotal, and some, historical tidbits and facts. He'd allow us to use his vast collection of books and knowledge, he'd even show us his not-so-vast collection of specimens - some he'd kept in jars, others were actual taxidermy. He was a man who loved nature: kept pets, had gardens, even had a sizeable pond full of all sorts of fish. The latter of which was his most prized possession; He was a very big fan of aquatic life, and would even meticulously take down notes about the condition of his pond.
I learned many a thing or two from that Pescado.
Fast forward a couple years later: I'd have gone through college, found my first love, married her, and had our first child! Now, when the time came to name my firstborn I thought of that old chunk of coal and named my son in honour of his memory - only to be informed by one of the old nurses that Pescado Lenguado wasn't dead.
You see, there was a tragedy that occurred inbetween those couple of years around two or three or four years ago. A massive flood came in and swept up our village, leaving almost nothing behind. Luckily, our small village evacuated ahead of time all except for one Pescado Lenguado who had been missing at the time. Everyone believed he had died in that massive flood, and I was terribly shaken apart: This man was like a father to me, he taught me almost everything I knew. The news of him being alive left me ecstatic, and I immediately asked the nurse of his whereabouts.
During the drive there, that joy immediately turned into confusion and a sense of betrayal, and eventually anger: If he was alive after all this time, why didn't he contact us? Why didn't he let anyone know where he was? Surely he knew how much he meant for everyone in our little community! How much everyone adored him! The uncertainty would only be pushed into overdrive as I approached this little hovel upon a lake. It felt like there was a lump in my throat as I knocked and asked if anybody was home: no response. I began looking around and spotted this old man, hunched over the lakeshore. I called out to him "Pescado!" and he would respond with a "Yes?"
There, I would confess that I was so glad that he was alive, that I had named my firstborn after him, but soon I would give in to my rage and berate him - angrily asking the same questions I had mulled over during the ride. In the heat of the moment, I would ask him, "What have you been doing this whole time?!"
To which he would respond: "I was searching for my sole, I lost it during the flood!"
So for the past two, three or four years, Pescado Lenguado was out sole-searching! He was on an important sole-searching journey and failed to contact us!
