The Eccentric in the Strange Hat

                Dedicated to V. Spitkovsky

   The sun, casting intricate shadows, timidly pierced through the delicate plane tree leaves. For some reason, no one strolling along the Boulevard was in a hurry, neither the elderly nor the children. It wasn't yet the time for pale faces and nervously fidgeting hands. Real socialism with its feeble, pitiable, and greedy leaders was still lingering, quietly. It was still boring, and the sunny rays snatched charming children's and women's faces from the semi-darkness of the Boulevard, making them sparkle in the eyes. The Boulevard gently stretched, anticipating the evening coolness, loud laughter, and couples in love.
   Sighing, he wiped the sweat from his face, balding head, and imposing nape with his handkerchief.
   "It's hot," He remarked solemnly, not really addressing anyone in particular.
   But it was no longer as hot. A breeze from the sea was starting to blow, lightly caressing his moist neck.
   "Good!" And like in previous years, he carefully settled his substantial weight on the second bench from the Monument.
   "They repainted it recently," He noted, feeling the bumps of paint underneath. He had a habit of picking at them, and if the bench had been recently painted, he would have to spend a long time scrubbing off the stuck paint from his fingers.
   This time, a taxi was waiting just around the corner - he would have to return to the airport immediately. Nothing could be done - business... He had already missed it for two years, not appearing on the Boulevard during the acacia blossoms. First, his wife was ill, and then it happened to him... The first call. It could have been the last. But this year, he managed to break free - even if just for one day!
   And here, it seemed as if nothing had changed. Everything remained the same. The same children - probably different ones. The same girls, or maybe not. The same eccentric in the strange old hat. As long as He could remember, he remembered this hat and this eccentric. Or maybe it was a different eccentric? Maybe it's the son of that eccentric whom he first met here, on the Boulevard, forty, no, more than forty years ago? After all, that person would be almost eighty now, and this one - no more than forty!
   He stood up and, for the first time in all these years, crossed the Boulevard and sat down on the bench next to the eccentric in the strange hat. Up close, the hat looked even stranger and terribly old. More precisely, not old, but old-fashioned. It was as if it had been lying in a museum under glass for a long, long time, and then this eccentric came and took it.
   The face under the hat was similarly old-fashioned, with a heavy protruding chin and long nostrils of a slightly hooked nose. The face, it seemed, was young, but the gaze staring into nothingness inexplicably aged...
   "Tell me," He didn't know how to ask. "Tell me, your father used to sit here before, right?"
   "Father..." the eccentric's lips uttered.
   "Yes. Because I've been coming here for a long time. For more than forty years."
   "A long time..." the lips repeated.
   "I always come, I visit the Boulevard during the acacia blossoms."
   "Acacia..." a strange ringing hung around the eccentric, as if the warm air of the Boulevard was trembling slightly.
   "It's my custom!" He was already shouting. "My personal custom! Forgive me... I don't know, but there must be some connection... Otherwise, loneliness creeps in. You won't understand - you're always here..."
   "Always..." the ringing intensified, sharpened.
   "This ringing is in my ears," He thought. "Perhaps my blood pressure has dropped. And it's time to move on. There's no one to talk to here anyway - some frozen eccentric. And they're not in a hurry anywhere here!"
   Rising, He stretched his swollen legs and, slowly, trying to preserve the blissful calm of the now quite chilly Boulevard for a few more minutes, he headed towards the waiting taxi.
   Reaching the corner, He took a deep breath, taking in the sweet scent of blooming acacias, and with a farewell glance, he surveyed the benches in the sunny flashes, the peeling plane trees, and the eccentric in the strange hat. He turned the corner and could no longer see how the very same Eccentric disappeared, dissolved in the intoxicating air of the Boulevard.
   For a moment, the ringing became loud and then disappeared completely.
   After all, the Eccentric also knew that one cannot detach oneself forever from the native Boulevard, from the blooming acacias…
   From the native Earth.
   Otherwise, it would become lonely...
   Terribly lonely.