The Quiet Man by John Iwaniec August 20, 2008

John Kundo looked down on the gentle waves of the South Pacific splashing over his sinking feet, ebbing water washing away sand. The sun shone kindly in the luminous, soft blue sky. Its light reflected on sandy, aquamarine water and glittered gold and silver. The warm, silky breeze caressed and swirled over Kundo's lean, tanned body.

Before him lay a small atoll with three mature coconut trees to which he often waded. Sometimes he lay in the shade of the trees on elephant ear leaves he carried from the main island.

For three months John had been the only person on this small paradise. A rhythmic wash of waves and wind slowed his thoughts until there where no thoughts. Sometimes he remembered the three shipmates who had tossed him overboard. The memory was as if from a childhood story. There was a sweet sadness to the memory.

More and more, his days and nights became a seamless contemplation of the divine artist who had created this peaceful masterpiece. The island had more bananas and coconuts than his meager appetite desired. Now and then he took an egg from one of the sea birds. When rainwater was scarce there was plenty of coconut milk.

A day came when a large yacht sailed into view. Half a dozen people lounged on deck, some in bathing suits, some without. Just as John raised his hand to shout a greeting a trepidation seized him. He suddenly ran for cover. It had suddenly struck him that he did not want to leave the bliss and solitude of this lonely island for the comforts of civilization. It was too late. He had been spotted, and the boat veered toward him.


Relenting to the inevitable, John Kundo returned to civilization and became a cab driver who was known by his passengers as a quiet man.