It was very late afternoon when I noticed him, the stone mason, through the hospital window.
I was tired of reading, of doing crossword puzzles, and generally passing time, but also worried about what I had been told by the doctors.
So there I was, sitting in my armchair looking out at the setting sun, at the roof tops of the hospital buildings towards the new, still being built cardio-vascular unit. Pink stones with lines of white stone, and a patch not yet finished.
That’s when I saw him – the stone mason, on a scaffold next to a patch not yet covered with stone. He was close enough that I could see him working, but far enough that I could not see every detail nor hear the sounds of drills and saws. He must have been working there for some time, because the patch was smaller than I remembered.
He was in the process of putting the finishing touches before the actual glueing, and finally the stone was in place. He adjusted it here, patted it there, very slowly, very lovingly, a real craftsman.
The sun was now bright red and only a few centimeters about the horizon. It would soon be dark. And there was still a patch to be covered with stone.
Tomorrow, I said to myself, he will finish the job. My mobile rang, it was my son asking if I was in the mood for his visit. Always, I said. At that moment I realized that the stone mason was continuing to close the patch. In my mind began a race between the coming darkness, the stone mason and the arrival of my son.
With slow, deliberate movements he began preparing the patch and the stone, measuring, marking, cutting, patting the wall, touching as if to listen to the space. It seemed almost painfully slow.
The sun had gone down in a fiery ball just a few blocks to the right, and the light was fading fast.
How can he see what he is doing, I thought to myself. Surely he has to stop for today! I sat glued to the window, not turning on the light, even though the dark hard almost completely taken over the room.
And still he kept working, measuring, drilling holes, touching, measuring, cutting. I could see sparks flying, as metal touched stone. I really had to strain my eyes to see what he was doing. Why doesn’t he do it tomorrow? I thought, When there will be better light.
The sky was now very dark with streak of the last lingering red behind the mason.
Every 3 minute or so planes were landing or taking off at the airport, so close that I could see the control tower in the opposite direction of the worker. Behind him I could see the lights of cars on one of the busiest highways running through the country. Rush hour.
Once again I strained my eyes to let in as much light as possible. He finally picked up the stone and pressed in into place, patting, adjusting, touching lovingly. And then I saw it – there was still yet one small patch to be filled.
Was he going to do that as well? What’s the hurry? There’s another day tomorrow! Finally, through the dark I could see him packing up.
In my mind the darkness had won, as it had come before the mason finished the patch and before my son arrived. But who were the participants in the race but the images I had put there! The race was my imaginary reality.
So how many realities are there? Mine, the mason’s, my son trying to get through the traffic and the arduous job of finding a parking place, the passengers and crew in the planes taking off and landing, the people in the cars rushing home …
Reality is not even what we think. Reality is only what we perceive at any given moment. Reality is completely and utterly subjective.