the man with the smile

He smiled. He always wore a bright smile, to everybody it seemed to brighten the whole room. He did not smile directly at anything. He only smiled. For no apparent reason.
     But a reason was there nevertheless.
     He didn't talk. He answered questions. Sometimes he even asked a few himself, though that was not often. Usually he just stood there, smiling, in silence. They accepted it. It was who he was, and they accepted him. Not everyone could be as talkative as Sacha, whom it was very odd to see silent at all. They liked him even if they didn't really know him. Mostly they appreciated his smile.
     Sometimes they talked about him, when he was not there, and the room seemed a little darker. They commented on his wonderful smile, saying how extraordinary it was that someone could always be so happy. 'I wonder what he smiles about', they said. None of them ever knew.
     He was quiet, still smiling. For once, he wasn't looking. Usually he looked up, or out, or upon them. This time, he silently smiled down. As if he was secretly reminded of a good joke, and wanted to hide his joy.
     When he after that day was gone, they asked about him now and then. Where did he go? What was he doing? Why did he, that last time, hide his smile?
     They never got the answers to those questions. Perhaps, they said, he wanted to smile alone, just once. After a lifetime of sharing his smile with the world, maybe he, at least one time, wanted it all for himself.

(10-08-2011)