Last night I had the privilege of seeing a ninety-three year old man. While visiting our family friends, his son and daughter-in-law, he was out of sight, in his room watching TV and reading. At one point, he appeared at the living room doorway holding onto the edges with his weak, bony fingers. Ontop of his pajamas he wore a navy suit jacket. It must have fit him in his earlier days. Now the seams of his shoulders rested on his arm, halfway down to his elbows. He lowered his head and said hello as we rushed over to him. His son held his hand and lead him to the table.
In a trembling voice he began to tell us of aging. Rather than tell us of pains in the joints or trouble with his sight he spoke of his memory. He told us, how during his youth, he was able to say a classical poem from memory using any word you would provide him. "They would say any word like 'cow' I and would read them a verse from Hafez that was about a cow. But I no longer have a memory that can wrap the world around its finger."
He brought out scrolls of glossy paper and unrolled them. They were covered in Arabic calligraphy. "My hand trembles too much now," he said. Each page looked as if it was covered beautiful, black strands of hair waving over and under each other, some braided, some unraveling.
After several minutes, he stood up to say goodbye and retire to his room.
Just as he held on the edge of the living room doorway, we asked, "So what was the verse with cow."
He turned around, cast his eyes to the ground and began to laugh. Then lifted his head and recited several full verses of Hafez that spoke of a cow.
Brought his hand to his heart, lowered his head and said goodbye.
