Photo-op

We were in a little city park, not far from the bus station, our last day in Gifu, where the colors of autumn had already waned and the last leaves had turned brown on the branches and the rest dry beneath our feet or huddled proprietorially about the tree trunks. Evelyn was taking photos, as usual, propping the phone against her backpack or a convenient stone and setting the timer so that we could pose together. An old man came along and offered, in charade language, which is how English-speaking and Japanese speaking people communicate, to take our picture. Insisted, rather. He could not be dissuaded. At the same time, he did not quite understand why she had handed him her phone. At last, he understood that this was a camera, and we stepped back and he aimed the phone shakily, poking at the screen several times before finally succeeding. He was very happy with the photo. Or surprised? Happy and surprised. We were all happy. Together we admired the picture, and he nodded his head, and nodded again, and bowed, and then went dryly on his way on the whispering path toward the barren branches by the gate.