Two hours before sunset, Gustav ventured out to the beach, for it was during this time of the day that his canine companion, Becca, enjoyed plunging into the waves and chasing sea creatures. The weather was agreeable. ‘Could the evening get any better?’ thought Gustav.

Through the saline drops collected on his thick-framed glasses of the twentieth century, Gustav saw that one of his brown shoes that he had so thoughtfully left on the beach an hour ago was now missing. The sight of the solitary shoe disturbed him. It could not have disappeared! Perhaps, it was buried in the soil in consequence of the ebb and flow of the tides. Going over the sand with a fine-tooth comb, he concluded that it was the malicious sea who had stolen his brown shoe of fifty years.

Presently, Gustav remembered the time when he bought the rare brown Birkenstocks during his adolescence. Owning the extraordinary pair gave him a sense of pride that neither his family nor his friends understood. Didn’t he once pray that there should never come a time when he should have to part with the dearest shoes? His feet stopped growing at fifteen; the brown pair remained with him—a reminder of his proud youth.

Becca could not comprehend her master’s silence. She continued to swim until the vermilion filled the western skies, reminding Gustav of his lost youth. The evening waves brought to the shore an elongated brown bottle, a dead fish, and a coconut shell. If only they understood his agony and brought with them his brown shoe.

In the afterglow, the pale-coloured balloons that had failed to draw children near were let loose. The roses that had failed to woo women were discarded. The bubble blower continued to blow soap bubbles on the deserted shore. Becca was weary and hungry, while her master could not quite recover from his quandary. He carried the abandoned shoe of the pair that had known his feet for fifty long years, and walked along the shore, his tired steps followed by those of his aged dog.

From a distance ashore, Gustav beheld the silhouette of a boy hurling pebbles gathered by his side into the dark sea. The small hands knew no rest, for they were in constant motion. Did the boy steal his shoe? But of what use can a shoe be without its companion? Obliquely, Gustav bent his old head to steer clear of doubts when he observed that the boy had no feet. The moment, suspended in time, reminded Gustav of an ancient proverb that he now understood, except that it brought him no relief. ‘What a poor sight!’ he thought, and walked back home, disappointedly.

The cold winds never stopped blowing. With a glass of Scotch in one hand and a cigar in the other, Gustav listened to the undulation of the wicked sea who took away his tranquility. His wrath reflected on her in the form of revolting ripples that seemed to swallow everything that came in their way. Would they ever return to him his dearest shoe?

The tenuous twig was forsaken by the casuarina already. The gust of coastal wind would steal it eventually. In the blink of an eye, the sandpipers took to the air in bliss. One by one, the lamps of the neighbouring homes went out. The tobacco-laden air was no longer curative to the crestfallen heart.

The day dawned with a gloomy atmosphere. Becca had passed away sooner than Gustav had predicted. The poisonous air surrounding him only deepened his sorrows of the previous night. Losing was such a torment. How the dearest of the dear left him before daylight! Only yesterday, Becca seemed so full of life on the beach, and now, her hideous figure lay on the floor, without a purpose. The carcass had to be disposed of, for the air it spread only intensified grief.

Not for the first time, Gustav began to question the existence of that supreme force they called God. He felt alone as he lifted the cold corpse and walked towards the sea to bury it. Suddenly, he was seized by a force of despair. There had to be a God for his entire life to have meant something. Surely, the suffering he had faced throughout his life could not have been for nothing. Could it all be just randomness? Presently shaking with impotent rage, Gustav took out his switchblade and began to tear the corpse of his dear dog open. ‘If I could remove the brain out of my skull, place it on a table, and study it, wouldn’t it be of some help to me? I would know the concrete reasons behind these…,’ he thought, as he removed the animal’s skin, drawing from his experience of the hands of his youth as a Taxidermist’s apprentice.

The skin was sliced off the bloody flesh and segregated, and Gustav was excited over the prospect of reincarnating the dearest of the dear things of his life.