I couldn’t have missed that jaunty gait, even after a lapse of thirty years. A closer scrutiny creates some doubts. The color of the eyes is different. And … how come he has not aged in all these years? Well, he could be a look-alike. They say there are at least six people in the world who look like us. I wonder if they all belong to the same generation.
This is not Matt. He cannot be. But just then,
“Ms. Fitzgerald, is that your name? Are you from Australia?”
“Er, yes … but…” I was fast losing my faculty of speech.
“I have seen your pictures. Dad always said you are the only Australian who would care to remember him.”
“Yes. He had to flee the country, but he always remembered you fondly.”
“Can I ….” I’m stammering again. And just like Matt, this guy is doing all the talking.
“No. You cannot meet him. He passed away last year.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I would like to meet your Mom.”
“Mom? I’m an adopted child. He kidnapped me, because the local laws did not grant him fatherhood rights.”
“SON”, the words remain stuck in my dry throat.