Surfer in the Mist

 


“Do you like surfing?”

“Hmm?” The question startled me. I was sitting on the black sand of Shonan Beach staring at the ocean. I turned and saw Mariko, the woman I had met at Edgar’s wake. We were both viewing Edgar’s body laid out in his impeccable blue blazer, ironed white shirt and dark red and blue necktie tied in a Windsor knot. Appropriately enough, his wife Lydia insisted his casket command center stage in the living room of their commodious beachside Kamakura home. 

“He was so inspirational,” Mariko remarked after we had shaken hands across Edgar’s body. 

“Yes, he was,” I replied, noncommittally. 

Edgar made a living providing mini-seminars on business communication skills. “Be precise. Avoid jargon. Listen to your team members.” Catchphrases in the mantra he repeated at each of his seminars. 

“And his book Wishful Thinking is Not a Strategy opened my eyes,” Mariko oozed as we helped ourselves to the tuna fish sandwiches with the crusts cut off from the bread.

“Opened your eyes?”

“Yes. I quit my job at the insurance company and started my own business. I work for myself. He was so inspirational. So dynamic. And a good Christian.”

“And now he is dead.” The comment spread a pall over the conversation. She suddenly saw another friend, and once again we reached across Edgar's body to shake hands.

On the beach, I recalled Edgar telling me, “Charley, you’ll never get anywhere. You’re not a team player.”  I was recalling other memories of Edgar when Mariko intruded on my thoughts. 

She was encased in a wetsuit and carrying a surfboard under her arm. “I live not far from here. Every afternoon I go out and catch a few waves.” She scampered away into the surf.

I watched her ride the desultory waves. One of Edgar’s inspirational success stories. 



Visit www.lhprod75.com







Location: Kamakura, Kanagawa, Japan

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