Joggers
(A ghost story?)
As a rule I jog before sunrise, when I have the park to myself. I run across the Meadows from East to West, along a well-worn piste, on either side of which are trees, birches, saplings, rowans, and at the halfway point there is a massive oak.
One morning I became aware of a couple coming towards me, walking at a brisk rate, the man in some sort of tunic, and the woman in a skirt reaching down to her ankles. We did not look each other. I encountered them again on the next day, at the same spot, and this time we exchanged a friendly nod. That soon became a daily feature. A few days later, I got up a whole hour earlier by mistake, but strangely, there was the couple coming towards me from the level of the oak. Was there some kind of telepathy operating?
After that, at whatever time I left home, I kept meeting the couple at exactly the same place. Suddenly understanding dawned upon me as I remembered that victims of the Black Death were buried in these fields.
In our gaon back home, there was a tamarind tree which reputedly housed
the spirit of a man who had hanged himself from its branch. Many people had heard it wailing at night, or seen his ghost roaming the area, with his feet not touching the ground and turned the other way round like ghosts are known to travel. I will check tomorrow.
