The man who built a lake house


I first saw him when he was looking out for his colleague to park a mini van on the walking lane around the park outside my apartment. I remember having tried to guess what on earth the two tried to do with a parked van on a tiny lane edging a lake. I could have never guessed that they were to build a lake house. It had taken me weeks before my curiosity won over my timidity and I asked him what was that they were building on the lake. He said it would be used as an art gallery. Over the water, the house looked like a giant toy model erected casually on a rough rocky base. Because I didn’t really see a fine finish, the idea of an art gallery was rather intriguing. On the opening day, there was an opera performance on the lake. I didn’t join the crowd gathering at the dock. We opened our window to sink in the singer’s powerful voice, and looked out from our living room now and then. I saw him having changed into suit and tie. By then, I had got familiar with him coming in and out of the lake house quietly and diligently on his light brown jumpsuit. The crowd and the ties were just strange. I felt like some invaders had came into my favourite peaceful view. But the crowd only stayed for a good part of an afternoon. So did the suit. He came back on light brown and rowed a floaty thing out to work on the house. I haven’t talked to him again, but I like seeing his touches on my new favourite art gallery, the one I only like to look from far away.



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