"An unknown man..."

is perhaps how he would have been described. 
If there had been an accident while he was out walking then perhaps his neighbours would have been able to call the police and say,
     "Yes, he lived next to us...but we don't know his name."
You see there was a death notice of sorts in the paper yesterday. It was put there by the person handling the estate of a man who had nobody he could call "family" and whom I doubt believed he had friends.
I met him some time ago - via a little flag hanging out of his letter box.  He had apparently observed that some of the many elderly people who live in the street have developed the habit of leaving a little flag hanging out of the letter box if they need me to do something for them. If there is a flag there I open the letter box and take out the prescription of their small shopping list or put a cheque in the bank for them or....well you know the sort of thing an older person who isn't feeling that well might need.
It was fortunate I noticed the flag out of that letter box. I didn't know the occupant. I had, to the best of my knowledge, never laid eyes on him. I looked in the letter box  - who wouldn't? 
There was an envelope and there was an envelope with "the chemist" on it. The envelope was sealed. There was nothing else...no "please" or "thank you" or any form of note at all.  I took it to the chemist. I was going to the chemist for other people anyway so it  wasn't out of my way.  
At the chemist I passed everything over and went off to do the usual things before returning to pick up the prescriptions. They were all there in various paper bags - with the name of the patient on the outside.
And the chemist stopped me on the way out. Did I know this man?
I said no and explained. I looked at the name of the prescription and asked if I was right. Yes. It wasn't cancer but it was a condition that would kill him - slowly and painfully. 
      "Well, try to keep an eye on him if you can," the chemist told me, "And I shouldn't tell you this but I will - just keep it to yourself. His doctor is....."
Oh, like that. I didn't doubt the chemist had spoken to the doctor.
This man didn't own a car.  He had ceased to go to work. 
Over the last few months of his life I went to the chemist for him on a regular basis. Occasionally I would do shopping or post letters for him. Everything would be left in the letter box. All his letters were business related. Any mail left in his box - and I sometimes had to move it aside to put something in so inevitably saw - was business related too.
One morning a neighbour stopped me and said,
    "The police were there last night and then an ambulance. They took a body away."
It didn't surprise me. The neighbour thought he might have committed suicide. I just said, "No. He was very ill."
     "Why didn't he tell us? We could have helped."
Yes, they might have done - but it seems he didn't want that.
By then I had spoken to him. Our conversations tended to be brief. I did learn he was the only child of only children. He had come here from Europe. His English was good but heavily accented. He was a well educated man who had been involved in research work. I deduced that from the mail "Dr....." and the name of the place he had been employed at. 
I could speak a few words of his language and, if I left him a note, I would always greet him that way. It was one of the few things that would put a faint smile on his face if we spoke to each other.  He asked how I knew. I explained what my work was and he nodded as if he needed to know but was not particularly interested.
For as long as he could he took solitary walks and I would get a nod if I passed him. He didn't want to stop and talk.
Yesterday there was a notice in the paper. There will be no funeral service.
I knew him - but he was an unknown man.