The Sphinx of Saturday Morning

The padel ball bounced against the backboard with a hollow thud, echoing in the empty court. Forty-seven years old and learning a new sport, Marcus thought, as his racket clattered to the ground. His knees ached—a reminder that baseball had been three decades and one marriage ago.

He retrieved the ball, noticing for the first time the sphinx mosaic mounted above the court entrance. Her stone eyes seemed to mock him: *What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening?* The answer was man, crawling through life. Marcus felt like he was still on all fours, even at noon.

"Your forehand's improving," said Elena from the opposite baseline, stretching her hamstrings with the ease of a woman half her age. She'd been divorced twice, which somehow made her qualified to give life advice between games.

"My ex-wife hated spinach," Marcus said suddenly, the words tumbling out unbidden. "Made me stop buying it. Said it made the fridge smell like depression."

Elena blinked. "Okay."

"I bought fresh spinach yesterday," Marcus continued, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Stood in the produce section for ten minutes, just holding the bunch. Felt like I was stealing something."

The sphinx watched them play. Elena's serve sailed long; Marcus's return clipped the net. They played in comfortable silence until Elena collapsed on the bench, chest heaving.

"You know what the real tragedy is?" she asked, gesturing at the mosaic. "The sphinx never told anyone why she asked riddles. Maybe she was just lonely. Maybe she wanted someone to stay."

Marcus thought about his ex-wife, about the spinach rotting in his crisper drawer, about the baseball cards his son no longer collected. About the Friday nights they'd ordered Thai food, how she'd always pick out the basil leaves.

"I'm going to make myself spinach tonight," he said. "Sautéed with garlic."

"Revolutionary," Elena deadpanned, but she was smiling.

They packed their gear, the sphinx's riddle hanging unanswered in the morning light. Marcus didn't need the answer anymore. Some puzzles, he realized, weren't meant to be solved—only lived through, one awkward padel match, one wilted bunch of spinach at a time.