Death revealed to me my life. My life, in its penitent entirety, was written down in a letter. He listlessly opened my hand and put the letter in it. I looked at the black scrawls on the page. The corners of the page were shriveled up, creased, and crumpled. The ink was fawning over the paper. All my moments of triumph, of victory seemed so trivial; so meaningless. They began to fade and I opened my eyes with a cry on the tip of my tongue, stifling it at the last moment.
The bus was cold and the lights were blinding. The people sitting across from me were faceless, and the people sitting across from them were faceless. Nobody spoke; nobody uttered a word. Disoriented, I looked out the window; the colors were mute; the values were shifting in monotonous shades of grey. The trees were still naked, spring had been procrastinating, and winter was doubling for it. But winter would not open the fragile jaws of the flower buds; neither would it open the stagnant beak of the song-bird.
I spun back around. Sitting there, with all those people, I looked down into my pale, shaking hands. There was a letter. It looked ancient, as if it had been sealed a millennia ago. This was no longer my recurring dream, this was reality.
A faint, shaky voice came over the intercom.
“12th Avenue and Finberg Way.”
I placed my feet under me; they seemed alien. I walked towards the front of the bus.
“This is your stop?”
“Yes.”
“Watch the steps; don’t fall.”
I looked at the driver. I began at his feet, my eyes moving up from his sable shoes. Black socks; black trousers; black sweater; black tie. He had a thin, scaly neck, and his face was pale. He wore reflective sunglasses on a face like Mona Lisa’s; I couldn’t tell if he was smiling. His cheek muscles were twitching. Death.
“Better get home, Leo.”
The doors closed behind me. I cleaved the letter open and read it. One line after another, each break in the stationery dismantled my mind further.
Speed; I needed haste. One foot after another, the earth spinning below them; I plunged through the air. I turned onto Eleanor street
I finally reached my door. The adrenaline poured through me, feeding my hungry heart; I broke the door clean off its hinges and it crashed against a picture-frame, knocking it off the wall where the glass shattered on the floor.
The bedrooms, bathrooms, and the kitchen were all vacant. My hope was beginning to dissipate. I slid down into a fetal position and began sobbing quietly.
I heard a soft exhale.
I raised my head, peering into the room across from me. My heart leaped. Across from me, in the unsearched den, lay Bella. She stared up at me; her dress splayed out like a fan. She was in the most tranquil state. My sweet, sweet sister, what have you done? Orange canisters were strewn across the floor; little blue pills across the rug. I sprang forward.
“Leo, I just lost hope, that’s all.” She smiled thinly. She had the most peaceful smile I ever saw. It reminded me of mother. They always looked so alike. I kneeled down next to her.
“Don’t talk, Bella.” I hushed her. I looked around the room. In desperation I reached for the dusty telephone.
“Leo,” Bella exhaled softly. She had tears in her eyes.
“Yes, Bella?” I waited for her lips to move.
I waited all day for her lips to move.
“I’ve been having a recurring dream.”
“Elaborate, Mr. Hobbes.”
“It’s about my life. It’s all written out on a letter.”
“Tell me: In the dream, do you read this letter?”
“I do. I have read the whole thing over and over and over again. Dr. Kepler, I memorized my whole life; all of it. Every single thing that has ever happened to me is on that damned letter! When I was fifteen and Roger beat me up in the alley, when Aunt Alice died, when Julie gave in to cancer; it’s all there Dr. Kepler.”
Dr. Kepler stared at me for quite a long time. He sighed, picked up a pitcher filled with water, and poured himself a glass.
“Would you like a glass?” He stared at me for a moment holding the pitcher in his outstretched hand.
“Sorry . . . but I don’t think we are getting anywhere with these sessions.”
My sudden outburst caught the veteran therapist off-guard.
“Now why would you go and say a thing like that? You know as much as I do that we are making progress!”
I felt sorry for Dr. Kepler; it seems as if my case was casting an ominous shadow on the old man’s abundance of degrees, certificates, and awards hanging on his oak-paneled wall.
“Every step I take, every decision I make; it’s all laid out for me! Don’t you understand? I know that I am going to die alone having done nothing at all.” I had lost my patience.
“Leo, Leo . . . D – Don’t you—” he stammered speechless and then paused momentarily.
“. . . Don’t you think you may be overreacting to this dream of yours?”
“With all due respect Dr. Kepler, I don’t think you can help me anymore. I’d like to terminate our contract. I’ll sign the proper forms with Ms. Isles at the front desk.”
I made a move towards the long-faced door. My mind was now elsewhere.
“Leo, please don’t leave. We still have so much to discuss! The death of your sister–“
He knew he had gone too far. I halted at the door. Silence filled the room.
“Dr. Kepler,” I said softly, “Your wife; how is she doing these days? I heard she came down with a bout of pneumonia. I do hope she feels better. Give her my regards, will you?”
I left the perplexed old man in his office, where he could contemplate his lovely wife’s dwindling health.
“The waves, they bounce. See?”
“Huh, Joey?”
“Robbie, they bounce, up and down. They’re always doing that. And then the tide goes in and out.” Joseph was mesmerized by the crashing waves. “And look, if you look way out there—”
“Where?”
“There! The horizon!” Joseph pointed at where the sky met the sea.
“Well what’s out there, Joey?”
“You can see the how the Earth curves. My daddy told me that if the earth wasn’t curved, you could just see forever!”
Joseph looked back at his friend Robbie.
“That’s swell. Say, we should just go out on a sail boat and go around the world.”
A sharp bell rang.
“Supper’s ready boys! Wash your hands!”
Joseph smiled. “I wish there was a highway to the space. My daddy could drive me there.”
“Could I come too, Joey?” Lisa ran over to where Joey and Robbie were sitting.
“No, my daddy says that girls can’t go into space.”
Lisa frowned and then ran towards the old white bungalow.
“Just us!” Robbie shouted jovially.
The bell rang again, this time louder.
It was late. Twilight was chasing the sun away. The smooth sax of Stan Getz playing over the stereo was not as soothing as the sound of Ms. Juniper’s voice.
“Mr. Hobbes, you seem quite settled. I will go now if that’s OK with you.”
“Is that a question?”
The young nurse was silent. My eyes were fixed on the retreating sun.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, you may go.”
I sat in my chair until darkness fell. As I surveyed the landscape from my outpost behind the glass, a white hare slipped out from behind a shrub.
I turned on the patio light to get a better look at the creature. My aged joints could only hold my weight for a short amount of time. The sudden burst of light illuminated its fur, giving it a smooth sheen. It slowly inched towards the sliding door.
“Even hares insult a dead lion,” I said to myself. Today was my last day. I had seen it fifty years ago on that damned letter.
Feeling the cold grip on my left side, I knew these were my final moments. Death pulled me down to my knees, and then he pulled me down to the floor. In the den, the telephone began to ring. Lying there, I could see myself. I could see how my legs were splayed. I could see how I clutched my heart. I could see the tears. I could see Bella’s face. Death had taken her, and now he would take me.
As the tears replaced my vision, a bitter fear took hold of me. The ringing stopped; and so did everything else.
How did I get here? Not here: In my house, in the middle of the living room, drinking scotch; but in this dreadful circumstance. It was April 27th; and the fifth anniversary of Bella’s death. Grief had long since left me, and had been replaced by dull routine.
A pent-up rage was ready to rupture the levies of my self-control. I threw my glass at the wall and screamed at the top of my lungs. All of the grief, all of the anger, all of the despair, and all of the sorrow from years past came to me again.
“LEO! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” I screamed at my reflection in Bella’s picture-frame. Alcohol blinded my faculties. I stumbled into the den, opened a drawer, and took out my father’s old Browning M1911 semi-automatic pistol.
As I staggered out of the house, I thought of the quiet wharf down at Pelk Harbor.
Dear Joseph,
Bella said her first word today. She pointed at the little oriental lamp in the living room and said “light”. She is growing so fast . . . It feels like only yesterday you entrusted your dear children to me. Leo is getting rebellious. I wonder where he got that trait from. Do not worry about him; he is very bright for his age. Yesterday, he asked me what a square root is. Can you believe that boy? I promise you he’ll be a engineer someday. He might just build that “highway to space”! Remember that? Remember the beach house in Southwell?
I hope they are treating you with dignity at Cane Hill. I am doing everything I can to get you out of there. It must be hell living with all the loonies. I know you. I know you ain’t a loony. Apart from when you get drunk! Hey, when you get out of there, we’ll go down to the races. In for a penny, in for a pound, eh?
Take care of yourself my friend.
Sincerely,
R. Hobbes
It was cloudy, windy, and cold out on the dock. The waves chopped up against the timber. I walked out the end of the dock and gazed at the horizon. The wharf was deserted. I couldn’t remember why I had come to this place until I felt the cold gun in my pocket. My heart sank. I took the clip out.
“I’ll only need one,” I whispered to myself.
I took each bullet out of the clip and threw them into the ocean one by one until I reached the last bullet. I locked the clip into the gun, cocked the last bullet into the chamber, shoved the gun up under my jaw, and held my breath. Seconds seemed like minutes as I tried to apprehend the prospect of relinquishing my life to Death.
“May I draw you?” A hard-edged voice resonated behind me.
I twisted around. An old man stood stoically. He was dressed in a faded flannel, black slacks, and a plaid cap. His eyebrows were as bushy as his beard.
“What the—the fuck do you want, old man?”
Years of isolation made me accustomed to hearing only my own voice, as I had made a habit of talking to myself. My solitude had been broken by this man. I could have expected this, going out into the world for the first time in months.
“It would make a nice sketch,” continued the old man. “I’ll give it to you after I am finished. What do you say?”
I was lost in despair and anger, but I was at the same time speechless.
In my stupor, I pointed the Browning at him.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
The man ignored my question and sat down on a small stool he had brought, and began a pencil sketch of me. I turned my head from side to side. He was right; this scene was surprisingly very picturesque.
“Try to stand still.” The old man smiled. “What brings you down here so late?”
“Why the fuck are you here?” I countered.
“Oh, I always come down here. You see, I live in that little grey lighthouse over there.” He pointed at a humble little tower that could be seen through the light mist.
“So you just come down here and—and fucking draw people?”
His pencil scratched the pad. He looked up at me. His face was creased and weathered. I lowered my gun.
“No man is an island,” the old man said. “My name is Joseph.” He smiled again.
I shifted nervously. He continued with his drawing.
Quite some time passed until Joseph spoke again.
“OK,” he smiled. It seemed like Joseph had a smile attached to his face, as if he was unable to manifest any other expression.
I walked over to where he now stood, examining his creation.
“It’s very good, I think,” he muttered.
I looked down onto the paper. All was where it was supposed to be, but next to me, stood someone who I had loved. That old man drew my dead sister standing next to me. She had a blank expression on her face, and she had her arm around me.
“Keep it.” Joseph looked up at me. I was bewildered. He picked up his stool, and began to walk away.
“Wait.”
“Yes, Leo?”
I was perplexed. “Who are you?”
“I am Joseph.”
“How do you know my name?”
“You don’t remember where you came from.” It began to rain. The mist turned into a thick fog.
“Give your gun to the sea and follow me.” He became smaller as he disappeared into the haze.
I looked at my gun, looked at Joseph, and then looked at the sea.
Joseph led me to his rustic dwelling. It was cramped with flashlights, lanterns, spotlights, lamps, and other assortments of lights. There was an old, rusty bicycle in the corner, and a fire was roaring in the hearth.
“Would you like some coffee? It’ll sober you up.”
“Sure.”
After a considerable amount of time, the old man came out with a tray which he set on a table. He then poured himself some tea and sat in a stained velvet armchair.
Joseph took a sip from his tea after looking at the mesmerizing flames for a couple minutes. As he watched the flames, I observed the dancing shadows cast by his light collection onto the faded wood floor. I could not speak, awestruck by where chance had taken me, so I waited for Joseph to break the silence.
“Do you know Plato?” Joseph never broke his gaze away from the fire. I sipped from my mug. “He said that ‘A sensible man will remember that the eyes may be confused in two ways - by a change from light to darkness or from darkness to light; and he will recognize that the same thing happens to the soul.’ You are confused by a change from light to darkness.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know you, Leo Hobbes. You were born here in Exmouth to mother Kristen Samson and father Robert Hobbes. And you had one sibling, Bella Marie Hobbes.”
I set my mug down onto the table and stood up, knocking my chair back onto the dusty floor. “Who the fuck are you—actually, I don’t even care. Some loony picks me up at my final hour--I’m leaving.”
“Leo, you have a responsibility for yourself. You were created noble. And this nobility gives you an intrinsic duty.”
“I don’t have shit! Death took it all from me. He took it all! He took my lovely Julie, and he took Bella! Sweet sister of mine. . . No mister, you—you have no idea what you’re talking about. I wasn’t created noble!”
“Son, please sit down.”
“What did you just say?”
“I said sit down goddammit!” Joseph stood up. His eyes were fiery and impenetrable.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I am your father!” He yelled. “I am your goddamn father!”
There was silence.
“No. . . no that’s not true; my father is in a retirement home in Bournemouth.”
“I went insane after your mother died giving birth to Bella. Robert took care of you and Bella. He raised you. They took me away. They took me away to an asylum at Cane Hill in London. Robert sent me pictures . . . He sent me letters every month in which he told me everything about you and Bella.” He looked down for a solemn minute and then looked back up again, tears streaming down his face. “I longed to go back to you. I yearned to see you and Bella every day. I was only released three years ago.”
“Leo,” He continued, “Your life has always been filled with death, ever since you were born. And ever since your wife died, Bella always tried to help you; she always tried to make you into more of a joyful person. You couldn’t change, and she lost hope in you; she lost hope in everything.”
His sharp words brought me to my knees with a thud. He pulled me back up and embraced me.
It was late. Twilight was chasing the sun away. The lapsing of the waves was not as soothing as the sound of Ms. Juniper’s voice.
“Mr. Hobbes, you seem quite settled. I will go now if that’s OK with you.”
“Yes, make sure to be careful on the steps outside.”
The young nurse nodded and left. My eyes were fixed on the retreating sun.
I sat in my chair until darkness fell. As I surveyed the landscape from my outpost behind the glass, a white hare slipped out from behind a shrub.
I turned on the patio light to get a better look at the creature. My aged joints could only hold my weight for a short moment of time. It didn’t matter anyway. The hare was startled by the sudden burst of light and quickly fled into the coppice.
I laughed at the little animal’s fright.
Today was my last day. I pulled myself up and walked to the stubby desk. I picked up Death’s letter, and began crossing out each line. My father was right.
I began writing on the letter.
I don't believe in omens or fear
Forebodings. I flee from neither slander
Nor from poison. Death does not exist.
Everyone's immortal. Everything is too.
No point in fearing death at seventeen,
Or seventy. There's only here and now, and light;
Neither death, nor darkness, exists.
We're all already on the seashore;
Forebodings. I flee from neither slander
Nor from poison. Death does not exist.
Everyone's immortal. Everything is too.
No point in fearing death at seventeen,
Or seventy. There's only here and now, and light;
Neither death, nor darkness, exists.
We're all already on the seashore;
Feeling the cold grip on my left side, I knew these were my final moments. Death pulled me down to my knees, and then he pulled me down to the floor.
I was unable to finish what I was writing, so I whispered the last lines of the poem that Father had taught me.
“I'm one of those who'll be hauling in the nets
When a shoal of immortality swims by.”
When a shoal of immortality swims by.”
In the den, the telephone began to ring. Lying there, I could see myself. I could see how my legs were splayed. I could see how I clutched my heart. I could see Bella’s face.
As death took hold of me, a smile crept across my face.
