1. So Came Death.
The old man lay dying. A small yellow-purple room, not too long, with two windows and a door. The windows were slate red, opened out to a view: each lower one-third, the old man’s flower garden with dahlias and mums; upper two-thirds a carbon sky. The open door was filled with lavender violet of the next house. I imagined the house was inhabited by some form of a woman, or else that lovely color would be gone already.
The attendant girl was at the near window. The doctor stood next to the door. I sat at the foot of the bed. The fan hovered over a small landscape painting just above the bed, it made a Buddhist monastery humming sound. A small pot of fresh flowers took center stage.
Ron did not have family. I was, sort of, made up family and I functioned also as his friend. We met at the university way back when. I was a young rebel then, full of dreams and immortality. Ron was a stylish, rabble rousing professor. It was a natural match. He had read a lot. I wanted to read a lot. He had had many ladies to his name. I wanted at least one lady to my name. And he spoke brilliant things. I wrote his sayings down unknown to him. That’s how over all these years it turned out to be a cool blue, testosterone based, father-son relationship.
Truth be told, Ron and I bonded because of our mutual love of books and women. When we lost books, we found women. And when women spurned us, we dove straight back into our books! These mutual habits and notions left Ron and I with no lack of tears, joys and conversation.
And now he was going.
The doctor looked at his watch. The attendant woman let a few drops of tears drip. It’s probably part of a hospice person’s job description: must cry ‘PRN’. I had an itch in the middle of my back, tactically unreachable of course. Of all the events to wait for, it seems death is the most irksome. It’s as if one awaits a cactus bloom. Or one looks up at the firmaments to get a direct hit by gull guano!
Suddenly the old man’s tongue rose and went back and stuck to his palate. His chest heaved. He motioned me forward. “He wants to say something to you!” the doctor spoke urgently. I jumped up and leaned over his face. He pulled me by my neck towards his mouth.
“Find the great one for me!” he whispered.
Even in the midst of great suction by antireality, I kept my wits about me. “Which one Ron, the book or the woman?”
“The—– !” He didn’t have time. His eyes roulette rattle rolled. His pulse
raced back to his heart, crossed the finish line. I saw it saunter off into cool ether.