A MAN WHO COULDN’T DIE
by
Stan I.S. Law
Another day. Another birthday party.
A friendly wave, a smile. Then, apparent indifference. They seem to ignore me. They act as if I didn’t exist. Not very pleasant. Not on my own birthday. Even if I hadn’t actually invited them. Half of them probably don’t even know my name. Or else they must have forgotten why they came.
“My name is George.” I introduce myself.
“George...?”
“Yes. Just... George.” I repeat. How come I don’t remember my last name? Surely I must have one. I must be getting old.
Last year, and the year before that, it has been the same. God only knows for how many years now. I can’t really remember. Every year on June 12, I go to my local pub, wherever local is at the time, and a couple of dozen people come. They smile to me, they wave their hands. Often complete strangers. Perhaps they go there on June 12 anyway. They might not even know that it’s my birthday. I don’t really mind. It’s nice to have even strangers celebrating my anniversary. Better then being alone in my apartment. Alone, for so many years now.
I am so glad Barbara has come. She always remembers. Last year she’d given me a strange greeting. A wish, really. She said she hoped that I wouldn’t have to wait too long any more. I wonder what she had meant.
“I am so glad you could make it, Barbara” I say again. I say it every year.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She’s always so nice. So kind. It’s like having a sister. Or a guardian angel. “I want you to meet Marion. She arrived only last month.”
A month can be a very long time. Can feel like forever.
I shake hands with Marion. She has tiny hands. Very small for quite a large woman. Her wrists are covered with overlong sleeves. She seems nice, though looks scared. What is there to be scare of? Boredom, I suppose. It’s up to you.
“It’s very nice to meet you. It is good of you to come.” I am the host.
Marion smiles weakly. She doesn’t say anything. Her head slightly inclined, eyes firmly riveted to the nondescript carpet. I take a closer look at her. She is almost my height, a large face in contrast to very delicate nose, mouth, even eyebrows. I can’t see her eyes. It seems that her sensitive features were placed on the wrong background. Her face looks awkward.
“Perhaps I could show you around?” I try again. Barbara smiles her encouragement.
“Thank you.” Almost a whisper.
Now and again I meet some newcomers. They’re invariably scared. I can’t understand that. There is nothing one can possibly be afraid of. Not here. I try to reach back in my memory to how I felt when I first arrived. Blank. I can’t remember that far back. How many years? Enough to die from old age. Many times over.
“Why is everything grey?” Marion looks up at me and immediately returns her eyes to the floor. I hope my shoes are clean. Grey? That’s right. It used to be. Way back when... I look at Barbara. She remains silent.
“It seems that way. To start with. It will pass...” I offer. Marion seems reassured. “Why don’t you pretend you are wearing grey glasses?” I try a little harder.
Marion smiles. Her faces changes. It is not a face that smiles often. I wonder what made her do it.
The party is in full swing. About ten people are leaning on the bar, a few are dancing, three couples are sitting at the alcove tables talking. They all seem quite happy with the party. Except for Marion. And me. I had enough of these parties. More then enough. Too much of a good thing?
Barbara takes off. She always seems to be around when I need her, never just for the hell of it. She must have a sixth sense. I take Marion’s elbow and lead her to the bar. I offer her a drink. She says she doesn’t. I give her an orange juice. We walk towards one of the booths with high, padded walls. It’s cozy there, a little like in a womb. Protected. I can tell, Marion feels safe. She looks up.
“Thank you very much,” she says. Then she starts crying.
I do nothing. I seem to remember—a featureless, grey haze. Empty. So many years. Memories hurt.
I watch people dancing. Their faces are blank, devoid of emotions. Their steps, movements, mechanical. Like robots. Maybe they are. Some of them. One can never tell. Not here. I must have been around for some three hundred years and I still don’t know all the rules. People say it may take a thousand years, sometimes more. Not in the same place, of course. In fact, they move us quite often, especially during the first hundred years or so. We all start at a different level, advance at a different rate. Depends, they say, depends how fast we learn. Not easy to learn when there are no teachers. You just watch, try, experiment. Get some surprising results. The grey period is the worst. Thank God mine didn’t last that long. I feel sorry for Marion.
She stops crying. We never hurry things here. There is no point. Time is what we have an awful lot of. Time enough to forget.
“I am sorry,” she says.
“Take your time. All the time you need...” I smile at my thoughts. Maybe she doesn’t know about time, yet. Probably. Barbara wouldn’t tell her. We never tell people anything, not really. When we do, they never believe us, so what’s the point? If I told her that she is going to live as long as it takes, would she believe me? As it takes to—what?
Marion takes a sip of the orange juice. Her eyes brighten. She takes another sip.
“It’s wonderful. Must be freshly squeezed.” Funny how her face changes when she smiles. “Only how come its grey...?”
“It’s your eyes,” I assure her. I got to say something. She needs help. That is why Barbara brought her to me. She is my seventh beginner. I screwed up the first one or two. I tried to teach them. You don’t teach here. Ever. I am repeating myself. Have to. It’s the best way to learn. Repeat until it becomes part of your nature. Part of your soul. You just try and help people to learn on their own.
“Does it take long?”
“Depends.”
What can I tell her? It took me two hundred years. Even now there are moments when I lose my ability to see colour. At least now I know it’s me. My own eyes. Not the world around me. That is mostly what we all seem to be learning here. That it is always us. Not the world around us.
“Oh...”
I take another look at Marion. She can’t be more then twenty-four or five. Normally, it would be misleading to try to guess anyone’s age, but not with a newcomer. I wonder what brought her here. I look at her long sleeves. That’s the biggest no-no. Poor girl.
“Where do you live?” she asks.
“Here and there...” I always say that. “Do you have a place to stay?”
“I don’t know. Oh I really don’t know!” Her eyes get wet again.
Newcomer. It’s pretty tough. “There, there,” I say. I am a regular nursemaid. “You can stay with me. As long as you want.” Marion blushes. “I have a spare room,” I add quickly. Kids! I feel like laughing. It’s a nice feeling.
Marion doesn’t say anything but I can tell she feels better. Was that why Barbara brought her to me? Must be. In time she will learn to live on her own. Everyone does. In a way. In a way, we are all alone. Always. Rather like stars. Like little islands of light floating in the universe. Guess we don’t have to be, but...
The bar is almost empty. I take Marion by the arm and we walk outside. The immense darkness is punctuated by countless points of light. Rather like people. All alone. You can even tell which stars are further away from others. The air is so pure. Pristine. It just goes on forever.
“Are the nights always so clear here?” Marion asks. Her face shows wonder.
“As clear as you care to make it,” I say. She doesn’t know anything. Yet. “Look again.”
She looks up and the sky is covered with a thick, heavy cloud. She shrinks, almost shrivels. I hear her catch her breath.
“Hey, take it easy!” The sky returns to normal. “It’s only in your eyes.” I try to explain. You can’t re
ally. She’ll learn. The cloudy sky was her own perception. The view of her own universe.
We walk in silence. “Where are we?” she asks after a while.
I wonder what to tell her. I have spent years trying to answer this question for myself. It seems to be easy until you try to define it. Once I had asked Barbara the same question. She only smiled. Then she put her arm on my shoulder and asked: “Where do you want to be, George?” That was years ago. I think I know what she had meant. You are where you want to be. Always. You are the sum total of all your dreams, desires. You often want to be only a part of what you are. You can’t. It’s an all or nothing proposition. The sum total. Sometimes you try to change the environment to make up for your own shortcomings. It doesn’t work. Or at least, not for long. You can only change yourself. Then the way you see the surroundings changes. I don’t know how, it just does. Only here it changes much quicker, either way. Wherever here is.
“Do you like it here?”
“I do... now.” I know what she means. Her sky was grey, once. Dull grey. No stars.
It works to start with. When you are with someone, someone more experienced, you can see the universe, the surroundings, with their eyes. Like Marion through mine. But it only works for a short while. Ultimately we end up on our own. We can share our own universe with anyone, but we cannot give it away. You have to build your own. Even if it takes a thousand years.
“How come I can see colour?” Marion’s face changes like a child’s. Her small