The Boatman’s Price
David Wright
Her
husband was sleeping--sleeping, but not snoring. She watched the steady rise and fall of his
narrow chest, waiting. Something gnawed
away in the back of her mind, like a weasel pulling on the tail of a half-dead
gecko. She didn’t want to wake him, but
she could wait no longer.
“Alex,” she
whispered, bending close to his hearing aid and nudging his arm. “Alex,” she said a little louder. His eyes opened, a look of instant
recognition on his drawn and weary face.
“Ranjeet, my darling,
you’re late.”
“I’m not late,”
she said defensively, but then Alex smiled with his eyes and Ranjeet knew she’d
been duped. Always the trickster, even
now. She could kill him.
“So how are you
doing?” she asked, trying to make Alex be serious for once.
“Everything’s
going to be fine, Ranj.” He blinked with
condescension, dismissing her worries before she could even express them. She hated when he did that. Didn’t she have a right to worry? Didn’t she have any rights?
“Alex, I…”
“Yes, Ranj.”
“I don’t
feel--something’s wrong.”
Alex laughed. “The whole world is wrong.”
“That’s just what
I mean. It doesn’t seem right what we’re
doing, not with the world the way it is.”
“Oh
Ranj.” He tapped her hand, his touch
cold. “You were always so superstitious.”
“It’s
not superstition. It’s just not fair.”
“It was perfectly
fair. It was blind luck. We can’t just stop living because the world
is falling apart. We have to take what
life luck gives us. I just wish we had
more time together.”
He looked at her
sadly, serious for the first time. She
tried to smile, grabbing his hand and squeezing it, feeling a pang in her heart
that she could hardly bear.
“I’ve brought you
something.” She looked over her shoulder
furtively and reached into her handbag.
“Samosa. It’s cold but still
fresh.”
He shook his head,
his eyes closed.
“But it’s your
favorite. Here, smell.” She put the deep-fried triangle under the
tubes in his nose. He tried to pull his
head away and the health monitors screamed in protest. She stepped back, the weasel in her head
swallowing the gecko whole.
#
An hour later, the
doctor sat with her in the stuffy “patient-family” room.
“Your husband is
very fortunate,” she said. “We’re into
the second phase now and everything is five by five.” The doctor explained the phase schedules as
if they were new to Ranjeet, as if she had not already heard them a thousand
times before. They were always changing,
yet always the same--meaningless.
“He’s not eating,”
she said, interrupting the smooth, practiced cadence of the doctor’s
recital. The doctor seemed mildly
perturbed, but for the first time looked Ranjeet squarely in the eye.
“No. We removed the feeding tube because his
digestive organs have shut down. I was
under the impression this had already been explained to you.”
“So he won’t eat
anymore?”
The doctor looked
at her coldly as if she were a stubborn child refusing to go to bed.
#
The network was on
when she got home--a thousand faces, a thousand voices, the tendrils of her
world.
“Congratulations
on the lottery.” It was Jumar, her lab
assistant. He looked anything but
happy. “So when will you be back?”
“He’s only in phase
two. It might be awhile, maybe never.”
Was he
smiling? She couldn’t tell with his head
down. If she didn’t come back to work,
she’d be off the shortlist and Jumar would be one step up the lottery. Nobody ever talked about that openly, but it
was on everybody’s mind--the elephant in the room.
“UR71 has gone
pandemic. It won’t be long now. We could always use your help in--”
He was kissing up,
hedging his bets just in case she did come back. She didn’t have time for that. She panned through the news channels. The countdown had started. Pestilence, war, famine, death--the four
horsemen of the apocalypse. It was as if
the whole world knew its end was near.
Only the lucky ones would live, like brands plucked from the fire,
somewhere way out there in the stars, if you could call that living.
She shut it down,
shut it all down, and now her house was a hollow shell, an endless cavern of
blank, empty walls broken only by the closed door at the end of the hall. The closed door led to a room she never
entered. The door beckoned to her, but
she would not open it. The room beckoned
to her, but she would not enter it.
#
“We’re well into
the next phase,” Alex said with an odd sense of anticipation. “It could be anytime now.”
Ranjeet watched
the steady rise and fall of his chest, not knowing what to say. It didn’t matter anyways. The hearing aid was gone. He was completely deaf. Soon he would be blind too. She felt the tears welling in her eyes. She squeezed his hand, but he didn’t seem to
feel it. He stared past her at the
blank, white wall.
“I feel--it’s hard
to explain--like I’m on the edge of some great new world, not death exactly,
but you have to die to get there. It’s
like I’m crossing the River Styx.” He
laughed hoarsely. “My ancestors used to
put coins on a dead man’s eyes to pay the boatman.” He looked directly at Ranjeet. “I guess we’ve paid that price already.”
Ranjeet felt her
soul melt. She bent forward and kissed
Alex gently on each eye. He smiled, and
then suddenly winced in pain. She looked
pleadingly at the doctors, but their attention was now fully dedicated to the
beeping lines and squiggles on the life support monitors. They too seemed rapt with euphoric
anticipation, as if something great were about to happen.
And then it did.
The bed kicked
suddenly and the monitors screamed. Two
more white-robed doctors ran into the crowded hospital room. Alex’s body convulsed violently on the bed,
nearly knocking Ranjeet to the floor.
She didn’t know it at the time, but she was screaming and praying and
pleading. And then everything just
stopped--Alex, Ranjeet, the squiggling lines.
Alex opened his
mouth to let out one final sigh, and his narrow chest lowered, never to rise
again.
Ranjeet broke over
his lifeless body, her tears mixing with his sweat. The doctors ignored her, still too intent on
the electronic monitors. And then she
heard it. A beep. And then another. And then a steady rhythm, and the doctors
gave a collective yet civil cheer.
#
Days
passed, weeks.
Her
husband slept. He did not snore. He did not breathe. Only the steady beating of his heart told
Ranjeet that he truly was alive. And
then his eyes opened.
“Late
again,” he said.
She
did not argue. She did not laugh. Her husband was a stranger to her, trapped
behind the aura of his ghost.
“So
how…?” She began, but did not
finish.
He’d lost his
hair, his eyebrows, and his eyelashes.
His skin had become featureless, without pores or wrinkles. He hardly seemed human anymore, like an undressed
manikin in a store window. They said he
could hear again, that she could talk to him, but she couldn’t think of what to
say. She felt the coldness of his skin
and let go of his hand.
“Ranjeet,” he said
clearly, as if no time had passed since their last conversation over a month
ago, “I’ve been thinking.” He looked at
the blank, white wall. “I’ve been
thinking maybe you should go. I know
what you said before about staying to the end, and I appreciate that, but you
have to go on with your life. Nobody
knows for sure when the final phase will happen, and from what I can tell, it
won’t be a pretty sight. Come back when
it’s all over. Will you do that for
me? Will you, Ranj?”
He reached for her
with his pale, white hand like some grotesque zombie. Ranjeet stepped back from the hospital bed,
horrified.
“Ranj, it’s
okay. It’ll be okay.”
She covered her
face.
“Ranjeet, please.”
“No!” she
screamed, and ran out of the room, down the hall, past the startled patients
and doctors who had come to think of her as just part of the aging hospital décor,
like a wilting flower by her husband’s deathbed. But she would not come back, she told
herself. She would never come back.
#
Two
days later, she showed up for work. No
one was particularly happy to see her, especially not Jumar--the illusion of
her juicy lottery spot shattering before his greedy brown eyes. She couldn’t blame him. They all wanted to live. And every day UR71 spread to another city,
and more and more transports thundered out of Cape Canaveral and Baikonur. Soon, very soon, the last transport would
leave, and what was left of the human race would wither like a raisin in the
sun. The earth would live on, the plants
and animals, but the people would just blink into oblivion.
“It’s
good to see you back,” Jumar lied, the words dripping off his tongue like
acid. “I suppose you’ll want your office
back.”
“Yes,”
she said bluntly, “and my parking spot.”
Jumar
didn’t even blink.
Ranjeet took
charge immediately, diving into her work with a feverish passion that
immediately silenced any hope Jumar had of taking her position
permanently. It was all
meaningless. The chance that her lab or
any other lab would find a miracle cure before UR71 eliminated the earth’s
human population was a statistical impossibility, but that didn’t matter. She had to work, and so she did, past all
reason, past all hope.
At night, she
would walk home through the park, the smell of lilacs filling her
nostrils. She used to love that smell,
or any smell, but now she felt nothing.
There were no flowers in New Haven, or so she’d heard, no plants of any
kind, no great red cedars, no little ground ferns, no budding cacti, and no
lilacs. They didn’t even grow plants for
food. They didn’t need it after the
change. Oh they had the genomes for most
species in stasis just in case, but it would be centuries before they bothered
to clone them, if ever.
New Haven--a world
without food and death and flowers.
And then she would
enter the blank cave of her apartment, and the closed door at the end of the
barren hall would greet her, ever silent, ever beckoning.
Days passed,
weeks.
She received an
email from Alex’s doctor. The final
phase was over. She could return to the
hospital. The news glared at her
accusingly on her wall screen. But this
time, she did not respond. This time,
she did not head immediately to the tram as she had so many times before--and
into the elevator, and down the hospital’s antiseptic hallways to her husband’s
room to sit by his bedside like the dutiful, loving wife. And neither did she steel herself and return
back to work with her head held high.
This time, she failed. Curled up
in a ball of self-defeat and self-pity, she mourned her weakness until her eyes
were dry.
And then the door
beckoned to her.
Powerless to
resist though she knew it would utterly destroy her, she drifted down the
barren hallway like a ghost in a dream.
The door gave way to her slightest touch although it had not been opened
in more than two years. She entered
helplessly. A thick layer of dust coated
the furniture, obscuring the pastel pictures of dancing hippos and flying
alligators. The dinosaur mobile hung
limp and lifeless in the airless room.
She wanted to touch it, but did not.
Instead, her trembling hand fell upon the edge of the dusty crib and her
eyes upon the picture of her daughter above it.
Cassandra was one
of the first to contract UR71--one of its first victims--a six-month-old
child. What kind of a malevolent bug
would choose an innocent child for its first victim? What kind of a god would allow it to happen?
Two years of
bitterness and sorrow welled up in Ranjeet’s heart. Never had she felt so much emotion all at
once, not when she first fell in love, not even at her own daughter’s funeral.
It was overwhelming, intoxicating. She
could not take it, but she could not resist it either. Collapsing on the hardwood floor, she lost
herself completely to the blind rapture of utter sorrow. And in that moment felt perfect peace.
Time itself became
meaningless. When she opened her eyes
again, it was morning and her husband was standing over her.
“Alex?” she said
groggily. “You’re late.”
He laughed
nervously. “Yes, Ranj, it’s me.”
He had hair again,
not just on his head but all over his face.
He was fully suited for flight, all except his pressure helmet, which
was cradled in his left arm. He looked
strangely happy, like a boy with a secret.
“I don’t have much
time. My launch is scheduled for this
afternoon. But I have good news.”
“What?” She rubbed her eyes still not sure whether
she was fully awake.
“I got them to
bump up your lottery number. You start
phase treatments tomorrow.” He looked at
her, apparently eager for signs of her approval. She gave him none. His new, brown eyebrows knitted
together. “You know what this
means? In a month, maybe two, you could
be on route to New Haven like me. We
could be together again, forever this time, or pretty close to it.”
Ranjeet
looked into Alex’s eager eyes, so filled with life, so filled with hope. Could she ever feel that way again with all
she’d left behind? She gazed helplessly
at the dusty furniture with its prancing cartoons, the lifeless dinosaurs above
her head, and the empty crib behind her.
Last of all, her eyes fell upon Cassandra’s picture, and all at once her
mind was made up.
“No,”
she said firmly.
She
heard Alex drop his helmet and then he was bending over her, reaching for her
with his gloved hand.
“Look,
Ranjeet. I know you’ve been through a
tough time, but you don’t have to die.
My new body may look different.
It may feel different. But it
will last virtually forever. No more
growing old. No more dying. And it’s still me on the inside.” His gloved hand touched her shoulder and she
cringed. Alex stepped back, startled.
“Be reasonable,
Ranjeet. They won’t let you go without
the phase treatments. You’ll never
survive transport. And you can’t stay
here. The plague is unstoppable. The earth is doomed.” His tone became desperate. He looked at the dusty crib behind her and
the picture of Cassandra on the wall.
“You have to--we have to leave the past behind and start a new life for
ourselves. It’s the only way.”
“No!”
she screamed, pulling away from him. “I
won’t go. I will stay here until the
end, and die if I have to.”
“Ranj,
please. You can’t give up hope.”
“I
haven’t given up hope, Alex. You
have!” She rose to her feet, suddenly
strong, suddenly powerful. “I will stay
here and fight this thing until the very end, until my last breath. I owe her that much.”
Alex
stared at Ranjeet mutely, his rubbery, bearded face torn in anguish, but he had
no more arguments, nothing else to say.
A suited soldier appeared in the doorway.
“Sir,
our time is up. We must go now!”
Alex
did not move.
“Sir--”
“I’m
coming, damn you!”
The
soldier hesitated in the doorway for a moment, and then disappeared into the
blank hallway. Alex turned back to
Ranjeet, his eyes pleading.
“But
why,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Ranjeet
reached up to touch his chest, but there was nothing--no breath, no heartbeat,
no life. Her eyes fell.
“Like
you said, Alex, we’ve already paid the boatman’s price. It’s time to cross the river.” She gestured to the door. “Go on.
You don’t want to be late.”
Alex
shuddered, but did not speak. And then,
slowly, he turned towards the door and left.
Ranjeet covered her mouth to restrain her cry, to stop herself from
calling out to him. And then it was too
late. And then he was gone. But in her heart, she knew she had done the
right thing. She had stayed true to
herself, true to her daughter. She
looked up at Cassandra with fresh tears in her eyes.
“For
you, baby, I won’t give up hope. For
you...”
THE END
About the Author:
David Wright is an English teacher living on Canada’s
majestic west coast. When he’s not
teaching, he keeps busy writing, running and occasionally preaching at his
local church. He has a lovely wife and
two sparkling daughters. His short
stories have appeared in over a dozen magazines including Neo-opsis,
MindFlights and Nightblade. His first
book Flight of the Cosmonaut was recently published by The Fiction
Works.
Hi Uncle David.
ReplyDeleteYou made me think of Grandma with this story. I thought of Cancer consuming her life and how beautiful she was until the end.
You did indeed make me cry,
Malika