The Death Wish

 

A pin drop silence haunted the room as a lean doctor with a pointed nose ruffled through some medical reports.

‘I am sorry but it’s a matter of time now.’

He announced solemnly to the crowd gathered around him and left.

All eyes shifted towards a grey haired man who reclined on a white hospital bed with an oxygen mask fixed to his mouth. A couple of rubber tubes jutted out of his arms and chest.

His face appeared frozen like ice but he could nevertheless feel an unmistakable warmth in his guts. Yes - he was as good as gone but somewhere deep down, life still lurked inside him.

He was aware of the presence of anxious people around him.

‘How much they care for me!’ he thought, ‘if only I could live some more and thank them.’

As his mind continued to spin, he slipped into a delirium and thousands of images flashed across his mind: A young, radiant farmer driving a tractor; ploughing a large field, a beautiful woman sat next to him; smiling and whispering sweet nothings into his ears. 

A middle aged man staring painfully at a woman’s dead body, a smashed car standing nearby. He embraced her and cried like a child. 

An old man sitting alone in the huge balcony of his farmhouse, staring into a moonlit night; a brown shepherd dog licking his feet fondly. Suddenly, a searing pain cut across his heart, the glass of whisky slipped out of his hands and crashed on the floor. He rubbed his chest vigorously and tried to call out for help but his voice got choked. The dog continued to lick his feet. Finally, everything turned black.

Next day morning, as velvety sunshine streamed into his room, he could feel its glow. He could also hear the cuckoo cooing outside in the garden. His chest heaved prominently as he breathed without struggling.

The doctor arrived instantly and listened eagerly to his renewed heartbeat with a stethoscope. ‘I just can’t believe it. He is recovering.’

He pushed open the man’s eyelids with his fingers and peered inside with a torch. ‘He’s still too weak to talk or move his limbs but he is sure coming back.’

He scribbled down a few lines on a pad hanging from the bed and turned towards his concerned audience. ‘God has answered your prayers.’  

He beamed at them brightly and bolted out.

The invalid could make out every word that was said. It boosted his sagging spirits but he found it difficult to even open his eyes.

‘This is just ridiculous,’ he heard his son remark. ‘I thought everything would be over today. Now I need to get the reservations done again.’

‘What for?’ asked his son’s wife, a bit irritated, ‘if he is going to recover, we have no business to be here.’

His younger brother butted in. ‘Actually I had spoken to his advocate. He said it would be better if we could finish the paperwork. After all, the property needs to be divided.’

‘But has he written his will?’ asked his son apprehensively.

‘You know how he is! Careless and irresponsible.’

‘This is what we get in return for all the expensive gifts we showered on him,’ his daughter-in- law remarked sarcastically.

‘Anyway, I somehow managed to get his will made,’ his brother intervened.

The helpless patient heard the noise of a few papers being exchanged and shuffled.

After a pause, his brother spoke again, ‘Don’t worry, I have taken care of your share.’

 ‘I can see that but it is an unsigned will,’ his son mentioned bitterly.

‘I had planned to take his thumb impression after the body was handed over to us. But we can’t do that now, especially in this hospital with cameras fitted everywhere.’

‘I don’t think he will survive long even if he gets back on his feet. But before he conks off, let’s make sure he signs these papers.’

‘Right, let’s do that but now there is no point in wasting time here,’ the lady cut in sharply.

‘But what about him?’ asked her husband, pointing at their ten year old son who had gone to sleep in the same room, sunk peacefully into a leather sofa.

‘If I wake him up now, he would get cranky. Let him rest here for a while. As such, we need to check out from the hotel first. We would pick him up on our way to the airport.’

He heard the door close slowly as his relatives moved out. A tear escaped from his eyes.

‘Oh my God! Could I be so mistaken? Can this be true? What I considered love was actually greed. They want nothing but my property. They are willing to take even a dead man’s thumb impression! Sons, brothers, daughters-in -law – they are all alike.’

The trickle of tears soon became a flood. His soul was ripped apart.

‘I wanted to live more. But what for? O God, if you really care for me, take me away. I don’t want to live in this cruel world.’

Just then, he felt the soft touch of a tiny hand on his wrist. His grandson, fair and chubby with golden curls, had just woken up from his slumber and stood near him.

‘Why are you crying grandpa?’ the boy asked innocently. ‘Has someone hurt you?’

His hands trembled as he gripped the child’s hand tenderly.

‘Do you remember that you taught me to play chess?’

Slowly, he opened his eyes and nodded at the lad, his lips quivering.

‘I’ve started a game. But I don’t know the next move. Would you play with me?’

A man, dumped by his own progeny, was simply moved by the sense of belonging that his grandson inspired. He dragged himself up, sat against the pillow and removed his oxygen mask, panting.

‘OK,’ he stammered, ‘L…Let’s play.’

Delighted, the guy with golden curls handed his tab to his grandpa who glanced at the chess board on the screen.

‘Only… two moves are left.’

‘Yes, you take the white,’ the junior chirped excitedly.

The oldie contemplated for a while and then with shaking hands, pushed his queen to a black square thereby making a wrong move knowingly.

‘Check.’

His opponent rubbed his red nose with his knuckles and with the air of one who knew what he was up to, he moved his king a step back.

‘Mate.’

The exhausted man stared at the screen for a while.

‘You win,’ he said, touching the boy’s head affectionately.

The kiddy jumped with joy. ‘Yeah, I have beaten you grandpa.’

He beamed feebly at his grandson.

‘I have lost so much already. This was just… a game.’

His voice was cracking.

‘But you taught me how to play.’

‘I am happy that you… remember.’

He reached out for the pad hanging by his bed.

‘Can you give me that pen?’

The champ ran, picked up the pen from the table and gave it to him. Struggling, he jotted down a few words on the paper, tore it and handed it to his playmate.

‘Go … give it to the doctor.’

The youngster whizzed out of the room.

With his eyes closed, the ailing man silently said his prayers and slid down into his bed. A gleam of satisfaction ran across his face. A child’s love had convinced him that after all, he was not such a worthless creature, that when he was gone from this world, at least someone would miss him.  Soon, he drifted into a deep sleep.

After a while, the doctor rushed into the room followed by the boy. He stepped up to his patient and felt his pulse. He glanced at the ECG monitor – it showed a straight line.

‘Is he all right?’ asked the child, his eyes full of concern.

The doctor regarded him dejectedly. ‘Are you sure he played chess with you?’

‘Yes, see this,’ he said as he picked up the tab.

The doctor glanced at the screen. It read: Black is the winner.

He stared at the note given to him by the boy. The old man had donated all his property to the hospital.

‘When he gets up, I will defeat him once more,’ the little guy remarked cheerfully.      

The doctor smiled at him faintly and moved out.

The kid sat down next to the dead body of his grandpa and started a new game.