I came upon Death on a winter's day on the path that runs along a bluff above the sea. It was cold, as you would expect for a winter day, and the wind bit hard, driving the sea onto the rocks below.
My name is Barrow. I am no longer young, but not so very old. I live by the sea.
I didn’t die the day I came upon Death on the path that runs along a bluff above the sea. But I did meet a gentleman who said he was death and that he would be coming for me soon.
Now, dear readers, you are correct in exclaiming why on earth I didn’t flee from that madman as quickly as possible, seek the security of my home, which was only a few hundred yards away, lock all doors and windows and phone the police.
Ordinarily, I would agree with you. But I admit I was under a misapprehension when he introduced himself.
“Good morning,” I responded to his greeting. “It’s a fine morning for a walk, isn’t it Mr. Death, but the wind does cut through you.”
I thought Death was an unusual and unfortunate surname, but he was very cordial and well dressed in a fine wool suit and cashmere topcoat.
“No, it’s just Death,” he corrected me politely. “I am death and we need to speak.”
That caught me up short. “You are death? Death?”
“Yes. I am Death.”
I felt a sudden chill beyond that which could be explained by the weather. I would have fled but was rooted to the spot.
“You are death? And we need to speak?” I managed to gasp.
“Yes, that is correct, sir,” he responded with the slight note of impatience of a teacher with a slow student.
Death tried to put me at ease. “I realize this is something of a jolt, but I’m not here for you now. I will be coming soon, but not today. Consider this an introductory meeting, a courtesy, an opportunity for you to ask any questions you have.”
“Soon?” I managed to choke out. ”You’ll be coming for me soon? Why?’
“Because all things living die. It’s just a question of when. But sit here and gather yourself.”
Death indicated a large rock just off the path. I staggered to it and sat, staring at the sea and trying to collect my thoughts. Death stood to one side, puffing contentedly on a finely wrought Meerschaum pipe.
“You don’t smoke, do you,” he asked me casually, making conversation.
I managed to shake my head no.
“Good,” Death said. “You’ll live longer.”
Wonderful, I thought miserably. Death does standup.
“Listen, “ Death said. “Let’s get you somewhere warm. You’ll catch your death out here.”
I groaned audibly and Death apologized. “Sorry, that was thoughtless,” he said.
I nodded mutely and managed to stand on unsteady legs. “I need a drink.”
“Of course. I understand. This has come as shock.”
I started for home. Death walked a step or two behind. I turned towards him, angry and despairing. “Where do you think you’re going?” I demanded.
“With you, if you don’t mind.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Ultimately, no. But I don’t wish to impose.”
“Death isan imposition,” I said angrily.
“For that I am truly sorry. But it’s not my call.”
“Whose, then?”
The question hung in the cold air as we reached my cottage.
I entered the front door and closed it quickly behind me, hoping to keep Death outside. But he was waiting for me in the living room.
“How did you do that?” I stammered.
“Damned if I know. It just happens. But I do work in mysterious ways,” he said, sounding pleased with himself.
“Cheap parlor trick,” I muttered under my breath. I poured myself a whiskey and sat heavily on the couch. Death stood by the window looking at the low hills and sea beyond.
“You have a nice view,” he said, turning towards me.
I was in no mood for idle chatter with Death. “I suppose you would call it heaven on earth,” I said bitterly.
If he caught my sarcasm he didn’t let on. “Don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never seen heaven. In truth, I don’t think there is a heaven.”
I choked on the whisky. It burned my throat and I coughed up a spray of whiskey and spittle into the air. Death looked away politely until I regained my breath.
“You don’t know if there is a heaven? But you’re Death. Shouldn’t you know?”
Death settled into a wingback chair opposite the couch. “What happens after you die is of no interest to me. You die, and that’s pretty much it as far as I’m concerned.”
“We die and that’s it? No after-life, no heaven, no seeing beloved relatives again? Nothing? Are you sure?”
“There is no heaven. On the positive side, there is no hell either, as far as I know.
“But you don’t know for certain?”
Death shifted in his chair, and crossed one well-tailored pant leg over the other. “Can I trouble you for a cup of tea,” he asked.
A flicker of unease played across his face. Perhaps he was stalling for time. I sighed and stood up from the couch. “Darjeeling or Earl Gray,” I asked.
“Either is fine. Black, no milk.”
I put a kettle on and studied him from the kitchen. He was of medium height and build, rather ordinary looking actually, brown eyes and dark hair starting to gray. Considering it was death, there was absolutely nothing frightening about him
I carried a cup of tea into the living room and placed it on a small table bedside Death’s chair. He nodded thank you, but looked pensive.
“Listen, I’d like to tell you there is a heaven and that you’ll spend eternity in whatever paradise you imagine, but no, that’s not the case,” he said, carefully sipping the hot tea.
“But you said you’re not certain. So maybe there is a heaven.”
“No, I’m certain there is no heaven. But there is, if you want to believe it. Human beings are the only animals aware that they’re going to die. Psychologically, emotionally, spiritually, if you will, there has to be an after-life, a better place. It’s a comforting thought. The idea of nothing after death can be profoundly disturbing, even though you won’t experience experiencing nothing. Does that make any sense?”
My head was spinning. I poured another whiskey and drained the glass. “Is there a God?” I blurted.
“There are many gods worshiped in many ways. They are a source of great comfort, I understand.”
“You’ve seen God, then, or many gods, as you put it. They exist.”
“Actually, no. I’ve never seen any. But you know what they way, “God is in his heaven and all is right with the world.” If there is a heaven, it’s where god must be; or on a mountain in Greece; or in the clouds; or in the wind. I’m not going to disabuse you of the notion of heaven or gods. I don’t care, particularly, and it’s not why I’m here.”
I stared hard at him. “Are you the Angel of Death,” I asked.
Death sighed, sipped his tea and leaned back in his chair, crossing and re-crossing his legs.
“I’m not an angel of any kind and, if you must know, there are no angels, unless the god you believe in has angels. In that case, there are angels. I am simply death, the absence of life.”
“That's a dictionary definition,” I protested. “But what are you. Who are you? You’re Death? Sitting in my living room, wearing a fine wool sit, drinking tea?”
“Well, that’s on you. But thank you, I do look rather well turned out. I’m not always so fortunate. But if you’re uncomfortable, I can be off.”
“But you’ll be back for me soon, you say? Is there any thing I can say to change your mind,” I asked.
“No. When it’s time, it's time.”
“You won’t consider a game of chess, will you? If I win, you go away.”
“You’ve seen too many movies. You won’t win and you can’t cheat death. By the way, Bergman died July 30, 2007, peacefully in his sleep. I wish the same for you.”
“Perhaps we can play rock, paper, scissors,” I said, trying to shield my eyes from the rising sun streaming through the bedroom window. I lay there for several minutes. “By God, what was that about,” I wondered.
I got to my feet, walked into the living room and sat on the couch. I stared through the window at the low hills and the sea beyond, and noticed a cup on the small table next to the wingback chair. It was half-filled with cold tea.
I wrote this account of my encounter with death later that day. Make of it what you will. I left it to be read after I died. I don’t know when I died. For that, you’ll have to check the local obituary notices. Nor do I know how I died. Hopefully, it was peacefully, in my sleep. Nor do I know if I’m in heaven, or if there is a God, or gods, or angels, or if I am happily reunited with departed loved ones and friends.
Or perhaps there is nothing but a black void.
I wish I could tell you. But do you really want to know?
