Wednesday, June 25, 2014

The Old Man (565 words)

Mr. Davis sits in a wheelchair most of the day, gazing absently out the window. He is ninety-four, and knows that his end is near. Yet he seems unafraid of it, judging by the serene look on his face. He traveled widely in his day, and has seen more than most people think there is to see. His life is an example for all around him to live by. It certainly was for his young neighbor, William, who even at age twenty felt as though he had achieved little.

“Mr. Davis, you are amazing,” he would tell the old gentleman as he brought him tea, listening in awe as Mr. Davis related yet another scintillating story from his youth. “I hope I can be like you when I grow old. I hope I can have a long and fulfilling life like yours.”

With a twinkle in his dim blue eyes, Mr. Davis would tell William that he was confident that he would rise to even greater heights.

“When I was your age, I didn’t like to study. If you stay in school, you can do far greater things. But the really important lessons come from the regular people around you.” He always had a charming aphorism on the tip of his tongue for such moments. “Travel, visit new places, see new people. Wisdom will follow.”

How William revered Mr. Davis. His very presence filled him with awe, with hope, with a renewed faith in life. Compared with him his parents seemed so provincial, so parochial.

“I remember that time Molly and I spent six months in China. How quaint everything seemed to me. But before long I had learnt their ways, and met some of their greatest Teachers.”

Molly was Mr. Davis’ late wife. She had been dead for three decades—longer than William had been alive. William wondered what it must feel like to draw upon such an old store of memories, and whether Mr. Davis really remembered his wife at all. The thought brought tears to William’s eyes, which he blinked away. But Mr. Davis was all smiles.

An old cuckoo clock in the hallway began chiming.

“Run along now, Bill. It’s late, and you have to get up early tomorrow.”

William clasped Mr. Davis’ hands before he left.

“I’ll be back tomorrow to hear what the Chinese Teachers had to say.”

Mr. Davis laughed.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Then William left. He glanced back at Mr. Davis one last time from the doorway. Mr. Davis had resumed gazing out the window, even though the darkness had made it impossible to see anything. Here was a man who had spun wisdom out of time, thought William; here was a man who was at peace with himself and the world.

What William did not see was that underneath the ageing and sanguine exterior was a man plagued with the most frightening sense that time had cheated him. Mr. Davis remembered dimly a point in his youth when a year had seemed exactly a year. He must have been seven. Ever since then he had felt as if an invisible force had been thrusting him with ever-growing speed through the years, and the feeling left him mute and disoriented.

If one added up his years, as he felt them, Mr. Davis would doubtless be a mere few years older than William, and not much wiser.

2 comments :

The Incorrigibly Evil Nanochip said...

I always find it incredible when I see men above 70 who are still in control of their minds. My own grandfather's mental function has been severely reduced now, he doesn't even remember my birthday anymore.

Praise the Lord, Spoil the Child said...

So sorry to hear that. =(
The last time I saw him he seemed to be in good mental health. It's hard to believe that such drastic changes have taken place in so little time.
Especially in the West (and I suppose Japan) you hear of really old people carrying on with their daily lives as if they were still in their youth - driving cars, gardening, and what not well into their 90s. It really is incredible.

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