It was dusk. The torrent of traffic had slowed to a faint trickle, with the occasional taxi cab trundling through vacant cobblestone streets. Restaurant patios, with their intricately carved tables and chairs, were speckled with slow diners daintily picking at croque-monsieurs and pasta. The late August air was heavy and balmy, enveloping the sleepy little European town in a thick, warm blanket.
A short, aging man wandered the alleys with his hands in his pockets. He wore jeans, a gray t-shirt, and an unbuttoned flannel jacket, his bespectacled face showing no emotion except stern indifference. His eyes constantly on the pavement, he walked slowly and mournfully, breathing with his mouth closed. As he strolled through the streets, a ratty-looking man in a black beret hailed him from behind a restaurant terrace.
"Why, hullo Robert! Nice to see you're getting out once in a while," he said.
Robert started but then smiled, the wrinkle networks on his face branching out from his still existing dimples. He hurried over and sat down at the man's table. The frumpy waitress scowled at him, but the man in the beret motioned welcomingly to imply that he was just a late-coming guest.
"Robert, frankly I'm surprised. Last month you would have just kept on walking," he said quizzically after Robert had settled into his chair.
Robert didn't reply. Last month, everything had been different. When he had first been diagnosed with a fatal form of cancer in early July, nothing interested him anymore. He couldn't hear or speak, and he could barely see. Now that he knew his life was coming to a close, every sensory, every nerve ending in his body was suddenly more alert.
Robert reached into the bread basket and took a slice, chewing it carefully and timidly. The man looked down at his heaping plate of penne with pesto, guiltily stirring it around with his fork. He swallowed a mouthful of wine, the sour flavor lingering in his mouth while the liquid disappeared down his throat. They sat in awkward silence for a good five minutes before Robert opened his mouth to speak.
"I really shouldn't be trespassing on your money or your time. Please, enjoy your dinner, and perhaps I'll see you around."
Before the man could eloquently protest, he was gone.
Continuing hurriedly down the avenue, Robert paused and looked back. The man appeared lost, like he was still trying to sort out what had just happened. Robert's mind was telling him to slow down and return to the happy little garden bistro, but he knew that every action he now made had no time for second guesses or regrets. With a sigh, he trudged onward, lost in his own, tangled jumble of thoughts.
As dusk melted into evening and the street vendor carts stood lonely and uninhabited, he kept walking. As little CLOSED signs appeared in shop doors and blinds were drawn around apartment windows, he kept walking. As the softly painted colors of the sunset, dusty oranges and fiery reds, smoky lavenders and rich burgundies, faded into the inky blue of night, he kept walking. When twinkling yellow street lights cast shadows through plants and windows, and the diamond-like specks of stars dotted the gauzy black blanket of sky, he kept walking. Only when all life seemed to have gone indoors for the night, and even the doves tucked their heads under their wings, did he stop and look around. Sitting down on a bench, he breathed in a great breath of the cool air, feeling the invisible dew of night flooding through his body and refreshing him. He closed his eyes, picturing the unimaginable fate that was due for him in less than a month. All his life's experiences came crashing down on him, making him well up with regret. There were so many things that he needed to do, and wanted to do, and yet he could not do them. On the rare occasions on which he was not in the hospital, he was bed bound or in too much pain to even move. Picturing himself dead was inconceivable as well as ridiculous, or so it seemed now. He stood up, but the pain in his chest forced him back down again.
Robert lay there for what seemed like hours, all the while the thudding ache in his chest escalating into a thundering roar. He closed his eyes, wincing as he doubled over. He forced his fingers into his stomach, trying to distract his mind from the inner pain with the external one. His eyes swum with tears as he dug deeper into his stomach with his fingers, trying to decide whether the pain was from the regret or the cancer. To be honest, he thought, there's really no difference anymore.
The pain grew larger and larger, until no external pain could ever block it out. He tumbled off of the bench, hitting his head on the pavement. He lay there twitching; not moving, not stirring, barely even breathing. He didn't want to open his eyes, nor did he ever want to again. In front of his eyelids, he could sense a strong, bright, light glowing in front of him. Daringly, he opened an eye and squinted.
Standing in front of him was a dazzlingly white bird, a majestic crane whose eyes were like sapphires. Robert opened his other eye, but did not move his hand to shield it. The bird beckoned with a spindly foreleg, his bill shining like gold. All Robert's pain faded away as he stared into the light emanating from the crane's wings. He got up and clambered onto the crane's back. The bird took off, and Robert contentedly smiled and closed his eyes as the crane swooped over the smokestacks and beyond the moon.