Issue 22 - 1992

Coe Review • Issue 22
his blanket rose as his chest expanded; he felt trapped and blurted,
“I’m a... I won’t... I refuse to die, it’s my life!”
“Who ever said anything about your life?” Death said lifting
an arrogant finger bone. “Look, I’m not here to engage in a banal
argument. My job is.”
“You think I don’t know what your damn job is?” The old
man grabbed the arms of the rocker and hoisted himself up. “You’re
no stranger to me! I’ve seen you before, don’t play games. I’ve seen
you in the eyes of the young men you took from me. I felt you’re
bony hand when you grabbed the breath from their lungs. You spent
many nights hiding in the shadows of our bunkers. And I’ve smelled
you. I’ve smelled your work. I’ve smelled your death. I thought I
knew you then, when I’d finally become accustomed to your stench,
but I never really knew you, not until I slept with you, until I held
your coldness in the morning. Then I knew you and you were like
my shadow and I asked you to let me come with you, I wanted to be
with you but you wouldn’t reply. They took you from my bed, but
you had already gone.” The old man paused, then walked away
toward the far end of the room, opened the cherry-wood cabinet
there and pulled out a dusty bottle of Chivas Regal. The label had
turned yellow with age and the cap was brittle enough to be opened
with no effort. The liquor was warm and a vaporish heat burned his
throat when he drank it.
“Don’t know what I’ve been saving this for,” the old man
reflected. He put the bottle to his lips again and drank until the heat
in his throat rushed through his whole body and the liquor ran down
his neck. He turned to Death. “I’ve been on the wagon for two years,
but what the hell, I’m dead.” The old man walked towards Death and
stopped at the glossed mantle piece above the fire. He drank from the
bottle again and savored the firey feel on his lips. “I used to drink
this crap like I had a whiskey geyser in my goddamn yard. It put me
in the hospital enough times. Why didn’t you take me then? I
wouldn’t have given you any trouble.”
“I cannot answer your question, but in all fairness I will tell
you this: you want something you can count on, you can never count
on death. My coming is not something you plan nor is it something
you request. All you can do is live with the knowledge that-
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