{"id":93,"date":"2011-07-23T14:45:00","date_gmt":"2011-07-23T14:45:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lidaprypchan.org\/?p=93"},"modified":"2015-07-19T20:30:56","modified_gmt":"2015-07-19T20:30:56","slug":"the-silent-guest","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lidaprypchan.org\/?p=93","title":{"rendered":"THE SILENT GUEST"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/b><\/span><\/div>\n
By Lida Prypchan<\/b><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
A scythe on its shoulder, grim and skeletal, with long stride,<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
that\u2019s how, as a child, I imagined death. \u00a0 \u00a0(Antonio Machado)<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
In his sixties, Mr. W. was a well-preserved man. \u00a0He was perhaps a little more tired than before and had lost weight over the last few months, but this he attributed to too much work and too many worries. \u00a0He thought it might not be a bad idea to have a general check-up\u2026 The doctor on duty came out of his cubicle, death written all over his face. \u00a0Mr. W. had a year to live \u2013 the handwriting was on the wall! \u00a0Leave him in peace, no dedications, and no prohibitions; if he begins to suspect something tell him the truth. \u00a0Such were the recommendations the doctor gave his family. \u00a0Mr. W. demanded an explanation and got it. \u00a0He was silent for a while, then, in his room he wondered whether it was a punishment or a blessing. \u00a0Never before had he contemplated his own death, he was always so absorbed in his life \u2013 he thought it was other people who died, not him. \u00a0Why on earth had he gone to the doctor? \u00a0To learn that he had one year to live? \u00a0Did it make any sense to know that, to spend the little money he had to find out?<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Twenty years working in one office. \u00a0Twenty years waiting for a little financial freedom so he could dedicate himself to what he had always dreamed of \u2013 writing science fiction. \u00a0What cowardice! \u00a0That night his last thought was, \u201cI didn\u2019t face up to life, so I won\u2019t face up to death. \u00a0I shall die as I lived \u2013 a coward \u2013 but when death comes it won\u2019t find me so easily.\u201d \u00a0The next day he left on a trip around the world. \u00a0On the way he met a lot of people; he didn\u2019t do much thinking, just joked around until it was time to go back to his room. \u00a0Then he left the light on, because death could be stalking him \u2013 lying in wait for him somewhere. \u00a0He checked every corner, poured himself a drink \u2013 a double \u2013 then another and another, until dawn broke and he fell asleep.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Eleven months passed and he returned home. \u00a0He had one month left and had to take care of the arrangements. \u00a0He chose his coffin. It had to be the most somber and elegant one, because even in death he must be elegant, he thought with a smile. \u00a0He ordered his coffin to be placed in the top room of the mansion he had just purchased, which had three hundred and sixty-five rooms. \u00a0The purpose of installing himself up here was that death would have to climb a great number of stairs. \u00a0With any luck it would arrive exhausted and decide to be indulgent, or maybe it would trip while going up the endless steps to his room, then 0 farewell, cruel world! \u2013 death would be dead, and he\u2019d be the first man to have conquered it! \u00a0Since death was a social event, he made out invitations to his funeral, asking his chosen ones to arrive a day ahead and spend the night in the mansion, where they would find \u201cBlack Russians\u201d for cocktails \u2013 his real intention being to create confusion for death in the midst of so many guests.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
The night arrived. \u00a0The guests were uncomfortable silent, but seeing how animated the host was they decided to enjoy the songs played by the orchestra he\u2019d hires, which was playing one or other of two pieces with the ominous titles Fatal Kiss andLoves that Kill.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
At three in the morning they retired to their rooms. \u00a0The music continued. \u00a0A very pale, almost gray man entered the ballroom and silently began to climb the stairs. \u00a0Without any tripping or hesitation he found the room where Mr. W. was sitting comfortable on the couch, reading a book. \u00a0There was no need to knock at the door; it opened of its own accord. \u00a0Looking across the hallway they recognized one another. \u00a0Mr. W. got up from the couch, lay down in the coffin, closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. \u00a0Death went over to the couch, picked up the book and read this:<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cMy grandfather used to say, \u2018Life is surprisingly short. \u00a0Now, when I think back on it, it seems so compressed that I can hardly understand, for example, how a young man can contemplate riding on horseback to the nearest town without the concern (barring\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0 By Lida Prypchan \u00a0 A scythe on its shoulder, grim and skeletal, with long stride, that\u2019s how, as a child, I imagined death. \u00a0 \u00a0(Antonio Machado) \u00a0 In his sixties, Mr. W. was a well-preserved man. \u00a0He was perhaps a little more tired than before and had lost weight over the last few months, … <\/p>\n

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