The faint glow of a candle spread through the dark room. In the center stood an oblong table partially covered with a paper tablecloth. At one end sat a gaunt man with deep-set eyes. His black, greasy hair, damp with sweat, hung over his sickly pale face. The man coughed loudly. After a moment, the cough turned into a deep, tubercular cough. When it passed, the man laughed softly and looked up at the ceiling, disappearing into the darkness.
"If you're here, who's upstairs?" he laughed again. "The deputy chief?"
He received no response.
"Explain it to me again. You invited me into this cramped, stuffy room to tell me I was dying and that my time had come? That you'd come to take me away?" He pulled a crumpled cigarette from his pocket and lit it from the candle. "Go to sea, it's the sailor's turn..."
A loud cough echoed through the room. Another thick cloud of smoke drifted lazily upward. The man sat back, flicked ash onto the floor, and smiled into the darkness. A broad smile, revealing yellowed teeth, lingered on his face for a long time. He shook his head.
"You're ridiculous. Man, I know what's going on. I know I'm dying, I know I'll be dead any day now, and I'll just lie there for the rest of the time. I know what's eating me up, and I know what will eat me up when I die. But this? This doesn't even make sense! If you come here, man, and you say it's time for me to go, what am I supposed to do? Pack my bags? If it's time for me, then get off your ass, I'll get off mine, and we'll finally go together. On a trip, that's it. I feel like going on a trip. I haven't done many things in my entire stupid life, and now I've got the urge to do it. So what? I want to see the Grand Canyon." Would it bother you if I went to the Grand Canyon first? And would you mind if I wanted to gaze at the foaming sea from the Norwegian cliffs? That'll be on the way, because I need to see the Swedish forests. You know what? We'll wait until summer and go to the French Riviera. What do you think?
"You've had time for this your whole life."
The murmur, hoarse voice from the darkness seemed barely a whisper. A whisper so loud it could be clearly heard even from outside the room. Or so he thought. The illness was already dulling his senses. Indeed… he had his whole life. A whole thirty years since he'd formed a specific worldview. He started to rewind, then slowly fast-forwarded. Youthful rebellion, running away from home, alcohol, and that sensitivity that allowed him to see the true beauty of the world. He felt like a poet. He felt like an artist. He felt chosen. He felt he was experiencing true love, that he was ready to conquer the world. He truly wanted to conquer it. But…
But he lacked the courage. Then came a different life. Studies, and then job hunting. Working at a lousy advertising agency didn't fulfill him. But...
but he didn't have the courage for what he really wanted to do. Then the divorce. He thought he was a free man, starting over, that now the world would fall at his feet.
He didn't.
And then the illness came. For a long time, he assumed it was just pneumonia, that he could cure it with home remedies. He thought he would beat it.
He didn't. The cough grew deeper and deeper, soon preventing him from sleeping. Then there was blood. He found it on the pillow. Then on the tissue he put to his mouth. But it was too late.
"Actually, I never wanted to see the Grand Canyon..." He looked at the embers at the end of his cigarette. "Actually, I just wanted to see the fjords in Norway. All those trips... I didn't even think about them. They were unattainable, there was no money. They weren't my dreams.
" "So you haven't lost much." – a dry voice from the darkness echoed through the room again.
“I could have done many things. I could have done them, but…”
– I lacked the courage.
– Yes. Sometimes it’s hard for me to accept it. I never told anyone about it. I didn’t talk about my guilt, my desires, what I truly wanted to do. The funny thing is that all these things were within reach. It didn’t take much effort, really. When I divorced my wife, I was furious. Furious not at her, but at myself for letting go of the woman I loved. I never told her I loved her. I never gave her flowers on my way home at night. I never… I never looked into her eyes, so full of light, passion, something that gave me strength. I never kissed her like I should. With passion. I never took her for a walk in the park. I never told her how I felt. I could have done all of that, but…”
– I lacked the courage.
– Yes. You know what else I haven’t done? I never asked anyone to tell me about themselves. I never took an interest in another person. I cared only about my own worldview, my own freedom. I never asked another person what they thought about a given topic, I never asked what they were feeling at that moment. I never asked how their day was, if they spent it in such a way that when they went to bed they could say, "I spent that day properly." I could have done it; nothing stood in my way, but…
I lacked the courage.
"Yes... it wasn't even enough to not worry about the future for even an hour, not even the immediate one. In my entire life, I'd never once acted in such a way as to give myself even a fleeting joy from the unknown. I wasn't spontaneous. I always arranged a specific time, always asked what would happen next. I always had to know a few moments beforehand; otherwise, I was afraid. Do you understand? I was afraid... I didn't have the courage!"
The man took out a new cigarette. Before lighting it from the candle, he examined it carefully, turning it over in his fingers a few times to get a feel for it. He brought it close to his nostrils to smell the pleasant aroma of tobacco. Only then did he place the tip on the flame and inhale deeply. He held the smoke in his lungs, only to cough it out violently a moment later.
"I've never done anything with passion. Even the simplest activity, I've never added my passion to it. A passion that would actually drive me to it." A passion that would give me strength. I never rejoiced like a child when my favorite food was brought to my nose. I never wished for happiness on an ordinary, gray day. I never asked the girl I liked at school to dance. I never went to the cinema to see a film I truly wanted to see. I never screamed at the world when the rage was practically pouring out of me. I could have done all of that. I could have.
"You had your whole life to do that."
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