KEVIN LOST ALL ABILITY to move his legs or control his bowels over the next week. Needing round-the-clock nursing care, he had to be placed in a hospice. A social worker at City Hospital pulled strings, and a bed became available at a derelict convent recently remodeled to house eight dying patients. The two requirements for admission were a life expectancy less than six months and a statement signed by the applicant that comfort, not prolonging survival, was his primary goal in residing there. Most of the current inhabitants had AIDS.
Herb visited a few days later. He found Kevin sitting in a wheelchair. The blanket draped across his lap failed to hide his diaper and the plastic bag full of urine attached to the footrest. Kevin’s gaunt face and the pallor accentuating his freckles made him look much younger, like a wizened elf-child. Remarkably, he didn’t appear depressed. Herb was astonished by how alert and tranquil he was.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Kevin suggested.
They took a modern elevator to the old convent chapel, renovated with carpeting and plush couches to serve as a communal living room. Its wall-high, leaded-glass windows had been left intact. Kevin pointed across the street to a small Catholic church.
“See, I can’t escape,” he said with half-hearted irony.
After asking if his pain, diarrhea, and nausea were made tolerable by the medications he was given around the clock, Herb had a moment of panic. What else could they talk about?
Kevin wheeled himself to a bookcase. He removed a thin hardbound volume and gave it to Herb.
“Winesburg, Ohio. My favorite novel in college. Would you read me a chapter?”
Happy to have something to do, Herb opened the book. Kevin picked the final chapter, Departure. When Herb finished, Kevin sighed.
“George Willard leaves town, his future full of possibility. Beginnings are the best part of life, aren’t they?”
“I never thought about it. I guess so.”
Kevin grabbed Herb’s hands and pulled himself close.
Eyes shining, he said, “Thank you.”
“Kevin, there’s nothing to thank me for.”
“Oh, yes there is. Work I could be proud of. You gave me that opportunity. It was the missing piece. Without it, I never could have felt my life made sense.”
Herb tried valiantly to swallow a sob. Losing the struggle, he hugged Kevin.
“I don’t know how to say this,” Herb stammered. “Actually, I do know. I lack practice. It’s what inertia does. No, that’s a cop out, too. I’m still afraid to show feelings I can’t control. But I’ve done it with you. And I promise, this is just the start.”
Kevin wept with delight.
Certain he was on a roll, Herb said, “What a privilege it’s been to watch you grow, to achieve so much. I’ll remember you every day. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Kevin laughed and cried, each word diminishing in volume.
Again Herb couldn’t think of anything to say, though he wasn’t troubled by it now. Kevin dozed briefly, opened his eyes, and stared at Herb.
He seemed to be pleading, but Herb had the eerie intuition he wasn’t asking for assistance or relief. Suddenly, Herb was convinced that Kevin had grasped some core truth of existence. He wants me to understand it, Herb thought, to share it with me.
“The void surrounding us is what makes our being in the world possible. It doesn’t threaten us. It embraces us. If you can believe this, you’ll be past all fear and sorrow.”
Had Kevin really said that? Or was it his own imagination? He realized the answer didn’t matter. Herb’s mind became empty. He was only aware of Kevin’s presence. For a few minutes, until mundane thoughts intruded. What was on his schedule tomorrow? What was for dinner tonight? The silence became awkward.
“Should I read another chapter?” he asked.
“Sure,” Kevin said hoarsely. “The first one.”
Halfway through, Kevin fell asleep. Herb sank into the couch. He endeavored to sort through his emotions with little success.
Kevin awoke. He looked out the window and pointed toward Diamond Heights.
“Your apartment?” Herb asked.
“No, the distance. How far is it to the top of that hill?”
“Half a mile?”
“That’s an ideal distance, isn’t it? I can see each window. Any farther and the detail would be lost. It’s funny how my far vision is fine, but I can barely read.”
Kevin fell asleep again. Through an open window, children’s voices filtered in from the playground next door. Herb couldn’t make out the words, yet he could hear the timbre of every shout and cry.
Amazing, he thought, it’s a cantata.
The church tower bell interrupted this concert with four peals. The noise woke Kevin. He looked into Herb’s eyes, for longer than Herb would let anyone except Cecilia.
“Go back to your life, Herb,” he whispered. “It’s good. It’s better than you think. You deserve it.”