Because

by Jack A. Langedijk

  “So what was your situation?”

  “Ha ha..." The doorman laughed in that deep resonating tone again. “It has been quite an appropriate name for me so far in my life at least. You see, Aboga means ‘took a lot of caring for me to live.’ And even at my beginning, I apparently took a lot of caring.” He laughed again. “Ha ha...painful caring, so my mother had told me. Because, you see, I did not want to come out of my mother...head first.”

  “Or maybe you just wanted to have one last look,” Robert joked. Robert then smiled to himself. How could this be? He still hadn’t been able to assess the damage the beast had done and now he was making a joke?

  “Ha ha...Yes, Mr. Sanchez, yes, I must have needed one last look. Although I do not think my mother appreciated that! But do you know what I found strange when I came to this country, Mr. Sanchez? I found it strange, and still do, that so many people do not know the meaning of their own names! Back home we can recite the meaning of...well, of many, many names.”

  “So what does Aaron mean then?” Robert shook his head a little in disbelief. This was maybe the longest conversation he had had with anyone in months.

  “Ah, you will like this one! I mean with you being a climber. It means ‘mountain of strength.’” And then came that infectious deep laugh. “Haha, can you imagine me a mountain of strength?” As he said it, the doorman flexed his left arm making a muscle, which prominently exposed the stump of his missing hand. Again, it struck Robert how unfazed the doorman seemed about his stump, so fluid and not self-conscious in the least.

  “And you, Mr. Sanchez, what does your name mean?”

  “Well, Sanchez just means the son of Sancho, which I guess means this Sancho guy had a lot of sons because there are millions of us Sanchez’s in the world.” Oh God, this feels great! Robert thought. Just talking...I’m talking! And not thinking about my lost legs.

  “And your other name, Mr. Son of Sancho, what is the name given to you?”

  “Roberto,” he said but then added, “or Robert or Bobby, take your pick.”

  The doorman’s soothing rich laughter again filled the room. “Ha ha...’Roberto.’” The doorman repeated it again. “Roberto, Roberto...ah, I like saying your name. So what does it mean?”

  Robert paused and then turned his head to the side with a questioning look. Aaron was right! he thought. Most people don’t know the meanings of their names. For it was only last year that he and Monique had two friends who were having babies and they were caught in one of those familiar discussions about the name. Yet, Robert remembered when these new parents were asked what their own names meant, neither one of them knew.

  But Robert knew exactly what his name meant. And he remembered exactly the last time someone had spoken to him about the meaning of his name. It was four years ago. His name was in every local paper and even on some television newscasts. Everyone was talking about his “Climbing to Learn” campaign and how he had led all those people from the school board to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro. That was also the first time Robert had found out that his mother had been keeping a scrapbook of all his climbing adventures.

  The scrapbook was given to him on his forty-fourth birthday. His mother sat beside him as he opened the gift. She was bursting with so much excitement that before Robert even attempted to open it, she used her scissors to snip open the blue ribbon that had probably taken her quite a long time to tie. The scrapbook was a thick, blue velvet covered photo album and each page was filled with Robert’s achievements throughout the years. Not just his mountaineering experiences but also every single time he was recognized for something: old yellowing news clippings, letters and photos detailing his early adventures in soccer, music, some work at the probation office and his workshops in the schools. Jenny and Monique squeezed onto the couch beside him as he looked through his life. Page by page, Robert’s father and most of his brothers and sisters stood around him, laughing and teasing him after each page. Everyone shared some happy/touching/crazy story about Roberto Sanchez.

  Robert was overwhelmed with emotion as he closed the book. He turned to thank his mother. Before he could say a word, she quickly spoke.

  “Ah, my little Roberto, how proud we all are of you!” He remembered telling Monique that night—the moment she kissed him, his family clapped and Jenny tussled his hair—was the most complete moment of feeling loved he had ever felt.

  After the kiss, the applause and hair tussling, Robert’s mother had held his face in both her hands and said, “You know, little Roberto, from the moment we saw those big eyes of yours, we knew...we knew of all the names we could have picked for you, ‘Roberto’ was the right one because ‘Roberto’ means famous—one that is bright and shining! Exactly what you are my son, bright and shining!”

  But just as Robert was about to answer the doorman’s question, this memory came, sharp as a stabbing pain in his heart. His smile vanished. He knew the last thing he was right now was bright and shining to anyone, least of all to himself! So, when Robert turned back to the doorman, his response came out flat and dull.

  “Famous...One who is bright...and shining.”

  “Ho ho...that is what it means?” Aaron cheerfully asked. “Well, it seems your parents named you perfectly.”

  “No, not really.”

  “But Mr. Roberto Sanchez, look how many people are here today to listen to you—to hear you speak about climbing those mountains of yours.”

  Robert responded defensively, “They are not my mountains!”

  The doorman ignored Robert’s terse reply and smiled. “Of course they are not yours, but something of you touched them, didn’t they?”

  “Yeah, but...”

  “So they’re a part of you now, right?”

  Robert didn’t answer the question so the doorman went on. “And Everest, ah, the amazing Everest! Do you know, Mr. Sanchez, that in my country we have many mountains and most of us cannot name more than a few of them. Yet,” he said excitedly, “every child has heard of Mountain Everest. In our eyes—the eyes of my country—you are bright and shining. You, sir, are quite famous for climbing and touching that Everest!”

  Hearing the name Everest suddenly caused Robert to feel that old familiar ache in his chest again, that constant festering ache that had been with him ever since his first leg and one of his dearest hopes was amputated.

  “And do you know what that’s like, Aaron?” he asked. “Being famous for something you can’t do anymore?”

  “But you did it, Mr. Sanchez! You climbed, you touched one of the wonders of the world. Most of us, most of the human beings on this planet, have never done that.”

  “But I CAN’T do it anymore!!!” Robert almost yelled.

  Robert’s roar didn’t seem to faze the doorman. He just laughed.

  “Ha ha...my God, there are so many things we all can’t do any more, Mr. Sanchez. Look at me!” the doorman said as he held up his stump. “Imagine all the things I can’t do now. And of course—we all change, right? We are constantly changing. All of us. Sadly, we become too old to do some of things we used to do. Many of us would love to jump in their mama’s arms and have her swing us around, but then we become too big, right? But we still relish in the memory of doing those things we can no longer do! And, of course, there are things we can’t do because a part of us just can’t do it anymore. Like me and this hand. Do you know what I used to love to do?”

  Robert silently shook his head. The doorman brought his arms together until his wrists touched.

  “Ah...that feeling of clasping my hands together when I was praying to God...and oh, how I loved to clap my hands to the rhythm of the drums...So many things I can’t do anymore, Mr. Sanchez. But it does not take away the doing of them! It doesn’t stop the feeling that I did them, does it?”

  Robert’s head jerked up. The doorman’s question stung—it stung deep. He felt completely exposed. How did this doorman know this about him? How did this Aaron know how this question ached inside him?

 
“Aaron, listen. Do you know how people always introduce me? Just like you did now—as someone great because I climbed mountains? Do you know that I’ve climbed...what...maybe only eighteen different mountains in my life, but I’ve probably helped hundreds...who knows, maybe thousands of different kids in my life. But every time someone introduces me, they don’t talk about that. They always introduce me as that guy who climbed Everest!”

  The doorman was now leaning in, then reached out to touch Robert’s arm and said, “But people say that because they are proud of you.”

  Robert started to get a little more agitated. “I know...I know...It’s not as if I’m not grateful for that. It’s just...that’s how I’m known. And it’s the first thing everyone wants to talk to me about. Climbing mountains! Is that who I am?”

  “But isn’t that why you climbed the mountain? So you could be known as the person who was famous for doing it?” the doorman asked with a smile.

  “Famous?” Robert almost spit out the word. “You think that’s why I climbed a mountain?”

  The doorman shrugged. “Why does anyone climb a mountain, if it is not for being known by someone that they did it?”

  “But, look at me, Aaron, it’s something I can’t do any more. Imagine if everyone introduced you as that guy who did this or that but you can’t do it anymore...and worse, you will never do it again. So who are you to them now?”

  The doorman thought for a second and then responded, “Well, Mr. Sanchez, you will always be the man who did what you did.”

  “But who am I now? I’m now the person who can’t do that thing that made him famous! So, what are people going to ask me now? What? Ask me what I’m going to do next? That’s like asking that cute kid from those Home Alone movies why he can’t do the cute kid movies anymore now that he’s grown into this gawky pimple-faced teenager or adult man! Or, a...asking the singer you loved to sing that song that made her famous, but she can’t reach those notes anymore. And so now, when people find out I’m that guy who climbed Everest, and then they look at these legs...oh, and when they do—they all get this sorry look in their faces that says, ‘oh my God, what’s he going to do now?’ It’s like everyone’s asking me, ‘who are you now?’ It’s like...like my whole life has lost all its meaning if I’m not the guy who climbs mountains anymore. ”

  Robert then grabbed both of his legs and lifted them.

  “Look at me!!! What on earth can I do now?”

  The doorman put his hand on Robert’s arm to comfort him. But Robert was now panting hard and taking in deep breaths like a wild horse tied to a fence trying to break away. He was moving his head from side to side, panting furiously, trying to find the words that could set him free.

  “I’m sure the hell NOT going to be climbing Everest ever again...and why would I? Just look at these!”

  The doorman didn’t move, he just held on to Robert’s arm as he mightily shook back and forth.

  “Look, look at me! Why would I want to go back there? Why? And why am I here today? Why the hell would I ever want to talk about the goddamn mountain that took my legs?!!!”

  Robert jerked his head from side to side, but with each turn of his head, his lips could only mutter and repeat how that mountain took his legs. Soon his mouth was empty of words and only grunts of breath came forth. His head stopped moving. He was still. With one last loud sigh, he closed his eyes. Robert had finally broken free from the fence. Yes, he had finally said it to someone. The truth had been spoken and there was no other pain he needed to unleash into the world.

  He had become so accustomed to leaping into the river of self-pitying despair. No matter how many times he attempted to drown himself in the sorrow of losing his legs, it never worked. He would always resurface again—and each time feeling more and more alone. Yet today...this felt...different.

  Something had changed. He was not alone.

  He felt the firm grip of the doorman’s hand clutching his arm. And for the first time in such a long time, he had allowed someone’s touch to calm him. Support him. He actually sighed into the warmth and strength of the connection. Robert felt such a welcome relief that, throughout his ranting struggle, this stranger—this doorman, Aaron—had not let go of him, no matter how violent or ugly his thoughts became.

  Robert then opened his eyes and looked down to see the doorman’s hand, but it was simply not there. The strong warm powerful grip that Robert felt was just Aaron’s stump—simply touching him—a stump where the missing hand had once been.

  Robert gasped slightly.

  How many times had he desperately thrown himself off the bridge into that same raging river of darkness? Yet, this time the river of self-pity had not taken him and swallowed him up. Something had caught him and was holding his head above the painful waters he found he was constantly trying to drown himself in.

  And that something was a man without a hand.

  Robert looked at the doorman’s stump at the end of his arm. It was not a pretty sight—bumpy and uneven. Yet, the dark brown roundness of Aaron’s scarred wrist seemed so alive! Even without fingers to clasp, without the tender caress of a hand, this man’s stump touching him felt so full of human caring. But how? How had he felt such an amazingly strong firm grip from the doorman when he didn’t even have a hand to grab him with?

  And for the first time since coming out of those painful surgeries of loss, Robert didn’t pull away from someone trying to help. He didn’t throw the doorman’s lifeline off so he could drown alone in his own dark river of pity again.

  Robert wanted to look up, to say something. But it felt so incredibly hard because, at this very moment, he had never felt more naked in his life. The truth of his pain was now out in the open—it had been unmistakably spoken. Just like tears, he knew they could never be un-cried. And now he knew the truth of his pain also could not be un-spoken. Robert had never told anyone, not even Monique or Jenny, how he truly felt and what he feared he had become.

  The silence of the moment was palpable, but the doorman kept his arm on Robert. But Robert couldn’t look at him. He quickly closed his eyes again and questioned himself. Why is it so difficult to look up? What am I so afraid to see?

  Most climbers called Roberto Sanchez one of the most fearless climbers they knew. He had successfully faced and conquered the most daunting obstacles while scaling some of the most treacherous mountaintops. He challenged impediments that would have had most men turning back. Yet, today, the simple act of opening his eyes and facing this truth was taking more courage than he had ever needed to muster.

  But just like tears shed—words spoken—the moment had happened. It was now up to him what he did with it.

  He knew there was no turning back and he must forge ahead. He had to see what the damage looked like—to finally face how damaged he looked in someone else’s eyes. And so, like a man after a vicious tornado has torn through his home, Robert emerged from his storm shelter to see the extent of the damage. He took a deep laboured breath, lifted his head and opened his eyes. The moment Robert’s eyes caught Aaron’s, the doorman spoke.

  “So then, Mr. Roberto Sanchez, how would YOU introduce yourself then? If you’re not only the man who climbed Everest, tell me, who else you would be? Or maybe tell me who you’d like to become?”

  The questions took Robert by surprise. After the accident, everyone had always asked him how he felt or how he was. Some would dare to ask what he wanted to do now, but no one ever asked who he wanted to be! He thought he was always going to be the man who lost something.

  “What...do I want to...become?” Robert repeated the question, slow and precise.

  “Ho ho...” The doorman’s warm deep laugh was felt again. “I know, I know it seems like a question we just ask little children. But think, Mr. Sanchez, when do we ever stop becoming?”

  Again, Robert repeated the question back to the doorman. “When do we...stop becoming?”

  “Haha, can I show you something, Mr. Sanchez?”

  Rober
t nodded. The doorman released his stump from Robert’s arm. Robert’s other hand quickly reacted and grabbed onto Aaron’s stump. He didn’t want the doorman to let go and spoke in a rather panicky tone.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Ho ho...” The doorman smiled. “Going nowhere, Mr. Sanchez. I just need my hand to open my jacket.”

  It struck Robert how he still called the stump his hand. He watched as the doorman quickly used his stump to flick open his jacket and with his right hand, he reached inside the breast pocket of his jacket.

  “Sorry,” Robert said, still feeling the warmth of the doorman’s invisible hand on his arm. “It’s just I...ah...it’s just...your hand...Well, thanks for not letting go when I got so upset there. It’s just...well, I needed that.”

  “Good,” the doorman simply said. He then pulled out a little pocket-sized paper booklet. The cover was quite worn and dirty and it looked to be maybe ten to fifteen pages thick. He laid it on the table in front of Robert. Robert wheeled himself closer to look at the booklet.

  It looked like a child’s book. It had a simple white cover with black lettering that read, “The Wonders of the World.” There were some black and white etchings of the wonders themselves. Robert could quickly make out some of the obvious ones like Stonehenge, the Greek Coliseum, a pyramid, the unmistakable Everest, and the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but some of the other etchings weren’t recognizable to him.

  Robert picked up the booklet and scanned the pages inside. Each page was dedicated to one of the wonders of the world. There was a coloured picture and maybe ten or so lines describing the picture.

  “The last page will explain it,” Aaron said.

  Robert looked up at the doorman. “Explain what?”

  “What we become,” the doorman said and then repeated himself. “What we become.”

  Robert flipped to the back page. It was torn and dirty. About a quarter of a page at the bottom was missing. The heading had bold red letters, “The Taj Mahal—A monument of true love”. The photo of the Taj Mahal was striking. The castle-like mansion was glowing in the sunset with the long pools of water in front of it, mirroring its beauty.