The Death of Jesus

by J. M. Coetzee

  ‘Which doctor was that? Dr Ribeiro?’

  ‘No, the new doctor with the gold tooth. I told him my dreams and he wrote them down in his notebook.’

  ‘Did he make any comment about them?’

  ‘No. He asked me about my mother and my father, my real mother and father. He asked me what I remembered about them.’

  ‘I don’t recall any doctor with a gold tooth. Do you know his name?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I will ask Dr Ribeiro about him. Now you must go to sleep.’

  ‘Simón, what is it like to die?’

  ‘I will answer you, but only on one condition. The condition is that we agree we are not talking about you. You are not going to die. If we talk about dying, we are talking about dying in the abstract. Do you accept my condition?’

  ‘You only say I am not going to die because that is what fathers are supposed to say. But I am not really going to get better, am I?’

  ‘Of course you are! Now: do you accept my condition?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Very well. What is it like to die? As I picture it, you lie looking up into the blue of the sky, feeling sleepier and sleepier. A great peace descends upon you. You close your eyes and are gone. When you wake, you are on a boat skimming across the ocean, with the wind in your face and gulls screaming overhead. Everything feels fresh and new. It is as if you have been born again at that very moment. You have no recollection of any past, no recollection of dying. The world is new, you are new, there is new strength in your limbs. That is what it is like.’

  ‘Will I see Don Quixote in the new life?’

  ‘Of course: Don Quixote will be waiting at the quayside to greet you. When the men in uniform try to stop you and pin a card to your shirt with a new name and a new date of birth, he will say, “Let him pass, caballeros. This is David el famoso, the famous David, in whom I am well pleased.” He will lift you up behind him onto Rocinante, and the pair of you will ride off to do your good deeds. You will have a chance to tell him some of your stories, and he will tell you some of his.’

  ‘But will I have to speak another language?’

  ‘No. Don Quixote speaks Spanish, so you will speak Spanish too.’

  ‘Do you know what I think? I think Don Quixote should come here and we should do good deeds here.’

  ‘That would be nice. It would certainly give Estrella a shakeup to have Don Quixote in its midst. Unfortunately I do not think it is allowed. It is against the rules to summon people from the next life back into this one.’

  ‘But how do you know? How do you know what is allowed and not allowed?’

  ‘I do not know how I know, just as you do not know how you know those funny songs you sing. But that is how I believe the rules work, the rules under which we live.’

  ‘But what if there are no new lives? What if I die and I don’t wake up? Who will I be if I don’t wake up?’

  ‘What do you mean, no new lives?’

  ‘What if the new lives come to an end, and the numbers, and everything else? Who will I be if I just die?’

  ‘Now we are drifting into the language called philosophy, my boy. Are you sure you want to embark on a new language so late at night? Shouldn’t you sleep? We can try our hand at philosophy in the morning, when you are more wide-awake.’

  ‘Do I have to take lessons to speak philosophy?’

  ‘No, you can speak philosophy and Spanish at the same time.’

  ‘Then I want to speak philosophy now! What will happen if I don’t wake up? And why is Don Quixote not allowed to come here?’

  ‘Don Quixote is allowed to cross the seas and come here, but he has to do so in a book, like the book he arrived in when he came to you. He cannot appear to us as flesh and blood. As for not waking up, if we do not wake up at all, ever, then—nothing, nothing, nothing. That is what I mean by philosophy. Philosophy tells us when there is nothing more to say. Philosophy tells us when to sit with our mind still and our mouth shut. No more questions, no more answers.’

  ‘Do you know what I am going to do, Simón? Just before I die I am going to write down everything about me on a piece of paper and fold it up small and hold it tight in my hand. Then when I wake up in the next life I can read the paper and find out who I am.’

  ‘That is an excellent idea, the best idea I have heard in a long while. Cling to it, do not let it escape. When you are an old old man, many years from now, and the time comes for you to die, remember to write down your story and carry it with you into the next life. Then in the next life you will know who you are and everyone who reads your story will also know who you are. Truly an excellent idea! Just make sure the hand holding the paper does not trail in the water, because, remember, water washes everything away, including writing.

  ‘Now it really is time to sleep, my boy. Close your eyes. Give me your hand. If you wake up and need anything, I will be here.’

  ‘But I don’t want to be this boy, Simón! In the next life I want to be me but I don’t want to be this boy. Can I do that?’

  ‘The rule says you do not have a choice. The rule says you have to be the one you are and no one else. But you have never obeyed rules, have you? So in the next life I am sure you will manage to be who you want to be. You just have to be strong and decisive about it. Who exactly is this boy whom you do not want to be?’

  ‘This boy.’ He gestures toward his body, with its wasted legs.

  ‘It is just bad luck, my boy. As I told you the other day, the air around us is full of malign little creatures, too tiny to be seen with the naked eye, whose sole desire is to creep into us and take up residence in our bodies. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred they fail to get in. You just happen to be the hundredth case, the bad-luck case. Bad luck is not worth talking about. Now go to sleep.’

  CHAPTER 16

  THERE IS someone at David’s bedside, when he arrives the next day, whom he does not at first recognize: a woman wearing a long dark dress with a collar like a ruff at her throat, her grey hair combed tight against her scalp. Only when he comes closer does he recognize Alma, the third of the three sisters who gave them shelter on their farm when they arrived in Estrella, friendless. So news of David’s illness has spread so far!

  From the armchair in the corner a man unfolds himself: señor Arroyo, director of the Academy of Music.

  He greets Alma, greets Arroyo.

  ‘Juan Sebastián told me David has been ill, so I came to see for myself,’ says Alma. ‘I have brought some fruit from the farm. Such a long time since we last saw you, David. We have missed you. You must pay us a visit as soon as you are better.’

  ‘I am going to die, so I can’t come and visit.’

  ‘I don’t think you should die, my boy. It will break too many hearts. It will break my heart, and Simón’s, I am sure, and your mother’s, and Juan Sebastián’s, and that will be just the beginning. Besides, don’t you remember the message you told me about, the important message? If you die, you will not be able to deliver it, and none of us will ever hear what the message was. So I think you should put all your energy into getting better.’

  ‘Simón says I am number one hundred, and number one hundred has to die.’

  He, Simón, intervenes. ‘I was talking statistics, David. I was talking percentages. Percentages aren’t real life. You are not going to die, but even if you were to die it would not be because you are number one hundred or number ninety-nine or any other number.’

  David ignores him. ‘Simón says, in the next life I can be someone else, I don’t have to be this boy and I don’t have to have a message.’

  ‘Haven’t you enjoyed being this boy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If you do not enjoy being this boy, who would you prefer to be, David, in the next life?’

  ‘I would prefer to be normal.’

  ‘What a waste that would be!’ She rests a hand on his head. He closes his eyes; his face takes on a look of intense concentration. ‘How I wish that in the n
ext life you and I could meet again and go on with these conversations of ours. But, as you say, in the next life we will probably be someone else. What a pity! Well, it is time to say goodbye, I have a bus to catch. Goodbye, young man. I am certainly not going to forget you, not in this life.’ She kisses him on the forehead, turns to señor Arroyo. ‘Will you play for us now, Juan Sebastián?’

  Señor Arroyo brings forth his violin case, briefly tunes his instrument, then begins to play. It is not music that he, Simón, has heard before, but David responds with a smile of pure delight.

  The piece comes to an end. Arroyo lowers his bow. ‘Is it time for you to dance, David?’ he says.

  The boy nods.

  Arroyo repeats the piece from beginning to end. David’s eyes are closed, he is entirely still, in a world of his own.

  ‘So,’ says Arroyo. ‘Now we will leave you.’

  One of his fellow bicycle messengers shows him the newspaper. ‘Isn’t this your boy?’ he says, pointing to a picture of a serious-looking David sitting up in bed with a bunch of flowers in his lap, flanked by children from the orphanage. Standing behind him, presiding over the scene, is señora Devito. Despite the golden curls and the fresh good looks, her image has an eerie quality that he cannot put a finger on.

  ‘Doctors baffled by mystery disease,’ runs the headline. He reads further. ‘Doctors in the paediatric division of the city hospital are baffled by a mystery disease that has reared its head at Las Manos orphanage. Its symptoms include dramatic weight loss and a wasting away of muscle tissue.

  ‘The case of young David, first to come down with the disease, is complicated by the fact that he has a blood type which doctors describe as extremely rare. Attempts to find matching stocks of blood have thus far been unsuccessful, despite an appeal to collection centres across the land.

  ‘Commenting on the case, Dr Carlos Ribeiro, head of paediatrics, described David as “a brave lad”. Although hampered by recent cuts in funding, he said, he and his staff are working night and day to get to the bottom of the mystery illness.

  ‘Dr Ribeiro discounted rumours that the illness is caused by parasites in the Rio Semiluna, which flows through the grounds of Las Manos. “There is no reason to believe this is a parasitic disease,” he said. “The children of Las Manos have nothing to fear.”

  ‘Approached for comment, Dr Julio Fabricante, director of Las Manos, called David “a keen footballer and a valued member of our community”. “His presence among us is sorely missed,” he said. “We look forward to a speedy recovery.”’

  In the aftermath of the report in La Estrella, he and Inés are summoned to Dr Ribeiro’s office. ‘I am as upset as you must be,’ he says. ‘It is entirely against hospital policy to allow journalists into the wards. I have spoken to señora Devito about it.’

  ‘I could not care less about hospital policies,’ says Inés. ‘You told the newspaper that David has a mystery disease. Why did you not tell us?’

  Dr Ribeiro gestures impatiently. ‘There is no such thing in science as a mystery disease. That is just a journalist’s embellishment. We have established that David undergoes seizures. What we have not yet established is precisely how the seizures relate to the inflammatory symptoms. But we are working on it.’

  ‘David is convinced he is going to die,’ says he, Simón.

  ‘David is used to leading an active life. Now he finds himself confined to bed. If as a result he feels a bit depressed, that is understandable.’

  ‘You mistake him. He is not depressed. There is a voice inside him that tells him he is going to die.’

  ‘I am a medical doctor, señor Simón, not a psychologist. But if you are warning us that David has some sort of death wish, I will take your warning seriously. I will speak to señora Devito about it.’

  ‘Not a death wish, doctor—far from it. David does not wish to die. He sees his death coming and it fills him with grief or regret, I don’t know which. Being depressed is not the same thing as being full of grief or regret.’

  ‘Señor Simón, what can I say? David suffers from a neurological condition that brings about seizures—that we have established. During a seizure the brain suffers what we can picture as an electrical short circuit, with ripple effects throughout the entire organism. It should not surprise us if, as a result, he experiences feelings of the kind you call grief or regret, or hears voices such as you describe. He probably experiences many other feelings too, feelings for which our language may not have words. My job is to return him to normal—to a normal life. Once he is out of hospital, in normal surroundings, doing normal things, the voices will disappear, as will the talk of death. Now I must get back to work.’ He rises. ‘Thank you for coming to see me. I apologize again for the unfortunate article in the newspaper. I take your concerns seriously and will discuss them with señora Devito.’

  CHAPTER 17

  DAYS PASS. There is no improvement in David’s condition. The drugs he takes to ease the pain have taken away his appetite too; he looks more emaciated than ever; he complains of headaches.

  One evening, while Inés and he are together at the boy’s bedside, señora Devito marches in, followed by Dmitri pushing a wheelchair. ‘Come, David,’ says the young teacher. ‘Time for the astronomy lesson we talked about. Aren’t you excited? The sky is beautifully clear for us.’

  ‘I have to go to the toilet first.’

  He helps the boy to the toilet and steadies him while he lets loose a thin stream of urine, dark yellow from the drugs.

  ‘David, are you sure you want to have this lesson? You don’t have to obey señora Devito, you know. She is not a doctor. You can put it off to another day if you are not in the mood for it.’

  The boy shakes his head. ‘I have to go. Señora Devito doesn’t believe anything I say. I told her about the dark stars, the stars that are not numbers, and she said there are no such things, I am making them up. She has a map of the stars and she says that any star not on her map is extravagante. She says I sound extravagante too when I talk about the stars. She says it must stop.’

  ‘What must stop?’

  ‘Being extravagante.’

  ‘I don’t see why you should stop. On the contrary, I think you should be as extravagante as you like. You have never spoken to me of dark stars. What are they?’

  ‘Dark stars are stars that are not numbers. The ones that are numbers shine. The dark stars want to be numbers but they can’t. They crawl like ants all over the sky but you can’t see them because they are dark. Can we go now?’

  ‘Wait. This is interesting. What else have you told the señora that she finds too extravagante to be believed?’

  Despite his exhausted state, there is a glow of animation about the boy as he speaks of the heavenly bodies. ‘I told her about the stars that do shine, the stars that are numbers. I told her why they shine. It is because they are spinning. That is how they make music. And I told her about twin stars. I wanted to tell her everything, but she said I had to stop.’

  ‘What are twin stars?’

  ‘I told you the other day but you weren’t listening. Every star has a twin star. The one spins the one way and the other spins the other way. They are not allowed to touch, otherwise they disappear and nothing is left, just emptiness, so they stay far away from each other in different corners of the sky.’

  ‘How fascinating! Why do you think the señora calls all this extravagant?’

  ‘She says stars are made of rock, so they can’t shine, they can only reflect. She says the stars can’t be numbers because of mathematics. She says if every star were a number then the universe would be full of rock and there would be no room for us and we wouldn’t be able to breathe.’

  ‘And what did you say to that?’

  ‘She says that we can’t go and live on the stars because there is no food there and no water, the stars are dead, they are just lumps of rock floating in the sky.’

  ‘If she thinks the stars are just lumps of dead rock, why does she
want you to take you out in the night to stare at them?’

  ‘She wants to tell me stories about them. She thinks I am a baby who only understands stories. Can we go now?’

  They return. Dmitri lifts the boy into the wheelchair and wheels him out into the corridor. ‘Come!’ says the teacher. He and Inés follow her down the corridor and out across the lawn, the dog trailing behind.

  The sun has gone down, the stars are beginning to emerge.

  ‘Let us begin over there, on the eastern horizon,’ says señora Devito. ‘Do you see that big red star, David? That is Ira, named after the ancient goddess of fertility. When Ira glows like a coal, it is a sign that rain is on its way. And do you see those seven bright stars to the left, with the four smaller stars in the middle? What do they look like to you? What picture do you see in the sky?’

  The boy shakes his head.

  ‘That is the constellation of Urubú Mayor, the great vulture. See how he spreads his wings further and further as night falls? And see his beak there? Each month, when the moon grows dark, Urubú gobbles down as many of the faint little stars around him as he can. But when the moon grows strong again, she makes him vomit them up. And so it has been, month after month, since the beginning of time.

  ‘El Urubú is one of twelve constellations in the night sky. Over there, closer to the horizon, are Los Gemelos, the Twins, and over there is El Trono, the Throne, with its four feet and its high back. Some people say that the constellations control our destiny, depending on where they are in the heavens at the moment when we set foot in this life. So for example if you arrive under the sign of the Twins then the story of your life will be a story of searching for your twin, your destined other. And if you arrive under the sign of La Pizarra, the Slate, your task in life will be to give instruction. I arrived under the sign of La Pizarra. Maybe that is why I became a teacher.’

  ‘I was going to be a teacher before I started dying,’ says the boy. ‘But I did not arrive under any sign.’