The Death of Jesus

by J. M. Coetzee

  ‘Each of us arrives under a sign. At every moment in time one or other of the constellations reigns in the heavens. There may be gaps in space but there are no gaps in time—that is one of the rules of the universe.’

  ‘I don’t have to be in the universe. I can be an exception.’

  Dmitri has been standing silent behind the wheelchair. Now he speaks. ‘I warned you, señorita: young David is not like us. He comes from another world, maybe even another star.’

  Señora Devito laughs gaily. ‘I forgot! I forgot! David is our visitor, our visible visitor from an invisible star!’

  ‘Maybe there aren’t twelve constellations in the sky,’ says the boy, ignoring the gibe. ‘Maybe there is just one constellation, only you can’t see it because it is too big.’

  ‘But you can see it, can’t you?’ says Dmitri. ‘No matter how big, you can see it.’

  ‘Yes, I can see it.’

  ‘And what is it called, young master? What is the name of the one big constellation?’

  ‘It does not have a name. Its name is to come.’

  He, Simón, steals a look at Inés. Her lips are pursed, she is frowning in disapproval but says no word.

  ‘Birds have their own maps of the sky with their own constellations,’ says señora Devito. ‘They use their constellations to navigate. They fly vast distances over featureless oceans, yet always know where they are. Would you like to be a bird, David?’

  The boy is silent.

  ‘If you had wings you would no longer have to rely on your legs. You would no longer be in thrall to the earth. You would be free, a free being. Wouldn’t you like that?’

  ‘I’m getting cold,’ says the boy.

  Dmitri takes off his orderly’s jacket and drapes it over him. Even in the dim light the mat of dark hair is visible covering Dmitri’s chest and shoulders.

  ‘And what about the numbers, David?’ says señora Devito. ‘Remember, the other day, when we had our lesson on numbers, you were telling us how the stars are numbers, but we did not understand you, not fully. We didn’t understand, did we, Dmitri?’

  ‘We strained our intellects but we could not understand, it was beyond us,’ says Dmitri.

  ‘Tell us what numbers you see when you look at the stars,’ says señora Devito. ‘When you look at Ira, the red star, for example, what number pops into your head?’

  The time has come for him, Simón, to intervene. But before he can open his mouth Inés steps forward. ‘Do you think I don’t see through you, señora?’ she hisses. ‘You put on a sweet face, you pretend to be so innocent, but all the time you are laughing at the child, you and this man.’ She yanks Dmitri’s jacket off the boy’s shoulders and tosses it furiously away. ‘Shame on you!’ And with Bolívar by her side she storms away, pushing the wheelchair ahead over the bumpy lawn. In the moonlight he catches a glimpse of the boy. His eyes are closed, his features relaxed, there is a smile of contentment on his lips. He looks like a babe at his mother’s breast.

  He ought to follow, but he cannot resist an outburst of his own. ‘Why mock him, señora?’ he demands. ‘You too, Dmitri. Why call him young master and shout Glory! after him? Do you find it amusing to make fun of a child? Have you no human feeling?’

  Dmitri is the one who responds. ‘Ah, but you mistake me, Simón! Why should I mock young David when it is in his power alone to rescue me from this hell-hole? I call him my master because he is my master, as I am his humble servant. It is as simple as that. And what about yourself? Isn’t he your master too, and aren’t you in a bit of a hell-hole of your own, crying out to be rescued? Or have you decided to keep your mouth shut and pedal that bicycle of yours around this godforsaken town until the day you can retire to the old folks’ home with your certificate of good conduct and your medal for meritorious service? Living a blameless life won’t save you, Simón! What you need, what I need, what Estrella needs, is someone to come along and shake us up with a new vision. Don’t you agree, my love?’

  ‘What he says is true, Simón,’ says señora Devito. She picks up Dmitri’s jacket from where Inés has thrown it (‘Put it on, amor, you will catch cold!’). ‘I can vouch for it. In all the world Dmitri is David’s truest follower. He loves him heart and soul.’

  She seems to be in earnest, but why should he believe her? She may claim that Dmitri’s heart belongs to David, but his own heart tells him that Dmitri is a liar. Which heart is to be trusted: the heart of Dmitri the murderer or the heart of Simón el Lerdo, Simón the Dull? Who can say? Without a word he turns away and stumbles back toward the lights of the hospital, where Inés has by now bundled the boy into bed and is busy chafing his icy feet between her hands.

  ‘Please see to it that that woman has no further contact with David,’ she commands. ‘Otherwise we are removing him from the hospital.’

  ‘Why did you say she was laughing at me?’ asks the boy. ‘I didn’t see her laughing.’

  ‘No, you would not. They laugh at you behind their hands, the two of them.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Why? Why? Don’t ask me why, child! Because you say strange things! Because they are silly!’

  ‘You can take me home now.’

  ‘Are you telling me you want to come home?’

  ‘Yes. Bolívar too. Bolívar doesn’t like it here.’

  ‘Then let us go at once. Simón, wrap him in a blanket.’

  The way out, however, is blocked by señora Devito, with Dmitri flanking her. ‘What is going on here?’ she demands with a frown.

  ‘Simón and Inés are taking me away,’ says David. ‘They are going to let me die at home.’

  ‘You are a patient here. You may not leave unless you are signed out by a doctor.’

  ‘Then call a doctor!’ says Inés. ‘At once!’

  ‘I will call the duty doctor. But I warn you: it is up to the doctor and to him alone to say whether David may leave.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to leave us, young man?’ says Dmitri. ‘We will be desolate without you. You bring life to this joyless place. And think of your friends. When they arrive tomorrow, expecting to see you, expecting to sit at your feet, your room will stand empty, you will be gone. What will I say to them? The young master has fled? The young master has abandoned you? Their hearts will be broken.’

  ‘They can come to our apartment,’ says the boy.

  ‘And what about me? What about old Dmitri? Will Dmitri be welcome in señora Inés’s fine apartment? And the pretty señorita, your teacher—will she be welcome?’

  Señora Devito returns with a harried-looking young man at her side.

  ‘This is the boy,’ says señora Devito, ‘the one with the so-called mystery illness. And these are Inés and Simón.’

  ‘You are the parents?’ says the young doctor.

  ‘No,’ says he, Simón. ‘We are—’

  ‘Yes,’ says Inés, ‘we are the parents.’

  ‘And who is in charge of the case?’

  ‘Dr Ribeiro,’ says señora Devito.

  ‘I am sorry, but I cannot sign a release until I have Dr Ribeiro’s authorization.’

  Inés draws herself up. ‘I do not need authorization from anyone to take my child home.’

  ‘I don’t have a mystery illness,’ says the boy. ‘I am number one hundred. One hundred is not a mystery number. Number one hundred is the number that has to die.’

  The doctor regards him crossly. ‘That is not how statistics work, young man. You are not going to die. This is a hospital. We do not let children die here.’ He turns to Inés. ‘Come back tomorrow and speak to Dr Ribeiro. I will leave a note for him.’ He turns to Dmitri. ‘Take our young friend back to the ward, please. And what is the dog doing here? You know that animals are not allowed.’

  Inés does not deign to argue. Gripping the handles of the wheelchair, she pushes past the doctor.

  Dmitri bars her way. ‘A mother’s love,’ he says. ‘It is a privilege to see it, it stirs the heart. Truly. But we cannot l
et you remove our young master.’

  As he reaches out to take the wheelchair, a low growl comes from Bolívar. Dmitri withdraws the offending hand but continues to block Inés’s way. The dog growls again, deep in his throat. His ears are flattened, his upper lip drawn back to reveal long, yellowing teeth.

  ‘Out of the way, Dmitri,’ says he, Simón.

  The dog takes a first slow step toward Dmitri, a second. Dmitri stands his ground.

  ‘Bolívar, be still!’ commands the boy.

  The dog halts, his gaze still fixed on Dmitri.

  ‘Dmitri, give way!’ says the boy.

  Dmitri gives way.

  The young doctor addresses Dmitri. ‘Who was it who allowed this dangerous animal onto the premises? Was it you?’

  ‘He is not a dangerous animal,’ says the boy. ‘He is my guardian. He is guarding me.’

  Without a hand being laid on them they depart the hospital. He, Simón, lifts the boy into the back seat of Inés’s car; the dog leaps in; they abandon the wheelchair in the parking lot.

  He turns to Inés. ‘Inés, you were magnificent.’ It is true: never has she been more resolute, more commanding, more queenly.

  ‘Bolívar was magnificent too,’ says the boy. ‘Bolívar is king of the dogs. Are we going to be a family again?’

  ‘Yes,’ says he, Simón, ‘we are going to be a family again.’

  CHAPTER 18

  AT AROUND midnight that same night a new round of seizures commences, coming one after another with barely a break. At his wits’ end, he, Simón, drives to the hospital and pleads with the night nurse for the boy’s medicines. She refuses. ‘The way you are acting is nothing short of criminal,’ she says. ‘You should never have been allowed to remove the child. You have no conception of how serious his condition is. Give me your address. I am going to send an ambulance at once.’

  Two hours later the boy is back in his bed in the hospital, in a deep, drugged sleep.

  Dr Ribeiro, when told what went on during the night, is cold in his anger. ‘I can have you barred from the hospital,’ he says. ‘Even if you were the child’s parents, which you are not, I could have you barred, you and that savage dog of yours. What kind of people are you?’

  He and Inés stand mute.

  ‘Please leave now,’ says Dr Ribeiro. ‘Go home. The staff will give you a call when the child is stable again.’

  ‘He won’t eat,’ says Inés. ‘He looks like a skeleton.’

  ‘We will take care of that, don’t worry.’

  ‘He says he is not hungry. He says he does not need food anymore. I don’t understand what is coming over him. It frightens me.’

  ‘We will take care of it. Go home now.’

  The next day Inés receives a call from Sister Rita. ‘David is asking for you,’ says Sister Rita. ‘For you and your husband. Dr Ribeiro agrees that you can visit, but only for a few minutes, and not the dog. The dog is forbidden.’

  Even after two days the change in David is striking. He seems to have shrunk, as if he were a six-year-old again. His face is pale and drawn. His lips move but they can make out no word. There is a helpless appeal in his look.

  ‘Bolívar,’ he croaks.

  ‘Bolívar is at home,’ says he, Simón. ‘He is resting. He is recuperating his forces. He will come and see you soon.’

  ‘My book,’ croaks the boy.

  He goes in search of Sister Rita. ‘He is asking for his Don Quixote book. I have hunted for it but I can’t find it anywhere.’

  ‘I am busy now. I will look for it later,’ says Sister Rita. There is a new coldness in her tone.

  ‘I am sorry about what happened last night,’ he says. ‘We did not think.’

  ‘Being sorry does not help,’ says Sister Rita. ‘Keeping out of the way would help. Letting us do our work. Accepting that we are doing whatever is humanly possible to save David.’

  ‘We do not seem to be popular here, you and I,’ he tells Inés. ‘Why don’t you go back to the shop. I will stay on.’

  He tries to buy a sandwich in the canteen but is refused (‘Sorry, staff only.’).

  When the faithful core of David’s young friends arrive in the afternoon, they are turned away by Sister Rita. ‘David is too tired for visitors. Come back tomorrow.’

  At the end of the day he waylays Sister Rita on her way out. ‘Did you find the book?’ She gives him an uncomprehending stare. ‘Don Quixote. David’s book. Did you find it?’

  ‘I will look for it when I have time,’ she says.

  He hangs around in the corridor, his stomach growling with hunger. After the boy has been given his medication and settled down for the night, he slips in quietly and, stretched out on the armchair, falls asleep.

  He is woken by an insistent whispering: ‘Simón! Simón!’

  At once he is alert.

  ‘I have remembered another song, Simón, only I can’t sing it, my throat is too sore.’

  He helps the boy to drink.

  ‘The red pills make me dizzy,’ he says. ‘Do I have to take them? It is like bees buzzing in my head, zzz-zzz-zzz. Simón, in the next life will I do sexual intercourse?’

  ‘You will have sexual intercourse in this life, when you are old enough, and you will have it in the next life too, and all the lives after that—that I can promise you.’

  ‘When I was small I didn’t know what sexual intercourse was, but now I know. And Simón, when is the blood going to come?’

  ‘The new blood? Sometime today, or tomorrow at the latest.’

  ‘That’s good. Do you know what Dmitri says? He says, when they inject the new blood into me my sickness will fall away and I will stand up in all my glory. What is my glory?’

  ‘Glory is a kind of light that shines out of people who are very strong and very healthy, like athletes and dancers. Football players too.’

  ‘But Simón, why did you hide me in the cupboard?’

  ‘When did I hide you in a cupboard? I don’t remember doing any such thing.’

  ‘Yes, you did! When I was small, some people came in the night, and you locked me in a cupboard and told them you didn’t have any children. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘Ah, I remember now! Those people who came in the night were census-takers. I hid you in the cupboard so that they would not turn you into a number and put you on their census list.’

  ‘You didn’t want me to give them my message.’

  ‘That is not true. It was for your own sake that I hid you, to save you from the census. What was the message you were going to give them?’

  ‘My message. Simón, how do you say aquí in another language?’

  ‘I don’t know, my boy, I am not good at languages. I told you before: aquí is just aquí. It is the same no matter what language you speak. Here is here.’

  ‘But how do you say aquí in other words?’

  ‘I don’t know any other words for it. Everyone understands where here is. Why do you want other words?’

  ‘I want to know why I am here.’

  ‘You are here to bring light into our lives, my boy, into Inés’s life and my life and the lives of all the people who meet you.’

  ‘And Bolívar’s life too.’

  ‘And Bolívar too. That is why you are here. It is as simple as that.’

  The boy does not seem to hear. His eyes are closed, as if he is listening to a far-off voice.

  ‘Simón, I am falling,’ he whispers.

  ‘You are not falling. I am holding you. It is just dizziness. It will wear off.’

  Slowly the boy returns from wherever he has been.

  ‘Simón,’ he says, ‘there is a dream, always the same dream. I keep going back into it. I am in the cupboard and I can’t breathe and I can’t get out. The dream won’t go away. It is waiting for me to come.’

  ‘I am sorry. From my heart I apologize. I did not realize hiding you from those people would leave such bad memories behind. If it is any consolation, señor Arroyo hid his sons too,
Joaquín and Damián, to prevent them from being turned into numbers. What was the message you would have given the census-takers if I had not hidden you in the cupboard?’

  The boy shakes his head. ‘It is not yet time.’

  ‘It is not yet time for your message? It is not yet time for me to hear it? What do you mean? When will it be time?’

  The boy is silent.

  No sooner has sister Rita arrived on duty than he is chased peremptorily out of David’s room. ‘Did you not hear what Dr Ribeiro said, señor? You are not good for the boy! Go home! Stop interfering!’

  He catches the bus to the city centre, has a huge breakfast, drops in on Inés at Modas Modernas. They sit together in her office at the back of the shop. ‘I spent the night with David,’ he says. ‘He is looking worse than ever. The drugs are sapping his strength. He wanted to sing to me—he has a new song—but he could not, he was too weak. He talks about blood all the time, the blood that is going to arrive by train and save him. His hopes are pinned on that.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ says Inés.

  ‘I don’t know, my dear, I don’t know. I am quite desperate.’

  Querida. He has never called her that before.

  ‘I am going to see a new doctor this afternoon,’ she says. ‘Not one of the hospital doctors. Someone independent. Inocencia recommends him. She says he cured the child of one of her neighbours when the regular doctors had given up. I want him to go to the hospital and examine David. I don’t have faith in Dr Ribeiro anymore.’

  ‘Would you like me to come with you?’

  ‘No. You will just complicate things.’

  ‘Is that what I do—complicate things?’

  She is silent.

  ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I hope this independent doctor is a real doctor with real credentials, otherwise they will not allow him near David.’

  Inés stands up. ‘Why must you be so negative, Simón? What is more important: that David be cured or that we follow the rules and regulations of that hospital of theirs?’

  He bows his head, takes his leave.

  CHAPTER 19

  BECAUSE THE hospital has criteria of its own for determining who should be contacted in an emergency, he and Inés are not summoned to David’s bedside when his heartbeat grows irregular and his breathing laboured and the doctors begin to prepare for the worst. Instead a call is put through to the office of Dr Fabricante at the orphanage, and from there to Sister Luisa in the infirmary. Sister Luisa is busy attending to a boy with ringworm; by the time she arrives at the hospital, David has already been declared dead, the cause of death yet to be settled; the room where he died is closed until further notice (so says the sign on the door) to all but authorized personnel.