My Life in Darkness (8 page)

Do you feel the end closing in? I know I have more time left, but how much? I’m eighty-four years old now and everything wears on me more than ever before. It’s hard to get places, but I fight against it.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Despite it all, here I stand, halfway around the world waiting for the darkness to come.

Of all the things I need to do before I die the most difficult will be to forgive. To forgive my father for the way he treated me, to forgive her for never telling me I had a son, and to forgive myself for the things I have and haven’t done.

We preach forgiveness all the time as a species—that it is better to forgive than to dwell on something. And we often do it, forgiving each other for heinous acts. You still see it in the news, the families of murder victims forgiving the killers for their acts.

But do they forgive themselves? Not the killers, they don’t deserve their own forgiveness. Do those families, weeping over their murdered loved one, ever forgive themselves? Or do they focus on the things they could have done differently that may have changed things, may have prevented an unnecessary death?

And that’s where I stand confused. Do I deserve forgiveness? For hitting my father, for the hurt I caused my mother, for not giving the mother of my child what she needed, for never telling you the truth. I don’t believe that I do, and I’m not sure I’ll find that forgiveness in myself before I die.

They’re acting up now, fluttering at my head. I know they disagree, but what can I do? They can’t help me to find the forgiveness, only I can do that.

Well, me and the darkness.

Four minutes and fifty-nine seconds. It’ll give me the time I need to figure some things out.

VALPARAISO, CHILE

AUGUST 12, 2064

Dear Lena,

Another year, another eclipse. My son couldn’t come this time, his work is keeping him away. He took the business route like I did, a self-made man working in the technology field. Did you ever imagine how different our lives would be? Born in the days of record players, rotary dial telephones and televisions deeper than they were wide.

How things have changed, and I often feel like I’ve been left behind, that I haven’t changed along with them. I still long for the old days, after the record players but back when personal computers were still new, back when I was in control of my life, my business, in control of a portion of the world of internet gaming. Now, I can’t even understand what’s going on.

Have I been left behind or have I just given up on learning? I feel like everything I know I learned a long time ago, there haven’t been any of the revelations or epiphanies that everyone says come at the end of your life. I’m still hoping for that epiphany, that chance to realize the truth of my past, present and future.

I look at you with so much envy, almost a little bit of hatred, and it fills me with guilt. Your life, your family, your children and grandchildren, I see you all standing there happy and filled with love and… I’m sorry. I’m crying now and my tears stain your letter. I’m jealous of you, of the life you’ve had, the life you still have now, surrounded by family and friends, a life of love, support and happiness.

I see you looking at me, tears in my eyes causing you concern. You’re walking toward me now and all at once the feelings I used to have as a child come rushing back.

I’m always astounded by your compassion, the way that you can just drag the hurt and the pain out of me. I wanted to tell you, I almost did, a faint ‘I love you’ uttered through my sorrow would have been enough. But the words never come. Maybe they will one day, before it’s too late. Maybe they shouldn’t. If it would disrupt the perfection that surrounds you, I don’t want to speak. I will continue with my self-imposed vow of silence and never let you know the truth.

You must know, the way I look at you, the way you catch my eye at times and I look away quickly. Eighty-five years old and I still act like a teenager when you’re around. Being around you is like drinking from the fountain of youth. I get giddy and silly like a child, puppy love takes over once more. And the feeling is wonderful.

The next one, I hope you’re coming. I’ve chartered a yacht since the eclipse won’t make landfall. I’ve never seen one at sea. We’ll be away from all lights, complete and total darkness taking over. It will be like the one I saw in Antarctica, and a few others we’ve been to. Perfect, pure darkness. The way nature intended.

Three minutes and fifteen seconds this time, more than enough to keep me going.

SOUTHERN OCEAN, NEAR NEW ZEALAND

DECEMBER 17, 2066

Dear Lena,

It’s beautiful here, out in the middle of the sea. I can’t believe I’ve never done this before. I never took a cruise, hardly been on a boat in my life, but this… I should’ve bought a yacht, years ago. I could’ve lived on it, sailing to wherever the next eclipse would have been. Maybe a smaller one than this, something I could handle on my own.

Maybe life would have been better for me then. Alone. I can’t help feeling that my son would have been better off without me. He’s thirty years old, working hard on his career, trying to meet the right woman, wanting to buy a house and settle down. I can’t give him advice, I can barely help him through it. When I did it, when I had my career and my first house, it was over sixty years ago. Everything’s changed, everything’s different.

I guess I just wish he could’ve had a younger father, that I could’ve been younger. It would’ve made things easier for both of us, and maybe then it would’ve given me a chance to meet my grandchildren. I’m afraid I won’t last long enough, not at the rate he’s going. And here you are, your granddaughter holding a baby girl. A great-grandmother. You must be so proud, so happy.

They’re quiet today, I think they’re afraid of the water, afraid to damage the gears and mechanisms within. They stay close, but still, waiting for me to need them. I can hear them buzzing though, it was faint at first but it speeds up and gets louder as the darkness comes.

Sometimes, when I’m paying attention, I think I can hear them talking to my son. But what scares me the most, is I think he can hear them. They were supposed to be my burden to bear, my hallucination, my false reality. Have I passed my curse on to him? Did he only get the worst of me?

I surprised myself earlier, walking up to you like that, asking if you were enjoying yourself. It’s no secret this time that I chartered the yacht, not like when I paid to fly everyone out to Kvitøya. I didn’t want you to know that was me, I didn’t want to seem like a braggart, flaunting my wealth. Please don’t think that I’m doing that now, I’m not. I just hoped that somewhere deep down you would know-I do this for you. If I can contribute to your happiness in any way, I want to do it.

It was nice to meet your great granddaughter. I only wish I didn’t fall back into my old habits, never knowing what to say. If almost ninety years can’t change me, nothing will. I’ll always be awkward, different, lonely.

My son’s been staring at the sea since we left port, staring out at the horizon. I love to see the amazement and wonder in his eyes, even now as an adult. Seeing that, it’s like seeing what I missed when he was a child—the birthdays, the Christmas mornings, the vacations, a new bike, his first car. I wish I could see it more often, but I take whatever I can get and I hold it tight.

Another three minutes and fourteen seconds this time, Lena. I hope it lasts, at least it’s pure this time. We’re going to turn off all the lights on the yacht when totality comes, there won’t be a single light except for the corona peering out from behind the moon and the stars in the daytime sky.

I won’t be coming to the next one. Travelling is becoming so difficult for me and to go to Australia for only a minute of darkness, I can’t do it.

Until next time, with love.

PHILLIPINE SEA, NEAR NAHA, OKINAWA, JAPAN

APRIL 11, 2070

Lena,

Once more at sea, the wind at our backs and nothing but water in front of us. It’s so poetic, so simple, so beautiful. It reminds me of Hemingway, his story of one man against the ocean. I always liked stories like that, the rise and fall of a single person. It reminded me of my own life, my own loneliness.

But I saw in those characters a will to go on, to persevere.
The Old Man and the Sea
,
The Count of Monte Cristo
, and of course, my favourite,
Robinson Crusoe
. Sure there were other characters involved, but I always saw them as being a story of the triumphs and failures of a single entity, somehow set apart from everyone else.

I’ve had my own share of triumphs and failures, though I believe the scales would not balance. I’m reminded of the ancient Egyptians, how they believed that in death the heart was weighed against a feather. I know mine would be heavier and I’d be cast down to the crocodile god to be eaten.

But does it really matter? I’ve never believed in an afterlife, and I celebrated my ninetieth birthday last year. I’ve had a long life, a decent life. Is it wrong for me to say I’m satisfied? That I don’t want to go anywhere when I die? I don’t think I could bear to see my parents again, to be reminded of what I’d done. It’s only my son I’d miss.

And you, obviously.

I’ve been watching him more closely, and it worries me. I know he’s like me, he sees them, or sees something. I can tell that he’s starting to slip, that his reality is bleeding into ours—yours, I should say. Mine has always been my own. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but the words never come out right, the point lost in translation somewhere along the lines. I wish I could help him, I wish I could talk to him like I talk to you in these letters.

My own son, yet I’m still lost. Just like a child, a child without hope.

I’ll find the strength, I have to. And maybe he will as well, the strength to realize that things aren’t as they should be, that he needs to find some help. We have three minutes and fifty-seven seconds this time, and the darkness will be pure again.

If it affects him the way it does me, it should be enough. I can see how uplifted he is after an eclipse, he looks stronger, happier. Like the darkness has filled him up, made him larger than life. And now, even as age hunches me over, it still does the same to me.

CHICHEN ITZA, MEXICO

SEPTEMBER 23, 2071

Lena,

Here we are in another amazing place, almost forgotten by time. The ruins that surround us amaze me, how well maintained they are after over a thousand years. I’ve heard the stories, that the buildings here were designed and carefully placed to depict the solar system, including Pluto (remember when it was still a planet?). We didn’t discover Pluto until 1930.

Then there was all the talk about the Mayans predicting the end of the world. Obviously that never happened. But I do believe they had wisdom and knowledge that would have truly surprised us, including an understanding of the cosmos. Maybe they even knew this eclipse would come. They built the pyramid so that the sun would cast the shadow of a snake during the equinoxes, is it hard to believe that they would’ve known that this would happen today?

My son’s doing better now, I finally found it in me to talk to him, to do it properly. He was starting to get bad, talking to himself and ranting like I used to do. He was afraid of everything. I took him to the hospital, something he hated me for, but it had to be done. He’s medicated now, and doing much better.

But you can see that. He forgave me, thanked me even, for taking him to the hospital and he’s here now. It’s only been a few months, but everything seems so much better. He’s even found a girlfriend, a kindhearted and beautiful woman. She reminds me of you in a way, that same light in her eyes. Maybe I’ll live long enough to see grandchildren.

We’ve sacrificed some time to come and see the eclipse from here, totality will be cut short by over thirty seconds. But I think it’ll be worth it, just to be here. We still have almost two-ten, but it’s not lasting me as long these days.

And the next one is almost two years away.

Every time the moon passes by and the darkness recedes, I know it is time to leave once more. And every time, I worry that it will be the last time I see you, that fate will come for one of us. I want to be first to go, I couldn’t bear the thought of you dying, leaving me forever.

Tears are staining your letter again, and it’s becoming too dark for my failing eyes to see. We’ll meet again, I give you my word.

ROBINSON CRUSOE ISLAND, CHILE

JANUARY 16, 2075

Lena,

I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.

He’s gone.

And it’s all my fault.

I should have watched him closer, I should have helped him more.

There must have been something I could’ve done.

I can barely write this, my hands are shaking so badly.

All I wanted was for him to be happy.

It happened just before the last eclipse, the one in Argentina. That’s why I wasn’t there. I hadn’t heard from him in over a week, which was strange. He and I would talk almost every day. I went to his house and the doors and windows were all locked. Then I noticed his windows were sealed from the inside, sheets of plywood blocking them. I knew what was wrong.

I didn’t know how long he’d been in there. The snow wasn’t cleared from his driveway or car. I banged on the door as loud as I could and I called him again and again, but he never answered.