The First Death of Evi B.

In the bowling alley of life, the generations stand at the top of their lanes, waiting for the approaching thump-clunk of the ball that spells the end of their existence.  With an ear-splitting crash, one after the other falls, leaving the remainder of friends, those that they grew up with and have known for most of their lives, wondering when it would be their turn.

There are times when only one pin is left, standing alone, counting breaths and listening to the thump-clunk on neighbouring lanes; remembering the faces of those already gone.  Anxious, hopeful.  Great-grandmother was the last of her generation.  She did not mind, but every morning, she was surprised that Death had not visited in the night to fetch her away.  Then, at 93, her time came and one day she heard the bowling ball approaching that carried her name.  Kerchunk, kerchunk, and she fell, glad that it was finally over.  Her lane now is empty and slowly slides into oblivion ‘exit stage left’, while on the far side new generations are added ‘enter stage right’.

Every so often, something goes awry and the ball flicks over to a lane it was not meant to touch, hitting a life-pin of a younger generation, a generation whose turn had not quite yet come.  This is what happened to Auntie G who died from blood cancer in her thirties.  ‘Far too young’, as the priest told the congregation at her funeral.  In 2000, it hit Uncle H like a stray bullet on a straight road.  Those of the older generations of the adjoining lanes wrinkled their faces, shook on their solid bases and almost tumbled over from the shock of it.

And then there are the times when a pin is struck, falls over, spins indeterminably and miraculously straightens itself.   And that is what happened to Evi B.

***

A normal weekday morning, the children at school, her husband at work, and yet Evi felt somewhat strange.  This was her fourth pregnancy, and without being able to be specific, it had not been like the others.

This one should have been better: the conditions were safe now that they were in their own home, the war was over, and they had enough food to eat since the men worked and there was a constant stream of money coming in.  But no.  She could not rest, the baby kicking at her, turning restlessly inside her womb.  Morning sickness that lasted most of her days, cramps and general un-wellness.  Two more months, she hoped, and then they would be blessed with a fourth and final little B.  Evi could not wait but knew she had to.

She wiped down the kitchen counter.  No longer being able to bend, she waited for her mother to come and wash the floors.  O, she was blessed having family so close by!  Her husband’s mother only upstairs, a call away if she felt a need; her own parents a mere block away and checking in daily.

Evi hummed a song she had heard on the radio the other day.  She missed dancing, but two months more and then she would be able to do it again, waltz and polka around their spacious kitchen.  She had insisted on a big kitchen just for this reason: the kitchen was the heart of a house, always has been and always will be.

She turned and took it all in: the new furniture, the table and chairs.

Yes, it had been worth it.

With a frown, she noted that there were still crumbs on the table from the breakfast and as she chided herself for being so neglectful, she walked across.  Halfway, the baby kicked viciously and Evi paused.

A wetness slithered down her leg and when she leant forward to see over her bump, horror struck her at the blood that was pooling by her feet.  She tried to turn to make for the door to call for help, but in the dampness, she slipped and fell, bumping her head hard.

With her last thoughts she hoped that her mother would clean the table before the children and her husband returned for lunch.  O God, what will they eat?  I have not started cooking yet!

***

During his routine morning walk, Evi’s father decided to pop in to check on his oldest child and found her, lifeless, in a pool of blood in the middle of her kitchen.  A man of few words, he raised the alarm.  An ambulance was called and by the time they took her away, her parents were on their way to the hospital, leaving her husband’s parents at the house.

‘Don’t let the children see this’, he said to her mother-in-law, pointing at the reddish-brown mess that was congealing on the shiny tiles.  She nodded.

‘Don’t worry, I take care of it.’

Evi’s husband was called at work.  His boss nodded and Ferd ran.

His breath ran ragged as he collapsed into his father-in-law’s arms in the waiting rooms.

‘Where is she?  What happened?’

Handing him a glass of tepid water, the old man tried to get Ferd to sit, but Ferd was far too anxious.  His palms were sweating, not just from running, but because he was scared.  ‘Evi, Evi, where are you?’ his spirit called, but there was only darkness and even before the doctor came, he started to cry.

‘Mr B?’

The man looked efficient in his white coat.  It flapped open, revealing a light blue shirt and darker tie underneath.  There was a splash of red on the shirt and Ferd could not avert his eyes.  His Evi’s blood?  He wanted to stretch out his arm, let his fingers touch it, but his brain did not send the right command and his hand dangled ineffectively by his side.

‘Mr B, the news is not good.  You have to make a choice: we can save the baby, or we can save your wife.  We cannot save both.’

With eyes wide in torment, Ferd stared unseeingly at the doctor.

‘Excuse me, I am Evi’s father’, the old man intervened.  ‘Surely!  This is the 1950s, there must be a way?’

Saddened, the doctor shook his head in a negative.

‘Mr B, you need to make a decision. Now.  Otherwise, I cannot guarantee …’, leaving the words hanging in the sterile space of the hospital waiting room.

Ferd swallowed.

‘I have three children at home.  Please, save my wife.’  ‘She is the love of my life’, he added in his head.  ‘Without her, I cannot live’, but these words none of those standing around him heard.

The doctor nodded, turned, and hurried back to the operating theatre.

***

An hour passed.  The Mother sitting in a quiet corner, silently praying.  The Father pacing up and down, frowning.  The Husband sitting, his elbows on his knees, his hands folded, silently crying.

The doors swung open once more and the doctor approached.  His face grey and taut, his eyes red rimmed as if he had been crying.

‘I am so sorry’, he almost whispered, his voice failing.

The Husband looked up, nodded.

‘A nurse will come and be with you shortly.  I need a moment to write out the certificate.’

They all cried.  The Father put a hand on the Husband’s shoulder.

‘Will you wait here, with me?’

‘Of course.  And we will come home with you.  Afterwards.’

But instead of waiting in the cold white waiting room that now looked foreboding and dim, Ferd made his way to the chapel where he fell on his knees to pray.

‘Lord Father, I don’t know why you punish me and take away my Evi. How can I tell the children that their mother is gone? How can I carry on without my Evi?  I am not strong.  Lord Father, help me!  Show your mercy!  And if there is anything you can do, don’t let this be true.  Give me my Evi back, I do whatever you ask of me!’

He cried, his spirit screaming and convulsing in sadness and fear of a life without his wife.

Ferd did not see or hear the two shadowy figures a few pews behind him.

The taller one sighed.

‘You got it wrong, you know that, don’t you?’

The shorter one smiled.

‘Well, what you gonna do about it?’

‘We told you, today you are here for one.  You hear?  For one soul, not two!’

A snigger from the vibrating darkness by his side.

‘Sorreeeee.  My fault!’  The cynicism in his voice was ripe with disdain for the spirit by his side.

‘Yes, and this is why you need to give back that second soul.’

With a nod to the crying man in front, the Angel continued.

‘That of the wife.  You heard the man.  He needs her; the children need her.  She has a job to do still, her time has not come.’

Death cringed and sniffled.

‘O, come on!  I was having fun!’

‘See that man?  How he is crying?  That is NOT fun!’

‘I don’t like you.  You have no sense of … o, I don’t know.  Playing with you is hopeless!’

‘You know that there is no way that God will allow this to happen, do you?’

Death shrugged: it was out of his hands already, he had done his job efficiently.

‘I took two souls, and I already passed them on.  Giving one back is going to mean paperwork … who is going to do that?’

The Angel turned and stared at where Death’s eyes should have been.

‘You are kidding, right?’

There was something different about Death and the Angel stared in disbelief.

‘Are you wearing make-up?’

And then, sniffing: ‘And perfume?’

Death giggled childishly.

‘Told you, I am having fun.’

With one last glance at Ferd in the front pew, the Angel made one last suggestion.

‘Tell you what: I go and get Evi back, and you make sure her soul is ready.’

To Death, that sounded not like fun but ultimately fair, given that he could not go where Evi already was preparing for the next part of her journey.  He held out his hand, for the Angel to shake, but the Angel snorted in disgust.

‘I don’t think so.’  They left.

***

The meadow was of the juiciest, brightest, most beautiful green that Evi had ever seen.  She stood in the middle of it, wondering how she had gotten there.  But then she was overwhelmed by the ethereal beauty of her surroundings.  She raised her arms wide and turned.  There was nothing but this luscious green-ness.

‘The cows would love this’, she thought, then remembered that the cows were no longer hers to care for.

She turned and turned around her own axis, drinking the utter happiness that moved through her, getting drunk on euphoria and motion.  Faster and faster.

Blue sky above her, cloudless, endless.

Green under her feet, soft, gentle.

She was in heaven!  This was her heaven!

She slowed and in the distance, she perceived a light so bright that it was like the sun.  Only, it was not the sun, it was better: this light did not hurt her eyes.  She did not have to shield her face as she watched the light coming closer.

‘Evi’, it greeted her.

‘Father?’

‘Welcome.’

She turned again, with a sweep of her arms embracing the meadow.

‘Is this heaven?’

‘Yes, my child, this is heaven.  Your heaven.’

‘I like it.  But where are the others?’

‘Well’, the voice started, but there was something reverberating within it that made her pause.

‘Well’, the voice started again, ‘there was some mistake.  Even here, sometimes there are mistakes.  You should not be here: our records show that it is not your time yet.  But then, on the other hand, you are already here.’

Confused, Evi looked around.

Mistakes?  In Heaven?  Who would have thought?

‘You like it here?’

She nodded.

‘Well’, the voice came slowly and haltingly so that Evi had time to think while it spoke.  ‘You have a choice.  You can stay here and wait for the right time.  Or, you can go back and all will be as before.’

Evi turned around slowly.

This was the most beautiful meadow she had ever seen.  The green was so dense, it stilled her hunger.  It refreshed her.  It cleared her mind.

‘And my baby?’

‘No, not the baby.’

Evi nodded.

‘I understand.’

‘The decision is yours.  Whatever you chose will be alright with us.’

‘Will I remember this meadow?  Will I remember talking to you?’

God paused for effect.

‘As long as you promise not to tell the world, or they will all want to come and see.’

He smiled.  He knew her answer before he had asked her: he knew that Evi had to go back, for her husband, her children, and those that she had not yet met.  He knew she loved the looks of the meadow, but that deep in her heart, this would not fulfil her eternity: not yet.

***

The nurse came running.

‘Doctor?’

He turned.  Tired, worn out, it was time that his duty finished, and he could go home to his own wife and children. There had been too much drama today already.

‘Yes, Nurse?’

‘Doctor, please, come.  Right now!’

She was breathless.  Her face was flushed.

‘What is it?’

‘Please, it is urgent!’

‘Well, hold on, if it is not a question of life and death, I want to hand this death certificate to Mr B first, so they can start …’

‘NO!’

The nurse’s scream made him stop.

‘Don’t give him that certificate, for heaven’s sake: his wife is NOT dead!’

‘What?’

He stood, open mouthed, gawping at her.

‘She is not dead?’

At her insistence, he allowed her to guide him to the room where they kept the dead, before fixing them for the family to see one last time.  He glanced at his watch.  45 minutes ago, he himself had asked the nurses to take Mrs B to that room: her body too much of a mess for her husband and parents to see her, blood everywhere like after a day of slaughter at the farm.

‘She must be dead!’

The nurse shaking her head, pulling him along.

‘I know.  We all checked her pulse, we all wanted her to live.  There was no pulse, no breath, nothing.  We left her and just now, as we pushed in old Mrs M who had passed in her sleep, there was movement and a moan from Mrs B.  Can you imagine?  That new trainee nurse, she got such a fright!  And when I checked, Mrs B opened her eyes, smiled and asked when she could go home!’

Still speechless, the nurse led the doctor into a cold and clammy room, where a gaggle of nurses and attendants were huddled around Evi who struggled to sit up.

They all hushed as the doctor stepped near.  His tears now tears of joy and gladness; gladness at being wrong; gladness at being able to tell her husband that she was alive, that there had been a mistake.

‘Mrs B’, he greeted her as he grabbed for her wrist, bruised and purple from the catheters and injections.

Her pulse was strong and regular.

‘May I please check you out really quick?’

With a nod of his head he sent all but the head nurse away.

‘We thought you were dead’, he gently approaches a difficult subject.

‘I know’, Evi admitted.

‘You know?’

Evi fell back onto her hospital crib.

‘I know.’

She closed her eyes, feeling her heart beat strong and steady, alive with her pulse and full of a new spirit.

***

‘Mr B?’

The doctor approached, a sheen on his face that Evi’s family could not place.  Surely, the doctor would not come and talk to them about her death with a smile on his face?

‘I have something to tell you …’

***

‘The big man himself!  I am honoured!’  Death pretended to spit on the hospital floor, but as he had no bodily fluids, it was nothing but a hollow gesture.

‘Good managers check on their workforce, didn’t you know?’

Death frowned.  He shook, his anger seething.  He hated being reminded that he was nothing better than a lackey to the big man.

‘It is all right now.  Evi is back.’

‘I hate you’, he squeezed out with gritted teeth, throwing darts of spite at the retreating back of light.

‘I know’, God whispered, just loud enough for Death to hear.

***

And so, Evi got to heal in the hospital for a week, her husband seeing her with renewed love, the children sad that their new sister now would not be playing with them after all.

Death stands by, waiting.

He watches her pin grow old and dusty, sees the many times when he could have thrown that bowling ball, or even a tennis ball – anything to topple her.  But whenever he wants to sneak a closer look at her, there is the spirit of an Angel or even the Big Man himself, watching out for Evi.

Slowly, he picks off one after the other around her, toying.  He knows that she has seen him, and that she no longer fears what he can do to her.  He hates her for that.  He hates her for knowing of her heaven, knowing of the greenest meadow there ever was.

Death stands and polishes that bowling ball, just for Evi.  And he knows that his time will come.