“Is that an invitation?”
“Yes.”
“Good, I accept. Thank you for taking pity on the strange, bearded old man in the trench coat. I hope I can be a good houseguest and—”
“Actually, I wanted to see if you could help me fix it up.”
“Me? I’m getting up there in years.”
Gabriel waved dismissively. “Oh, stop. The biggest problem is the nasty little porch. That thing is a piece of junk. I’m going to tear it down.”
“And you want me to help?”
“Sure.” Gabriel nodded. “I’ve drafted a blueprint. We’re going to install a wraparound deck. I’ve estimated that the total work would take me several months on my own, but I believe that you and I could knock it out in less than half that time.”
Building a deck? Years ago, Gareth would’ve loved the idea, but at his age, his bones ached at the mere thought of it. He looked at Gabriel, hoping it was a joke, but his friend’s expression was sincere and hopeful. Gabriel had always possessed the unique talent of being able to get Gareth to do things he didn’t initially want to do. But building a deck at his age and in his condition was an insane notion. “I’m sorry,” Gareth said. “I can’t help you with that. I can’t—”
“It’ll be fun.” Gabriel smiled. “We’ll get started on that next month. Maybe next week we can go sailing and discuss the blueprint? We’ll have some beers, maybe consider what supplies we should use. Oh, and I had some other ideas, too.”
“Ideas?” Gareth said, wincing at the slight whine in his voice.
Gabriel’s eyes glistened. “Let’s go skydiving, Gareth. That’d be amazing, wouldn’t it?”
Gareth frowned, bewildered by Gabriel’s obliviousness to the many ways that old age had torn him apart. But then, he saw through to the deeper problem. It wasn’t that Gabriel wasn’t noticing Gareth’s age; he wasn’t noticing anything. The genius immunologist was so wrapped up in his own pain that the real world had become a mere picture portrait.
“Yvonne, too, of course,” Gabriel continued. “I was thinking we should go skydiving in New Zealand, maybe as early as next summer. Just imagine it. I looked at the map this morning, and I’d estimate that NZ is probably about a twenty-three-hour flight, depending on weather conditions. And I’ve heard that—”
“Gabriel, stop.”
Gabriel looked confused. “Pardon?”
“Let’s talk about science,” Gareth said. “Diseases, autopoiesis. Your work. Something like that.”
Gabriel shook his head. “No, I’m sick of that stuff. Every time the subject comes up, it makes me feel like a failure, okay?” His face was bright red. He was rarely so open about his emotions. Maybe it was the alcohol.
“Don’t say that, Gabriel.”
“But it’s true. For all my bluster and high hopes, what tangible goal have I accomplished? Nobody’s interested in funding my research. I’ve gone up in front of people at least twenty or thirty times, practically begging them, and nobody believes anything I have to say. They think I’m a crackpot.”
“They just don’t know yet. They’ll learn. When you come out with your cure, the scientific community will—”
“How do you know? Look, I’m a laughingstock in my field of choice. I’ve never held any immunology-related job for more than a year. In the eyes of the scientific world, I’m a strange conspiracy theorist with even stranger ideas. So, no. I don’t want to talk about work. Let’s talk about skydiving. See, if you, Yvonne, and I leave for New Zealand sometime in August—”
Gareth laughed then immediately regretted it because Gabriel’s expression became blank and cold.
“What’s so funny?” Gabriel asked.
“I’m sorry. But look at the wrinkles on my face. I’m old.”
“I see them,” Gabriel muttered. “I know the cause behind every symptom of every illness of every person I encounter. I know you’re getting older. I’m not blind. I’m not trying to be callous, either.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m telling you not to give up, goddamn it.” Gabriel slapped the table. “Don’t give up so damn easily! You can still take risks. Still go on thrill rides, still fly out to foreign countries, still jump out of helicopters.”
“But why would I?”
“Because you’ve always loved doing things like that,” Gabriel said with a surprising degree of emotional conviction. “Old age doesn’t mean you have to give up the things you love.”
“No, it doesn’t, but old age does reveal to you the things that you really love. When you get to be my age, when you can’t even pick change up off the floor without hurting your back, you’ll understand. Yes, I had an exciting youth, one I don’t regret. But at this point in my life, it’s the simple things—love, companionship, my faith, the church, a good paperback novel—that I enjoy now. Maybe that makes me sound like a broken-down old geezer, but there it is.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Oh, stop it.”
“Stop what? Stop whining?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“It’s okay. Because I’m not whining. I’m actually quite happy with my life, all things considered. The truth is, I’m an insufferable old geezer. Why should I deny that?”
“Because you’re giving up,” Gabriel said. “And you don’t have to.”
“Strange to hear that from you, since you just admitted to giving up on your life’s work. You don’t have to give up, Gabriel. Someday, you’ll be my age, and you’ll understand. You’ll know what it’s like to reach the point in your life where all the exciting moments are done and you’re free to just sit back, reminisce, and patiently look forward to heaven.”
Gabriel shook his head and gulped down the rest of his ale. He motioned for the waitress to bring him another. “Marvelous. Let’s waste our last years looking forward to an imaginary kingdom in the clouds.”
Gareth sighed. “Fine. Substitute ‘death’ for ‘heaven.’ When you reach my age, when your body has transformed from a friend into a withering old enemy, the one thing a man looks forward to the most is death.”
Gabriel stared at him then shook his head. “No. Never. I won’t. I refuse.”
