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The Shadows of the Future
The Man Who Refused to Pass Away, a Novel (18)
Chapter 18: The Shadows of the Future
There are many things of which we remain ignorant; the future, foremost among them. An age-old adage proclaims that ignorance is bliss, that what we do not know cannot harm us.
The profundity of such maxims is a matter of debate. One can choose, quite deliberately, not to acquaint themselves with the mysteries that lie beyond the veil of tomorrow. To live entirely in the present, to forsake the burdens of apprehension. In these moments, the mind is free from the shackles of anticipation. We, as humans, inhabit a spectrum of emotions, their nuances varying from one soul to another. Some are born as eternal optimists, basking in the light of hope, while others find solace in the darkness of pessimism, painting their present and future in shades of despair.
It is only natural that such diversity exists within our species. The eternal tussle between optimism and pessimism is an enduring facet of human existence, a timeless struggle that has accompanied us through the ages. Some grapple with it more fervently than others, and this is to be expected.
Yet, the beauty lies in the fact that we are a diverse species. Our differences span a wide spectrum, and, sadly, sometimes even delve into darker realms. However, it is our duty to transcend these distinctions, to look past the veneer, and to delve into the heart of our shared humanity. Over the course of our existence, we have learned the art of tuning out the pessimistic cacophony — the relentless voices both within and outside ourselves.
I had never envisioned Elsa’s departure from my life until the day when an unsettling omen descended upon us.
Returning home one evening, I entered the threshold of our living room to find Elsa reclined on the sofa, her posture unnaturally twisted. It struck me immediately, an oddity within the usual contours of her relaxation. My apprehension rippled through me, urging me forward. I approached her swiftly, my hand instinctively resting on her shoulder, and I asked with deep concern, “Are you alright?”
Elsa responded promptly, her acknowledgement washing away my initial fears.
“What’s going on?” I inquired, seeking answers.
She had not vanished, as my initial dread had forewarned. Instead, she nodded and, with some effort, righted herself.
I knelt before her, my eyes locked onto hers, and pressed, “Tell me what’s happened.” She brushed it off, suggesting it was nothing more than temporary fatigue and mild nausea.
Placing my hands gently upon her shoulders, I urged her to meet my gaze. “No signs of facial drooping,” I observed with relief.
Elsa continued her work at the library. She cherished her job deeply, once envisioning herself laboring until the age of seventy. She was three years my junior, and our shared aspiration was to embrace a prolonged retirement together, traversing our golden years side by side as retirees.
Following the incident on the sofa, wherein her recovery was swift, I encouraged her to consult a physician for a comprehensive check-up. She complied a week later, and the doctor’s assessment yielded no disconcerting findings. We breathed a collective sigh of relief, deeming all to be in order.
Our life, Elsa’s and mine, was built upon the edifice of the present. We reveled in the now, the moments we inhabited together. While we occasionally grappled with anxiety and uncertainty, we placed our trust in intuition and emotion to steer us. The shades of these experiences varied dramatically from person to person. We had emerged as robust individuals, shaped by our habit of indulging in regular walks — a ritual we had established over the past two years. I had also maintained consistent visits to the gym for a couple of years. However, the onset of the pandemic had forced a pause in our routines. Even when society eventually reopened, numerous activities remained in abeyance, including my gym sessions. I had chosen to replace my workouts with long sojourns amidst nature, at times persuading Elsa to accompany me.
In general, we refrained from fixating on the encroaching specter of aging or the inexorable approach of death. In recent years, we have rekindled our connection, nurturing a harmonious relationship that allows us to live peacefully alongside one another. Both of us had become adept at choosing our words carefully, defusing potential conflicts with grace. We harbored no desire to return to the days when a careless word, an ill-considered remark, or even a lingering glance could spark unresolved tensions, culminating in intense arguments.
Life had imparted its wisdom upon us, teaching us the art of resolution with minimal discord, sidestepping needless tossing, and turning. This approach had graced us with several precious years of profound connection, during which we reveled in each other’s presence. It was a period where we did not have to force ourselves to change or appease others. We felt secure with each other, confident enough not to be rattled by occasional disagreements or actions that did not fully align with our preferences.
We both recognized that disagreements were inevitable. I would often remind myself that I could not control Elsa’s emotions or reactions when she was upset or angry, or when she took issue with something I had said or done. In those moments, I chose to see her response as her own challenge to overcome, and I firmly believed — and still do — that the best way we could be for each other was by being authentic, unburdened by the opinions of others. I felt that everyone should journey through life with a sense of self-worth, trusting that they held significance to others. The most beautiful aspects of life, the true joys, manifested when we confronted life’s challenges head-on.
Our lives, once unburdened by thoughts of the future, had taken on a richer, more profound texture. We lived each moment fully, appreciating the beauty of the present. Elsa and I had grown closer, nurturing a deeper understanding of each other’s idiosyncrasies. Our lives together were a testament to the art of love and companionship. We reveled in our shared experiences, unworried about the enigmatic horizon of the future.
It was during one of our tranquil walks through the serene woods that we stumbled upon an old, moss-covered bench nestled beneath a majestic oak tree. We decided to rest there, letting the tranquility of the forest envelop us. The world seemed to disappear as we sat side by side, sharing silence that spoke volumes. The whisper of the wind through the leaves and the distant chirping of birds formed a melodic backdrop to our thoughts.
As we gazed into the forest, the play of dappled sunlight on the forest floor seemed to convey the essence of existence — a fleeting dance of light and shadow. Elsa turned her head towards me, her eyes reflecting the depths of our shared emotions. Her voice, soft as a secret, broke the silence.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” she began, her words hanging in the air, laden with unspoken gravity.
I felt the weight of her words before she even uttered them, an anticipatory ache in my chest. “Tell me,” I urged gently.
She took a deep breath, her gaze never leaving mine. “I’ve kept this from you, wanting to spare you the worry,” she confessed. “But I can’t bear the burden of this secret any longer.”
Dread knotted within me as I listened, feeling the gravity of her unspoken truth. It hung in the air, casting a somber pall over our tranquil sanctuary.