The Human Cancer
Kevin didn�t bother to wipe his face. He had been surprised enough that he had wept, even for that brief moment, and had no desire to lose the evidence that it had happened. He heard Rachael�s door close with a loud thud and saw her figure retreat back into the warmth of her home. Bowing his head, he breathed a short prayer of thanksgiving for her friendship, and upon opening his eyes threw his hands in the air in a gesture of resignation.
He laughed at himself. "Talk about melodramatic." He had always been like that, for as long as he could remember. Upon feeling strongly about anything at all, he would become the lead in a bad re-enactment of Hamlet, soliloquizing morosely for all the night to hear. Or Tolkien�s Frodo, speaking of the acute weight of his burden. Tonight, though, Kevin didn�t feel like either of those. "Heathcliff," he said. Now there was a guy he could get along with. Quite the antihero. Everyone was dying to love him. "There�s a double meaning if I ever heard one," he said, and then laughed suddenly at his thoughts. He had hated the book, said a romantic novel had no place in his education. Mrs. Mitchell told him that he never really understood it, and it was only reluctantly she had given him an A on his essay. He would have to look at it when he got home, but couldn�t do that yet. There was something else he had to do, to think, to understand. The evening wasn�t finished with him yet, his heart was certain of that.
Kevin took the long road home instead. Across the old sports complex, a short hike along the highway, and the side roads would take him back into town. More briskly now, he turned and headed towards the goalposts at the other end of the field. He always thought more clearly when he was moving. His mind wandered to Shannon, and walking this quickly he could see her every feature. His heart skipped a beat, and as he recovered was certain there was more emptiness to be found than just in the rhythm of the stone in his chest. The familiar pang of regret assailed him again, and he shivered. He had forgotten how cold it was. Drawing his coat more tightly around his thin body, he retreated further into his thoughts. The regret had not left.
Kevin wasn�t even sure what he regretted anymore. Some days it was the simple sadness of knowing he could not hold her. During others it was more profound � wishing he had fought to keep her, or perhaps had the wisdom to know that he could never have kept her in the first place. It would have been kinder, to himself not least.
Why did he not listen to the promptings of his heart? Kevin had heard of people ignoring what they had known was right. "For although they knew God, they neither glorified him nor gave thanks to him," he recited, recalling the words from Romans. It had always been a comfort to know that he had not rejected the God who had whispered in his ears from birth. "And now," he said rhetorically, "I�m no better than them, am I? I knew in my heart she could never love me. I knew it." He paused, pondering the effect of these words spoken aloud for the first time. "I wanted it so badly, even an imitation would do. At least I could pretend that it was real, or that it could be." Fantasy. Pure unpolluted inventive fantasy. He had once told a friend that it was the highest, purest and freest genre of writing because it didn�t rely on reality in the slightest, but only on imagination. It could be completely impossible and lose none of its power to speak universal truth. He wished now that he didn�t have that conversation to remember.
That last thought was too much to stand, so he sat instead. Shannon would have laughed at the impulsiveness of it, and Rachael would have worried over him like a mother hen. Still, there was something strange about the night that greeted his eyes. In the midst of his musings and sorrow, Kevin felt oneness with that place and time, as if he were meant to be there. Warmth filled his body, and inexplicably he smiled. The face of even his beloved only dimly remained in his mind and he became lost in the beauty of the moment. He felt sure that it had been made just for him. He was aware of so much then. A beetle was inching its way across the road, slowly and steadily, not even noticing him. A single shaft of moonlight broke through the trees and brought life to a brittle blade of grass. Stars shone overhead, now brightly, now faintly, and Kevin was sure he could dance with them. He reached towards the green bathed in moonlight, and plucked the blade of grass from its roots. He held it carefully between his fingers, and it snapped in two.
He sighed as the beauty of the moment slipped away, more tangibly than water falling through cupped hands. He sank to his knees, and would have pressed his face to cold earth had he not heard a sound, undeniably the sound of a body sinking in defeat. He knew it well enough. He could have gone on in his thoughts, seeking in vain for the rebirth of that beautiful moment, but Rachael�s voice came to his mind. "You never know what could be out there," she would warn. He could see the lines on her face from there. He wouldn�t want to burden her, so he stood and began walking again. The stars were no longer dancing, and Kevin felt that somehow he was turning his back on something he was destined to be a part of. He shook his head to rid himself of that silly thought, but it no longer seemed ludicrous, for he saw what had made the noise so much like his own.
It was too dark to see well, but the figure collapsed unmoving on the ground was definitely human, for its bare feet were pale and shone faintly in the moonlit sky. Kevin wondered what kind of a person would be out at this time of night and weather, except perhaps himself, especially a frail old man. That much he could tell before he reached him, for he seemed to possess shrunken muscle. He was dressed all in black and his head was covered in a crown of grey hair. No more could be divined as he walked forward, though, because the man seemed frozen in a prostate form, as if in prayer. Despite the fact that the man seemed to be in need of help, Kevin could not help but notice the tranquility of the scene: a forest glade away from the road, a chill wind breathing through the trees, stars shining anew above, and in the midst of it all, a man dressed in the simplest clothes. Thinking back on the moment later, he was reminded of the words of Jesus when he spoke of the lilies of the field, that did not labour or spin, and yet were more beautiful than anything man could create.
He was trained to act in these situations, though, so Kevin mused only as he moved forward. "Are you all right?" he called, expecting and receiving no response. No one could survive in little more than a jumpsuit in temperatures so could they could freeze a tear. Upon reaching the man, though, Kevin was surprised that the limbs were not stiff at all, and that warmth coursed through his veins. Still, whoever this was chose not to fight or even respond, even if they had the strength to, and that was cause for alarm. Kevin flipped him onto his back.
The face was striking, not least because it seemed set in stone. If not for the slight evidence of a blink, Kevin would have thought the man dead. He did not speak but his silvery eyes seemed to do the work for him, pleading quite plainly to be left alone.
His instincts had already been roused, though. Kevin saw a man with a thin and weak face who needed medical attention, and gauged the situation accordingly. He could see the lights of the hospital straight ahead, nearly a half mile of wild forest away. The road back into town was a mile or more behind him. There was no time. There was nothing to do but brave the forest, though it was uneven and unkempt. Kevin took off his jacket and felt cold air rush into his bones, but then wrapped the man in it and picked him up. He was lighter than he had supposed. Kevin looked ahead resolutely for a moment and began to run.
It was mostly uphill, and it was dark. Kevin couldn�t see more than a few feet in front of him, and with a man�s body obstructing the view, blindness would not have been a great loss. More than once he tripped over a tree root or a dip in the ground. The path that he was making wound its way steadily upwards, though, and as each minute passed he could see more of the lights that signaled the end of his journey.
Long distance walking was his passion in exercise; he had an almost endless supply of stamina so long as he had no goal or deadline. Now he had both, and the pressure was building in both his legs and his mind. Was he too late? Was he strong enough to bear the burden? Thoughts raced through his mind, and the only clear one was that finding this man was no accident. He had known somehow that something important would happen tonight that involved him, and as the slop became steeper Kevin knew that he was presently in the midst of it.
The muscles in his legs began to tighten, and a stitch in his side throbbed painfully, but still he ran on. The outline of the hospital was clear now, lit by dozens of windows, and the main doors of the building moved slowly upwards into Kevin�s sight, much like an elevator. His feet began to shuffle painfully along the ground as the slope ended, and a street bathed in lamplight passed quickly beneath him.
In the midst of the road he could go no further, and fell, exhausted, to the ground. The man fell sideways against him, and Kevin watched, as a spectator, as his head violently struck the ground. With a great sense of urgency, Kevin summoned what strength he had left to traverse the remaining steps to the help in whose shadow they lay, but stopped quickly as a faint whimper � the first sound he had heard from the stranger�s mouth � related that he was in pain. Kevin then noticed small flecks of red dotting the ground, directly beneath the man�s head. He instinctively felt for a wound and heard another cry of pain. Removing his hand, Kevin saw two of his own fingers dyed red at the tips. He knew that there was no time to lose, and despite the man�s continued sounds of suffering, raised him over his shoulders and sprinted across the street, up a half dozen agonizing steps, and through the doors. He had never been so thankful for inward hinges.
Collapsing on the ground, Kevin fought to keep his eyes open as two young doctors in white robes tore the man from his grasp. He felt a third trying to raise his own body as he fell unconscious, exhausted and unable to move another muscle.
He awoke with a stabbing pain in his back, and only just caught himself before falling to the hospital floor. Instead he hoisted himself back into a comfortable chair in what could only be the waiting room. Hearing his grunt of effort, a receptionist turned to him and said, "Doctor Kitmer said you were only exhausted, so we decided to let you rest here." Kevin nodded gratefully, noticing that the pain had lessened in his limbs. He sank deeper into the chair as he heard "don�t hesitate to ask if you need anything" and drifted off again into an uneasy sleep.
The sky was beginning to grey when he jerked suddenly awake for the second time. Black hair framing a concerned face greeted his eyes, and he went quickly tense. "Calm down," he heard, and saw a slender woman speaking to him. "I�m Doctor Melanie Kitmer. How are you feeling?"
The words took a moment to reach his brain. "I�m fine," he replied. Then he remembered how he had arrived there, as if his memory were on fast forward. He could almost feel the lines form on his face as he became more and more worried. Speaking quickly and urgently, he asked, "where is he? The man I brought in? Is he all right? Who �"
The doctor raised a hand to silence him. "He is resting in the Critical Care unit," she said, "though that may not be for long."
"Why?" he asked determinedly. His heart sunk in his chest. He must have been too late to save him. All that he had given him was the interruption of his final moments of peace.
The worry must have shown on his face, for she replied, "don�t worry. He could be expected to recover only because of your timely rescue." She seemed hesitant to say more.
"Then what is wrong with him?" he probed. Cancer? No, his help would have not meant hope of recovery then. Kevin was confused � evidently there was something wrong beyond his power, and yet saving him by the roadside seemed to have been beneficial nonetheless.
She paused, a calculating expression on her face. "Your intervention saved this man�s life, I�m sure of that. But he may die if he does not fight the symptoms of exposure. His condition has not improved in three hours, I�m afraid. He�s still alive, but we�ve noticed no change in body temperature, and he has made no sign at all. I would have pulled the plug, but something about his gaze was intriguing. It stopped me."
Kevin remembered that gaze. "A look of pleading?"
She stared at him, unsure what to think. "How did you know that?"
"Perhaps it would be best if I saw him."
She opened her mouth as if to argue, but simply stated "follow me." He followed, his legs feeling like lead as he marched down several corridors. Suddenly the doctor halted in front of him, ordered him to wait, and went into the room ahead. A moment later she returned, beckoning him to enter.
The scene that greeted his eyes didn�t seem right. The black of the man�s clothes contrasted completely with the white of the room. Laying on a simple bed, arms hanging limply at his side, he seemed out of place, as if being prostate on the ground were natural, and he had been forced into a travesty. No sound escaped his lips as Kevin moved forward.
He held the man�s hand in his own and felt warmth, just as he had in the glade. Kevin was acutely aware that his own hands were shivering. His entire body was frozen to the core. Yet as he connected with the man, Kevin felt as if he was being heated from the fingertips inwards, from the man he had rescued straight to his heart.
Amazed, Kevin raised his eyes to the stranger�s face, and a barely audible gasp escaped his mouth. Perhaps it was the effect of gazing into his eyes in the full light instead of the darkness outside, but they seemed so very old to him, much older than the frail hands that he grasped. They seemed to hold wisdom and power of their very own, of which Kevin could glimpse only a small part.
And yet they were pleading. What could Kevin give that these eyes did not already hold? What could he do for this man, so thin, so ragged, so high? He closed his eyes, shielding himself from the man�s relentless gaze, and fought for his own brand of wisdom � a wisdom for the moment, knowledge of his own part in these events, but nothing came. He opened his eyes again and still the unfathomable eyes stared at him, or through him, he couldn�t tell which.
Kevin�s muscles relaxed for a moment, and he felt helpless. He wanted to stay and help, but there was nothing that he could do. With a sigh, he pushed himself upwards, and then a sound broke the silence. The doctor yelled for help and ran rushing into the room, checking the machine. Kevin�s eyes met hers and she shook her head.
The sounds from the machine grew higher and more frequent as a second doctor rushed into the room, leaning over the man, searching for signs of life. Kevin felt as if he were in a different universe entirely. He simply watched as people rushed around the room, knowing their efforts would be futile. An urgency such as he had never known came upon him, and he knelt down again, gazing into the man�s face, willing himself to see something past a dying man�s desperation. He fixed all his thought towards it, and still there was nothing.
Suddenly, as the machine reached almost a fever pitch, the man jerked his hand forward and grasped Kevin by the shirt. His eyes were inches from Kevin�s, but their expression did not change; he noticed only that their look of pleading had intensified, becoming deeper and stronger. Slowly, Kevin felt the grip on his shirt lessen until it could no longer grasp. The hand let go entirely, and completely devoid of strength, struggled for moment against his chest, and then fell.
He looked away, too aware of a single high note ringing out endlessly.
The next hour was a blur. Kevin could never recall what he said later, whether to the doctors completely their follow-up reports, or the police questioning him with cold, formal, almost bored tones. All he could recall was breathing the fresh air and running home, trying to forget everything that had happened, completely oblivious to the pain in his legs or the exhausted groans from his chest. He dashed inside, slammed the door behind him, and, as though he had planned it all along, went to his cabinet and pulled out a folder entitled "ESSAYS."
He flipped through them one by one, until halfway through the pile he found one entitled "Heathcliff, the Human Cancer." Turning to the last page, he scanned the last paragraph and read aloud.
| "Heathcliff was a man with a curse. As we have seen, he could not exist without the belief that someone loved him, or at the very least that it was possible. Yet he also had the nature of one who destroys, not willingly, but inevitably. He possessed at once the dual and conflicting qualities of love and indifference. In the end, deprived of one of these extremes � love � he could only resort to the other, and was himself destroyed in the process. He is to be pitied, for he could only watch as those he loved clutched at him desperately before falling into darkness, the victims of a terrible disease. His curse was that he was the cancer." |
He clenched his fists, numbing the pain that he knew must come. His strength failed, his fingers stretched back, and waves of guilt and helplessness and despair poured over him.
He bowed his head to the ground and shivered.
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