by Shadows
There was no follow-up because he knew no names, but still, even to have one day feeling that way would make it worthwhile. Even if it was just that one day.
Theo ordered herbal coffee and cheese but could swallow nothing. Sometimes he felt so exhausted, so suddenly and completely drained, he wanted to lay his head on the table and sleep. Sometimes he did nod off, wake to find himself still there, his coffee cold in front of him.
Theo was grateful for the pile of magazines, so he could withdraw into himself, not engage. Many were tourist magazines from Dusseldorf and he flicked through these, looking for things to talk about
When Jason sat down an hour later, Theo said, “How long did you live in Dusseldorf?” thinking it a safe, intelligent question.
“Never even been. I just like the sound of the name. Don’t you?”
“Except people don’t call your cafe that, do they?”
“Don’t they?”
“They call it Death’s Door Café.”
“Because of the doors.”
He pointed at the huge wooden door where the ill people entered. The door Theo wanted to enter.
“We call that Gladiator. We dunno how many died behind it. But plenty. You can see sweat marks from their hands as they stood leaning against it. Some came through okay. But plenty died.”
“I’m . . . curious to know what’s behind that door.” Theo wished he had a script, but everyone spoke to Jason differently. “You’ve taken a lot of people through.”
“I have. When I get to know someone well, sometimes I’ll let them through.”
“I’d like that. I need that.”
“People do.”
“But I’ve been given . . .” Theo couldn’t say the words aloud. He’d told no one the timing, barely acknowledged to himself that his life could be counted in months.
“You like it here, don’t you?”
“I do. Really. There’s something very calming about the place.”
“That’s what we aim for. Our customers . . . mostly they’ve made a decision. Come to an acceptance, or had a realization. It calms you, to be in that state of mind.”
Jason Davies put his hands on Theo’s.
“Can you tell me who recommended you?”
“Nobody. I just heard about it.”
“Usually we only accept recommendations. How did you hear about us?”
Theo blinked. “I’m afraid I eavesdropped on a plane. I guess they thought no one could hear, because they were talking under a blanket, but my hearing is very good. I had to find the place myself, though.”
He knew everyone was listening, because he had heard all the other interviews, both the successes and the failures. He hadn’t identified why some failed.
“Tell me about yourself,” Jason said. He had the questionnaire on the table before him. “It says here your greatest fear is bats.”
“No! Not at all. The death of bats. That’s my greatest fear.”
Jason tapped his nose. “Is this an element of your disease?”
Theo felt his cheeks flush. He rubbed his nose. All his life, blood had drained from it when he was nervous, scared or tired. Children weren’t smart enough to think of connecting it to bat’s white nose fungus, but he thought of it himself and he didn’t mind. He liked the similarity.
“No, this is just nerves. My fingertips go white sometimes, too. It’s not life-threatening. Not like the bat disease. It gets carried from one cave to another by people who love bats and want to see them all. One of those ironies.”
“People are a bit like that, aren’t they?”
He asked Theo about bats, simple questions, leading him to feel comfortable, relaxed.
“All right. Look, come through.”
Jason led the way through the gladiator door, through a short hallway to a bright-red door covered with stickers of unicorns, rainbows and puppies. Family of four b1952, b1953, b1975, b1980, d1984. Theo touched it.
“Father gathered them in the toy room and shot them all,” said Jason. “Incredible tragedy. But don’t things lose their awfulness over time? Become gossip, or matters of curiosity?”
Theo realized he was asking an actual question.
“It’s still awful, isn’t it? That the children died. And the wife.” Theo thought he heard voices inside and the sound of a ball bouncing.
Jason smiled. “Yes. Of course it is. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Theo thought this made no sense at all.
Jason led Theo to a small, sunny alcove. A young woman sat there, sipping from a delicate tea cup. Her black hair was soft around her head.
“This is Cameron. She’s going to ask you some questions, talk to you a bit about your questionnaire.”
Theo sat down and smiled at Cameron. She smiled back.
“Would you like a cup of herbal tea?”
“No, thank you. I just finished one.” Theo found it hard to contain his nerves, to maintain politeness.
“Okay then.” She was very still and Theo was still with her. “What did you think of the questionnaire?”
He laughed. “It was pretty full on. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about myself like that before.”
Do you think of yourself as a good person? Is there anything that makes you feel guilty? How much do you give to charity each year? How many hours of voluntary work do you do each week? Do you feel guilty about the number of hours you do?
“I wasn’t sure what the point was.”
“The point is never meant to be clear in these things. We just want an understanding of you and your motivations. It’s really an important part of the process. And, to be honest, we’re not interested in helping psychopaths.”
“I hope I’m not one of those.”
She smiled. “You are not.”
They talked for another hour. Theo hadn’t felt so relaxed in a long time, and he hadn’t ever talked about himself for so long. She seemed to understand about the bats, and didn’t blame him for his state of loneliness. She spun her wedding ring periodically and he appreciated the signal; this is all it is, she was telling him. He liked things to be clear.
Jason joined them. “Feeling okay?”
Theo nodded. He didn’t want to mention how he felt physically.
“Okay. So what we’re talking about here is a second chance. You came to us, like all the others did, because you’re desperate. You want to have another go at it. And you’re tired of the pain, and the fear. Is that about right?”
“Yes.” Theo’s throat constricted and the word came out as a whisper.
“All right then. We need to sort out the paperwork.” Jason opened the folder he carried and removed papers and a pen. “It will cost your life savings. I need to start with that. You need to begin this process with nothing to your name.”
Theo had been prepared for a high price. “If I die I’ll have nothing anyway.”
“Exactly. That’s all in the details. But then you will have to reconsider how you live your life. How you re-live it.”
“What does everyone else do, given a second chance?” He wanted that as well.
“Everybody is different. Every single person.”
Jason filled in the forms. Theo signed. He agreed never to kill, never to rape or maim. He agreed to live a good life, to make the most of his second chance. He signed the papers believing fully in this commitment.
“So . . . what is going to happen? Can I ask? What is the actual process?”
“We can talk about that tomorrow when you come back for your appointment.”
“Come here? So is there a clinic here or something?”
“We can talk about that tomorrow.” Jason said. “My suggestion is that you spend the day somewhere you care about. Somewhere important. Some will spend it with loved ones, but many prefer not to. There is nothing certain in this world and this is no exception.”
Theo knew there were questions he could ask.
“It will take all you’ve got. We’ve discussed the money. But the life. You will be leaving your past behind. The people, the places. You won’t want to visit your bat cave again.”
“There are other bat caves.”
“You’ll feel nothing for them. That memory will be lessened, so much so that you will wonder where you read about it, if you think of it at all.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Make your visits. And decide. It’s never too late to change your mind. But this may be your last chance.”
Theo went to the bat cave, his first visit in 17 months. Only the memory of them remained but that memory was strong. Hours spent on a rough mat on the cave floor, his face covered, listening to them, feeling the flap of their wings. Close to half a million bats was the estimation, and through three generations of Theo’s family there had been no harm, no damage. Then reports came in of the diseases they carried, and one scientist was bitten. Theo couldn’t even remember now if the man had died; certainly there was a lot of fuss. Theo never believed it was the bats.
His father was determined. “Too many kids here to risk,” he said, because there were cousins as well as siblings, all of them working on the farm, balancing it with school.
He was advised that fire was the best, the kindest way. That the smoke would put the bats to sleep and the fire would then burn the bodies so they weren’t left with half a million corpses, just a pile of ash that could be swept away.
Theo’s father made the children stay in the house, but it was an old place with gaps so the smell came through dead clear. They watched smoke billowing out, saw Theo’s dad dashing out for air then back in again, and again, the whole thing taking most of the day. Theo’s grandfather helped, and the brothers, all Theo’s uncles, no women allowed to kill. Women inside keeping the kids quiet, baking up scones and cakes, stirring soup, all of them talking bright and cheerful as if a massacre was not taking place.
Theo never forgave them for that.
It wasn’t as if the advice was right; the smoke did not kill them all, so many were burnt to death. And the fire did not burn them all to ash; the bodies piled at the entrance to the cave so that Theo and his cousins had to help dig the men out. Those bat bodies still warm, some charred, and the flutter of them, the sense they were still alive when they weren’t. And the smell; he’d thought he was used to guano, that he actually liked it, but this was like poison.
It was years later a journalist came to confront his father with evidence the bats hadn’t needed to die.
Theo’s father cried as the journalist continued relentlessly to tell him . . . you didn’t have to. Those bats had lived in the cave for 150 years and you killed them.
Theo cried, too. He said to his father, as he had said many times, “You should have saved the bats.”
The farm was no longer in his family. His father was too sick to look after anything at all. His mother long gone. “Those bats. All that bat shit,” his father said, coughing, furious.
The new owners didn’t mind Theo visiting, as long has he didn’t come knocking on the door for water. The bat cave was empty. Theo could see his own footprints in the dirt floor, and the broom marks from the last time he’d tidied up. Guano still decorated the walls and the rocks, and the smell of smoke, and the walls were dark from the fire. He lay on the ground and tried to imagine them back again, alive, generations of them coming and going and his family with no guilt on their heads.
It was there he decided. Imagine not caring anymore. Imagine not carrying this guilt, this sorrow. And this pain.
Theo couldn’t eat or sleep that night. In the morning, he dressed carefully. A casual suit, a fresh, pale mauve cotton shirt, clean shoes, underwear he wasn’t embarrassed by. Clothes he’d be happy to be buried in, if it came to that.
He felt as if the atmosphere at the Dusseldorf Café was charged, as if they were all watching him with envy.
The waiter brought him a carrot juice he didn’t order. “On the house!”, patting him on the back as if congratulating him.
Just the smell of it made Theo feel sick. He’d never been so nervous, so terrified, in all his life.
Jason came to his table after half an hour. “Come on through,” he said. The other regulars all held their breath, it seemed to Theo. As if they could bring the magic to themselves by not breathing. He wiggled his fingers goodbye.
They walked through the gladiator door.
Jason said, “Did you manage to see anyone yesterday?”
“There’s not really anyone I wanted to see. My family . . . we’re not really in touch. Nothing in common.”
Jason nodded, smiled, as if this was ordinary, something he heard all the time. “It’s the people left behind who suffer when someone dies, so a loner leaves less grief than a father of three.”
“But I’m still worthy. That’s part of why I’m here,” said Theo. “I want time to make a family of my own, one I choose and have a chance to mould.”
“Most people don’t like being moulded.”
“I want a second chance, to make people care.” Theo thought for a moment, then amended it to, “To find someone to care for. I don’t want to die alone. This will give me the chance, it’ll help me to find someone. It’ll be different this time.”
“How different?”
“I’ve made my money. I won’t have to focus on that.”
“You won’t have much, though. Financially, it’ll be like starting again.”
“But I don’t care now. I’ve done that. I want something else.”
Jason touched his shoulder. “Good. That’s very good. Now, the last thing we need to do is to get you to handwrite a letter. To cover us. It’s a farewell letter of sorts.”
“Who do I make it out to?”
“It needs to be to someone who knows you very well as you are now. You really have no one?”
Theo thought of his managers, his staff. “I’ve got people.” He made it out to his vice-president.
He had little to say; he’d long since dealt with the business side of things, anticipating his own death.
“And then there’s this.” It was a promise of complete secrecy. “Do not tell others what happens. You may, if you are absolutely certain they are suitable, recommend someone, but do not bring them in yourself.”
They walked.
They passed through a bullet-scarred door to a long hallway. “One of Ben Hall’s gang died in front of this door. Shot to death.” Jason poked a finger through one of the holes.
“There is a bat cave where that gang holed up,” Theo said. “No one really knows where. Or they do but they want to protect the bats.”
“So many connections,” Jason said. “Now, what we have back here is a series of rooms. We’re going to have a look at them, and you’ll choose the one which suits you.”
“How will I know?”
“You’ll feel an empathy. Feel it physically, almost as if you could pick it up. One of these rooms will resonate with you. You’ll feel a grieving, a sense of loss. One of these rooms will make your heart beat faster, or bring a lump to your throat. You don’t need to know why; you need to listen to your body.”
The door on Room One looked like it had come from a ship. Inside was a small children’s room.
“A child died behind this door. It was so airtight and heavy, when the ship sunk he couldn’t get out. He suffocated.”
“Oh, God.” Theo closed his eyes. He thought he sensed movement which made him dizzy. He reached out to balance himself on Jason.
“Let’s look at the others before you make up your mind.”
They walked. “What’s . . . actually going to happen in the room?” Theo asked. “Once I’ve chosen it?”
“There will be some relaxation exercises. We always start with that.”
Theo thought, I
’m an idiot. No one knows I’m here. Who knows what the fuck these people are doing. I’m insane. I should go.
“Everyone feels nervous at this point, but I don’t like to pre-discuss too much. It’s better this way. Tell me about what you might do with your second chance. Your questionnaire wasn’t big on helping others, Theo. Would you address that, perhaps?”
“I would,” Theo said. “Because it makes sense.” He wasn’t sure that was true.
“You might be asked to do more good than you have done before. The universe may ask this, I mean.”
Theo was silent. No one had expected him to do good before. “Of course,” he said. “Whatever it takes.” He had an absolute terror of death, after his experience with the bats, and with his mother’s passing. He wanted to avoid it for as long as possible; until he was deep in dementia and didn’t notice his own dying, if possible.
The door on Room Two was narrow, with inlaid wood. It seemed Asian in influence.
“This is a popular one. Behind this door a Chinese prostitute was beaten to death over a hundred years ago.” Theo leaned toward the door, wanting to touch the detail.
“This one?” Jason asked. He pushed the door open. The smell was overwhelming; incense, and perfume, as if both were present in living form.
Theo shook his head.
Room Three was a toilet with an opaque glass door.
“He died in the toilet. Fat and lazy. Heart attack at 42, lay on the floor, paralyzed, blocking the door. They couldn’t get him out for four hours. Everything in the rooms is recreated precisely.”
Theo shuddered. Stepped away. Put his hand over his face.
“Not that one, then. People do choose it, you’d be surprised. Smell and all.
The door to Room Four was a studded, shiny one.
“He slept through the hotel fire alarm and died of smoke inhalation. No one realized he wasn’t safe.”
Jason looked at Theo.
“This one could be for you.”
He opened the door and they stepped inside. It was a typical, dull hotel room. The fan overhead spun slowly, slightly off kilter, and there was a sound to it like flapping bat wings.
