I had not seen Robert Rosen for weeks. At first I was not surprised; his travels took him away for long intervals. As a retired doctor and widower, Bob had the freedom to vanish and suddenly appear as I pedaled on a stationary bike.  We were members of the NY Health & Racquet Club and committed to the same schedule: cycling and catching up, then separating to our preferred floors to use equipment and free weights. I recalled our last conversation while biking side by side.

“I won’t be seeing you for awhile.”

“Not another flight? You just got back .”

In his late seventies, Bob was bent on multiplying trips while his health was stable. Five years earlier, he had suffered a bout with cancer but emerged with a good prognosis. He was intent on staying ahead of the illness by globe-trotting to remote places. Bhutan, Borobudur, Bali: his exotic choices reminded me of the TV series, “Run For Your Life.” It starred Ben Gazzara as a man with a short time to live.   Though the main character was given only eighteen months, the series ran for three seasons. Like Paul Bryan, Bob was on the move, eager to do all the things for which he never had time. The TV series ended in the Sixties but Bob continued the storyline every time we met.

“So where is it now?”

He heard the mild disapproval and laughed.

“The Amazon.   I fly to Equador, board a cruise ship, and follow the river till we reach Brazil. I want to see as much of the rainforest as possible. It’s home to half the world’s floral species and hundreds of tribes.”

“The river is also home to anacondas and meat-eating piranhas. I suggest not trailing your hand in the water. How long will you be gone?”

“Four weeks.”

But five weeks had passed and Bob still hadn’t surprised me by an appearance. I didn’t think of calling him. During the time we’d known each other, we never exchanged an address or phone number. There was no apparent need since we exercised together. We were gym buddies who restricted our friendship to the club. In terms of daily presence, I had more access to Bob than my immediate family.

His absence continued into a fifth week when I received a call one morning from Bob’s housekeeper, Martha Davis, who had googled my name and found my phone number.  I confirmed who I was and she explained why she’d phoned.

“Dr Rosen would be grateful if you would stop by his apartment.”

I told myself Bob wanted to share in person the visuals of his trip. Not for him were the Iphone images attached by e-mail. He still took photos using his Nikon camera and enjoyed exhibiting them.

“Of course.   Is one o’clock a good time?”

“Yes. I’ll let him know.”

“Martha, did Dr Rosen return recently? I haven’t seen him at the gym.”

“He was forced to cut short his trip because of illness. He’s been home for two weeks.”

“What happened?”

“It’s better if he explained.”

I didn’t press Martha for information. I asked her for Bob’s address and confirmed my arrival at one.

It was an easy walk; his building was three blocks from my own. Martha escorted me into Bob’s study and left. I viewed the shelves crammed with medical tomes and travel books.

“He’s ready to see you,” she said, and she led me into his bedroom. Bob was propped up on pillows lying full length on his bed in pajamas and bathrobe. A man of six foot two, he seemed in five weeks to have contracted in stature. His gaunt face, thin body and bony limbs reminded me of W.H. Auden’s words, “time is indifferent in a week to a beautiful physique.”  Bob read my face and answered the silent question, “How did this happen?”

“I heeded your advice and kept away from the piranhas. They never had a chance. The cancer got me first.”   He paused and then added, “Thank you for coming.”

I pulled my chair closer and said, “I was eager for a replay of your journey. I hoped to hear it from a bike not a bed. What happened?”

“The plane trip tired me. It was a long flight to Quito. Still, I made my connection to the cruise ship and started up the Amazon. During the first week, I managed to see the rainforest up close. With a guide leading us we walked through the jungle.   The sight, smell and sound were primeval. Daybreak felt like the dawn of creation. It was glorious. But I wasn’t ready for relentless heat and humidity. It was followed by the boat’s aggressive air-conditioning. I thought the shifting temperature was responsible when one morning I couldn’t stand up. My immobility got worse. In the end they had to take me by helicopter to the nearest airport. I don’t recall the flight back. I slept the whole way from exhaustion. When I landed an ambulance was waiting to bring me to the hospital. After several tests my oncologist gave me the news. The cancer had spread; he could do nothing more. So I asked to be taken home. “

“How are you doing?”

“My remission fooled me. I took it to be a cure. I couldn’t have been more wrong.   Now I’m living on proverbial borrowed time. I can’t sleep because I won’t close my eyes. At night I need the lights on and the sound of the radio to assure me I’m awake. Martha has praised my will to live. It’s fear keeping me alive. Extinction terrifies me. I’m holding on to consciousness but I’m losing my grip. Hanging by a thread is exhausting.”

“Bob, how can I help you?”

“You’re an historian. Harvard trained you to compare religions. You’ve taught them for years. From what you know, can they help me deal with fear?”

“Perhaps. It depends on how you view your current state. Rather than see it as a deadend, why not view it as an adventure? You’ve traveled everywhere.   There’s one place you haven’t. It takes death to bring you.“

His eyes brightened while his face and body relaxed. Everything in his gaze seemed to say, “Don’t stop now. I’m desperate to hear you.” So I continued speaking.

“If you want to explore new vistas—I know how you like what’s startling—there’s nothing to fear. I’ll be your travel agent. Together we’ll plan your next trip: where you’ll go and what you’ll see.”

“But how?”

“As a comparative religionist, I’d like to offer you a brochure on the afterlife. Like any ad for traveling, the images aren’t the reality. They’re meant to fire your imagination and sharpen your appetite for the journey. Once you decide to go, let death book the flight.”

Bob smiled. He was enjoying my fanciful approach and was eager for me to continue.

“How do we begin?”

“Together let’s page through an imaginary brochure and learn what five great traditions have to offer.   We’ll let the founders act as tour guides. We can trust them completely because they’ve been there before. They know the terrain by heart. Are you game?”

“Yes,” he replied.

I described the afterlife with images from scripture. I began with the Bible drawing from the Hebrew and Greek testaments: how love is stronger than death and confirmed by resurrection. I proceeded to the paradise of the Qu’ran, moved to Hindu and Buddhist dialogues about the bliss of enlightenment, and ended with Taoist and Confucian texts about the harmony of the Way and the mandate of Heaven.  As Bob paged through the brochure in his imagination, I heard Wallace Stevens words, “how high that highest candle lights the dark.”

I finished and listened for Bob’s reaction. I noticed toward the end of my remarks that he began to grow drowsy and yawn. He was still wakeful enough to react.

“Thank you.   I needed that.   You’ve been a good friend.”

I watched Bob close his eyes and fall into a deep sleep. I left the bedroom and went to the kitchen where I found Martha.

“How is he? Still deeply anxious?”

“Not at all. Not now. He’s fast asleep.”

“Do you mind?” she said leaving the kitchen. Presently she returned.

“Every effort to sedate him failed. Whatever you did succeeded. Your presence has been a godsend.”

“I’m glad it helped.”

The next morning I received a phone call from Martha telling me Dr Rosen had died in his sleep. As I put the receiver down I was happy to know his spirit had finally taken flight.

Joseph Roccasalvo

joseph.roccasalvo@gmail.com

www.josephroccasalvo.com