Human Sister

ask me anything ever again.”
    “No! We’re not going! Not without you.”
    “Honey, please—”
    “No. Can’t we dig out now? Quickly. We have lasers to cut through the wall.”
    “Not by 1930. Not quietly. And even if we could, when I failed to show up outside as ordered, many people would come looking for me. We would not get far.”
    “Then let’s tell everyone now. Call WNN. Let’s stop this dirty little war before it’s too late.”
    “I can’t do that. I’ve promised too many people for too long that I would never do such a thing. I’m not a traitor. We can’t presume—against so many intelligent and dedicated others—to stop what may in the long run be the right thing to do. Neither you nor I can be so sure, so egotistical, that we would take the fate of the world in our hands.”
    I didn’t know then, in the tempest of emotions I was feeling, how to argue with him.
    “I don’t want it to be this way,” I cried.
    “Sara, a man my age has things to fear: not death, but the many forms of physical, especially mental, deterioration—the being forced to bow so low. A quick and painless death will for me be a culminating blessing to what has been a long and, until recently, a very fortunate life.”
    I knelt beside him and hugged him. I was nothing then, nothing but a vaguely conscious liquid, all tears and nasal rheum.
    Patting my back, he said, “Perhaps a hundred years from now—I hope after you and Elio have had happy, full lives together—you’ll understand what I feel now, what Bashō must have felt when he wrote his famous death haiku:

    fallen ill on a journey—
    my dreams wander
    over a withered field

    “I fondly remember a little girl taking me for walks, holding my hand, and telling me that she was part of this flower or that cloud or the shadows slowly crawling across the yard. She seemed to feel that she was a part of everything and everything was a part of her.”
    “You’re a big part of me, Grandpa. Don’t take that away.”
    “I confess I sometimes wondered whether that little girl was all there, so strange did she seem to me. Her life teased me, taunted me with this alternative worldview—that one could not help but be grateful, that one could not help but be a part of everything rather than nothing. But, alas, this worldview never really took in me—rather like a vaccine that failed to prime the core of my self against an invasion of nothingness. She was the voice that called out, ‘Everything matters.’ I was the echo: ‘Unless nothing does.’
    “Which view is correct? Both? Neither? I can only say I was much happier during those fleeting moments when I was able to emulate that dear little girl and feel a part of everything. Honey, between now and when the three of you are able to escape from here, hopefully no later than tomorrow night, I will try to be grateful, try to feel that I’m a part of the many wonderful things in the world. And what more can one want when facing death than to blossom?”
    “No, Grandpa! We need to think. We need to find a different way.”
    “You have never embarrassed me. Please don’t start now by tempting your old grandpa to be greedy and cling to a long life that is over. As Lucretius taught us, no one feels upset about being absent during the time that elapsed before his or her self emerged, and it is utter silliness to feel upset about being absent for any other period of time in which the self does not exist.”
    Silly or not, I cried and cried, feeling empty, dark, and cold; and as I did, Grandpa sat quietly, holding me. Finally, I took a deep breath and whispered, “I feel so alone.”
    “Honey, you’re not alone. Try to make your love for me a part of your love for Elio and Grandma and Michael.”
    “I do, Grandpa. Often, when I wake up in the middle of the night and Elio is wrapped around me, I say to myself, ‘Thank you, Grandpa and Grandma, for this precious moment.’”
    He grasped my head firmly to his chest, and I felt him cry.
    About a minute later, he cleared his throat and said, “I love you so much. You’ll find me everywhere, even if nowhere. Look at your hands, look at your eyes in the mirror, remember what I’ve taught you, what I’ve said, how I’ve loved you. Then you’ll know where I am.”

    I found Grandma still lying in bed with her eyes closed. I held her hand and kissed her cheek. “Grandma, you can’t give up. I need you. Please tell me you’ll be here for Elio and