Last Breath

The old man's eyes languidly followed the trail of the Gecko lizard as it scampered across the cracked wall of the hut. He watched the lizard stopped and waited as if in patience as it spotted a giant fly perched close to the window's edge. A split second it probably took but to the man's feverish eyes they felt more like an eternity passing by as he watched the lizard stretch itself in one blinking move to capture the fly before escaping out through the open window.

The old man returned his sullen gaze back to staring up at the cracked wooden rafters that made up much of the thatched roof of his ceiling. How many times had he once promised himself to replace those bamboo rafters with sturdier ones? It's no wonder the amount of rain seeping in from his roof this season has doubled. But now as he lay there on his threadbare mat staring at them, he knew that such a time would never come round again for him to make do on his promise. Not unless his ancestors were still gazing down at him with favours of longer life ¦ and yet his bones underneath his dry skin were still strong and able.

He wasn't alone in the room. Several of his neighbours hovered close to where he laid. Their arms folded across their chest, their long sorrowful faces bore the weight of concern and sadness for the fate he now carried upon himself. One of them, a medicinal lady whose works of native concoction was known throughout the village kept rubbing a fetid lotion over his naked torso. Her lips mumbled an endless dirge of incantation as she went about doing her work. By the open door of the hut, the village priest stood reading several lines in low voice from his Bible.

The old man was dying. He knew this just as he knew there was no need in him denying it to himself. He had known of this for more than a week now, since he caught the strange illness over a month ago. There he was, harvesting his yam crops as usual from his farm when suddenly a sharp pain from nowhere struck the right side of his body. He had cried out just as he dropped to the ground like a bag of potatoes, writhing all over with numb pain. If it hadn't been for the young lad whom he often employed to assist him in collecting his harvest, he probably would have died right there under the sun. The lad, upon seeing the old man fall, had quickly run back to the centre of the village and cried for help. In no time, several men had hurried over and carried the old man to the village hospital.

The young doctor that worked there wasn't yet proficient enough, but he in no time diagnosed his ailment as that of a stroke. Whether it was chronic or mild, he couldn't tell and told them that it would be wise if the old man was quickly transported to the bigger hospitals at the city for an updated medical check up. That would have been possible, but how much would such a check up cost? The young doctor had given them a guess figure. It was enough to make them shake their heads and fold their arms in destitution.

But there was someone who could probably help. The old man mentioned his son whom he hadn't heard from in a long time but knew resided far in another city. Perhaps they could raise some money and send someone to journey down there and notify him?

The old man was a bit double-minded of this. He and his son had last parted on a sour note and they had promised never to be together anymore. The village priest had listened to the old man confess all this on his hospital bed.

"He said he no longer wished to be here with me, the old man muttered to the priest. "Ever since I lost his mother years ago he had started growing stubborn. No longer wanting to help me at the farm but instead preferred spending much of his time reading all those fancy books of his.
"And then what happened?

"One day, I yelled at him. I told him that if he so wished not to stay here with me, then he can go out into the world and rot. He said that he would. I said then that I no longer considered him to be my son. He replied likewise and then backed up his bag and left. Since then I've never heard from him and that was a long time ago.

"But you should know, the priest said, "that with God, everything is forgiven and forgotten. If I were you, I ought to try and get back in touch with your son. At least see him one final time before you depart.

It was then that a collection had been made and a trusted young man had been appointed to journey to the far city where the old man's son was said to be residing and find some means of contacting him to return. But what if the son was no longer residing there, what next? Then he should return back here as fast as he could.

A week and some days had gone by and not a word had been heard from the young man. There was even speculation that the foolish boy had squandered the money somewhere and was now stranded and lost in the city. Several had raised their voice about sending another person in search of him, but others had argued against it. What if the new person went and got himself lost as well? What then would become of the old man, whose health was rapidly deteriorating with every passing day?
But a few days entering the second week, the young man had returned with news.

It wasn't easy locating someone in the city, he had announced to everyone who was there to listen. The place is so big and vast, lots of time I got lost; the money soon finished and I spent much of the nights sleeping under a giant bridge.

But yes, he had finally found the old man's son. He was a big man now in the city. He lives inside a big house behind a very mighty gate, with huge vicious dogs to protect him. The villager's mouths opened wider like hungry mouths of children as the young man recounted all of this. He told them of how he had knocked on the giant gate and how the guard had told him to get lost, how after two nights of waiting outside the gate he had finally gone round the building and scaled through the fence, how the vicious black dogs had chased him round the compound and had it not been that the old man's son was at the moment relaxing at the back of the house and called off the dogs as he stood there relaying to him the message he had carried from home, he probably wouldn't have made it back here anymore.

He had sat down with the old man's son ' he is a big Party chairman, the young man didn't forget to mention ' and told him of his father's ill health and his wanting to see him one final time. His son told him he was very busy this week but would see if he could make the journey next week. He went into the house and came out with some money which he gave to the young man to pay his way back; he also gave some to pay for his father's medicine and hospital bill.

And that was how the young man hurried himself back home.

But two weeks had gone by and still no word arrived of the old man's son returning. It wasn't long before most of the concerned villagers started wondering what kind of son could this be who wouldn't at least find the time to grace the side of his father's bed even when he's on his death bed. They snapped their fingers and crossed it over their head and muttered 'abomination' to the air, before going back to whatever they had been doing earlier. And so the days went by till the present day.

The medicine woman finished with her ointment rubbing and got up to her feet. She said there was nothing else she could do; the old man's soul is now in the gods' hands ' only they can undo whatever is to be done. The priest couldn't help snorting at the same time giving her a demeaning look as she packed her eerie-looking paraphernalia into her alligator-skin handbag and made to leave. A wide path was cleared for her by the hovering villagers there as she made her way out of the compound to wherever her abode was, for it's said that coming in contact with a medicine person is known to bring a man bad luck the rest of his life.

The priest then came over and sat down on the edge of the mat. He held the old man's hand in his; it felt cold and almost lifeless. He watched as the old man's chest rose and fell slightly with each laboured breath he took. Finally the old man turned his gaze at him.

"I wish for you to pray for me for forgiveness, Father, the old man croaked in a tottering voice.

"Everything you've ever done wrong is long forgiven, the priest reassured him.

"I wish you to pray for forgiveness for my son who isn't here with me. Please ¦ if ever you see him, tell him how much I've always loved him ¦ how much I still love him ¦

The priest laid his hand upon the old man's head and began to pray. The old man's eyes fell close. By the time the priest had finished his prayer and taken his hand off the old man's head, he had ceased breathing.

At that moment there was a slight commotion coming from the front yard. Several of the villagers started muttering and raising their voices as a tall distinguished figure pushed past them and stepped into the one-room hut. The old man's son stood there, not daring his feet to take another step further. A look of fear hung over his face as he suddenly realised that everything was already lost, lost and never to be gotten again.

"Father, was all he managed to say as the priest came over and held him.