***
"Sir"
I never could forget the day I first saw him. I was driving home from work that night when he suddenly appeared from the side of the road. Had I stepped on the brakes a few seconds later, running at 80 kilometers per hour, I would have most certainly killed him.
He was lying in the middle of the road, unconscious. He somehow fell and hit his head, which would explain the bruise on his forehead because I was damn sure I didn’t hit him! Drunken bum! He nearly got us both killed!
His head was bleeding. I took him to my car and drove back to the hospital. I also brought along the smelly old backpack I saw him carrying.
He was a thin and rugged old man, probably around sixty or more. He had these old filthy clothes that seemed like he’s been wearing all his life, sort of like an old coat over a few layers of clothes. I figured from the weather, he must have been trying really hard to keep warm. His hair was long, dirty, and gray; and so was his beard. He also wore these old leather trek shoes. The soles were nearly gone, one was even tied with strips of fabric torn from his own shirt to keep what’s left of the sole from falling apart.
I wanted to look for some form of identification, but he had so many pockets that I didn’t know where to begin. Besides, I didn’t want to wake him up; he needed his rest and so did I. I’ll check on him in the morning.
I told the nurse to feed and care for him till I come back in the morning. My wife must be worried sick by now, I should have been home hours ago, and I was extremely exhausted.
*
The next morning when I came back to check up on him, his bed was empty. Though the odor he left was still there, the old man was gone. So were his things.
“Nurse, where’s the old man I brought in here last night?”
“Oh, you mean that disgusting ungrateful old jerk? He left, and good riddance too! He refuses to eat, he kept yelling for his dirty bag, and he took off the bandage that took forever to put on his head! The next time you bring in someone like that again, leave me out of it doc.”
I didn’t bother to look for him much after that, I had lots of things to do, patients were piling up by the minute. With all the work I had to do that day, it didn’t take too long for me to forget all about him.
*
About a month after that, I saw him again. I was driving home when I spotted him walking in the alley. He slowly began to disappear in the shadows. I pulled my car over and quickly went after him.
The alley was located not too far from the hospital. It was between two tall residential buildings. I often drive by the place, but never really been there. It was my first time to actually be there on foot, not the most brilliant thing to do in a bad part of the city.
At the sides were large metal garbage bins, and a few trashcans. The alley wasn’t really that wide; a car would fit in just right, though I doubt that both doors could be opened. It was also dark; the only light available was from the windows a few meters above.
I nearly tripped over what I thought at first were just scattered piles of rubbish and old newspapers. It actually turned out to be people! As my eyes started to adjust to the dark, I began to clearly saw the silhouettes all lying down in the streets.
After finally being within earshot, I called the old man while consciously trying not to drawing too much attention. He was still walking deeper into the alley. I tried to catch up with him without stepping or tripping on another person.
“Sir,” I said after finally pacing up with him, “I’m the guy who brought you to the hospital a few weeks ago. I nearly ran you over that night. I came to check up on you the morning after, but I found out you left. It’s a good thing I saw you now, I just want to know if you’re alright, by the way, how’s the head?”
No response, just a blank stare.
“Ah sir...” I said, "how’s the head?”
And after a moment of silence, he finally spoke. “So, it was you!!! Who gave you the right to interfere with death?!!!”
“Hey, hold on here! Don’t get me wrong; I was only trying to help. It’s okay, I’m a doctor, you could have died you know.”
“Young man, I already am dead! I died many years ago, and death consumes me still every night, gnawing away remains of my former self. What you see now before you are merely pieces of the man I once was! So don’t go about telling me how I could have died!!!”
“HUH? What the heck was that all about? Ok, in case you haven’t noticed yet, I’m here to help you. You bumped your head badly and I’m here to see if it’s alright. You shouldn’t have left the hospital like that.”
“I need nothing of the sort, my head is quite alright thank you! Now be gone with you! You already caused me enough discomfort!” And with that, he continued to walk away.
I saw it was no use trying to talk to him; he was arrogant, rude, ungrateful and extremely weird! He talked like a total nut job. It was certainly a waste of time to have even bothered talking to him. I left him alone like he wanted, walked over to my car and drove home.
*
Days passed by when one morning a nurse came in my office and brought me a book.
“Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Ronstand. So you want me to read it? I already have--”
“No doc, I found it in room 1029 a few weeks ago, I completely forgot all about it, I remembered just now. I think your filthy friend accidentally dropped or left it.”
“What filthy friend? Who?”
“You know, that old man you almost killed? I think it belongs to him; it has that distinct aroma of his that took days to remove from the sheets. Anyway here it is. I figured you‘d know what to do with it.”
I realized how after our last encounter I was probably asking for it. But I drove back to the alley where I last saw him. Sure enough he was there, sitting in a corner, coughing his lungs out. I was quite careful; I didn’t know how loose his screws were after that last conversation I had with him.
I actually didn’t want to go see him again after how he snapped back at me when all I wanted to do was check up on his bruised head. But his book made me a bit curious, he did talk a bit unusual, I mean, for an old beggar.
“Sir, I think I have something that belongs to you,” as I handed him his smelly old book, “you must have left it that night you were confined at the hospital.”
“Thank you, I was afraid I’ve lost it for good. I won’t be able to afford to buy one again you know. I apologize for my coarse behavior during our last meeting, ‘must have had a few drinks too many, hehehe. Somebody threw away a perfectly good half empty bottle of gin that day!”
“I also brought you something to eat sir, you must be starved.” He didn’t hesitate eating the food I brought, I wondered if he even chewed the damn thing.
“Tell me sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you have this book? Ok, that was a stupid question, I don’t mean that you don’t have the right to have it or read it, I just find unusual for---”
“For an old beggar like me to find interest in classical literature, is that it? Well let me show you something,” he pulled out his big backpack and took out a few more books, “these are my other treasures; Whitman, Dumas, Hugo, Dickenson, Shakespeare, Poe, and others. Ronstand is my favorite. I find Cyrano to be myself at times, though of course Monsieur de Bergerac died a more noble death, less I could say for myself.”
“Wow. Where did you get them?”
“Get them?!? I bought them many years back, when I was still in college.”
“College?”
“Stunning huh? Indeed I was. Double major in Behavioral Science and Classical literature.”
*
Night after night I would visit the old man. He never did tell me his name; he only wanted to be called ‘sir’. I guess he liked it.
I’d bring him food every night and fresh clothes. My wife is actually starting to ask me where are all the thick blankets in the drawer. I couldn’t tell her. Some of those were actually Christmas gifts from relatives, but we never did use them.
I found out a lot of things about him. Interesting things actually. He used to work in a bank and once taught English literature in a school in Manila where I think my mom once mentioned to me.
He had sort of a tragic past. His fiancé went off with another man three days just before their wedding. A year after that, both his parents died. He mentioned something about a sister but I really can’t remember. He got fired in work because he’s always out drunk trying to cope with the depression. He got kicked out of his apartment for not being able to come up with the due rents.
“One day, I just decided to get away from it all. Everything that surrounded me reminded me of what I am and what I lost. So I took all that remained important to me, my poems, my books, all her letters, and all the cash I had. All of which except the money is still intact inside this bag. I’ve wandered somehow from Laguna here to Pangasinan, I don’t know how, I can’t remember now, it has all been too long, all I am now is but a tired old man waiting for his last day to draw near, for the reaper to give my soul it’s final rest.”
He often talked like he was delivering a speech. Most of it is about how life has treated him unjustly, how death awaits him, which was actually true, his health was fast failing him, he could be suffering from cirrhosis mainly because of his alcohol intake; he also had lung problems due to the pollution he was exposed to daily. I said I’d help him, but he didn’t like hospitals. I gave him medications though, I told him his condition was serious, he didn’t seem to care.
I know it sounds weird but I’ve grown to like him. He was like an old friend. It has only been a month after I gave him his book back and already I’ve told him about how things were on my side of the fence.
“Mom and dad are separated. Mom left him after only a year of being married. Mom was also a doctor and had a few small businesses on the side, so we got by ok. She’s retired now. She lives with me and my wife Robin. Dad once visited me when I was still in med-school. I hated him; mom said he used to beat her up real bad. I told him to leave us alone, you know all that drama and shit. Mom said he destroyed the life intended for her, and I hated him for all that he is.”
“Well Noel, it isn’t written anywhere that life is suppose to be easy huh?”
“Gee, you just figured that out?”
He was lying in the middle of the road, unconscious. He somehow fell and hit his head, which would explain the bruise on his forehead because I was damn sure I didn’t hit him! Drunken bum! He nearly got us both killed!
His head was bleeding. I took him to my car and drove back to the hospital. I also brought along the smelly old backpack I saw him carrying.
He was a thin and rugged old man, probably around sixty or more. He had these old filthy clothes that seemed like he’s been wearing all his life, sort of like an old coat over a few layers of clothes. I figured from the weather, he must have been trying really hard to keep warm. His hair was long, dirty, and gray; and so was his beard. He also wore these old leather trek shoes. The soles were nearly gone, one was even tied with strips of fabric torn from his own shirt to keep what’s left of the sole from falling apart.
I wanted to look for some form of identification, but he had so many pockets that I didn’t know where to begin. Besides, I didn’t want to wake him up; he needed his rest and so did I. I’ll check on him in the morning.
I told the nurse to feed and care for him till I come back in the morning. My wife must be worried sick by now, I should have been home hours ago, and I was extremely exhausted.
*
The next morning when I came back to check up on him, his bed was empty. Though the odor he left was still there, the old man was gone. So were his things.
“Nurse, where’s the old man I brought in here last night?”
“Oh, you mean that disgusting ungrateful old jerk? He left, and good riddance too! He refuses to eat, he kept yelling for his dirty bag, and he took off the bandage that took forever to put on his head! The next time you bring in someone like that again, leave me out of it doc.”
I didn’t bother to look for him much after that, I had lots of things to do, patients were piling up by the minute. With all the work I had to do that day, it didn’t take too long for me to forget all about him.
*
About a month after that, I saw him again. I was driving home when I spotted him walking in the alley. He slowly began to disappear in the shadows. I pulled my car over and quickly went after him.
The alley was located not too far from the hospital. It was between two tall residential buildings. I often drive by the place, but never really been there. It was my first time to actually be there on foot, not the most brilliant thing to do in a bad part of the city.
At the sides were large metal garbage bins, and a few trashcans. The alley wasn’t really that wide; a car would fit in just right, though I doubt that both doors could be opened. It was also dark; the only light available was from the windows a few meters above.
I nearly tripped over what I thought at first were just scattered piles of rubbish and old newspapers. It actually turned out to be people! As my eyes started to adjust to the dark, I began to clearly saw the silhouettes all lying down in the streets.
After finally being within earshot, I called the old man while consciously trying not to drawing too much attention. He was still walking deeper into the alley. I tried to catch up with him without stepping or tripping on another person.
“Sir,” I said after finally pacing up with him, “I’m the guy who brought you to the hospital a few weeks ago. I nearly ran you over that night. I came to check up on you the morning after, but I found out you left. It’s a good thing I saw you now, I just want to know if you’re alright, by the way, how’s the head?”
No response, just a blank stare.
“Ah sir...” I said, "how’s the head?”
And after a moment of silence, he finally spoke. “So, it was you!!! Who gave you the right to interfere with death?!!!”
“Hey, hold on here! Don’t get me wrong; I was only trying to help. It’s okay, I’m a doctor, you could have died you know.”
“Young man, I already am dead! I died many years ago, and death consumes me still every night, gnawing away remains of my former self. What you see now before you are merely pieces of the man I once was! So don’t go about telling me how I could have died!!!”
“HUH? What the heck was that all about? Ok, in case you haven’t noticed yet, I’m here to help you. You bumped your head badly and I’m here to see if it’s alright. You shouldn’t have left the hospital like that.”
“I need nothing of the sort, my head is quite alright thank you! Now be gone with you! You already caused me enough discomfort!” And with that, he continued to walk away.
I saw it was no use trying to talk to him; he was arrogant, rude, ungrateful and extremely weird! He talked like a total nut job. It was certainly a waste of time to have even bothered talking to him. I left him alone like he wanted, walked over to my car and drove home.
*
Days passed by when one morning a nurse came in my office and brought me a book.
“Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Ronstand. So you want me to read it? I already have--”
“No doc, I found it in room 1029 a few weeks ago, I completely forgot all about it, I remembered just now. I think your filthy friend accidentally dropped or left it.”
“What filthy friend? Who?”
“You know, that old man you almost killed? I think it belongs to him; it has that distinct aroma of his that took days to remove from the sheets. Anyway here it is. I figured you‘d know what to do with it.”
I realized how after our last encounter I was probably asking for it. But I drove back to the alley where I last saw him. Sure enough he was there, sitting in a corner, coughing his lungs out. I was quite careful; I didn’t know how loose his screws were after that last conversation I had with him.
I actually didn’t want to go see him again after how he snapped back at me when all I wanted to do was check up on his bruised head. But his book made me a bit curious, he did talk a bit unusual, I mean, for an old beggar.
“Sir, I think I have something that belongs to you,” as I handed him his smelly old book, “you must have left it that night you were confined at the hospital.”
“Thank you, I was afraid I’ve lost it for good. I won’t be able to afford to buy one again you know. I apologize for my coarse behavior during our last meeting, ‘must have had a few drinks too many, hehehe. Somebody threw away a perfectly good half empty bottle of gin that day!”
“I also brought you something to eat sir, you must be starved.” He didn’t hesitate eating the food I brought, I wondered if he even chewed the damn thing.
“Tell me sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you have this book? Ok, that was a stupid question, I don’t mean that you don’t have the right to have it or read it, I just find unusual for---”
“For an old beggar like me to find interest in classical literature, is that it? Well let me show you something,” he pulled out his big backpack and took out a few more books, “these are my other treasures; Whitman, Dumas, Hugo, Dickenson, Shakespeare, Poe, and others. Ronstand is my favorite. I find Cyrano to be myself at times, though of course Monsieur de Bergerac died a more noble death, less I could say for myself.”
“Wow. Where did you get them?”
“Get them?!? I bought them many years back, when I was still in college.”
“College?”
“Stunning huh? Indeed I was. Double major in Behavioral Science and Classical literature.”
*
Night after night I would visit the old man. He never did tell me his name; he only wanted to be called ‘sir’. I guess he liked it.
I’d bring him food every night and fresh clothes. My wife is actually starting to ask me where are all the thick blankets in the drawer. I couldn’t tell her. Some of those were actually Christmas gifts from relatives, but we never did use them.
I found out a lot of things about him. Interesting things actually. He used to work in a bank and once taught English literature in a school in Manila where I think my mom once mentioned to me.
He had sort of a tragic past. His fiancé went off with another man three days just before their wedding. A year after that, both his parents died. He mentioned something about a sister but I really can’t remember. He got fired in work because he’s always out drunk trying to cope with the depression. He got kicked out of his apartment for not being able to come up with the due rents.
“One day, I just decided to get away from it all. Everything that surrounded me reminded me of what I am and what I lost. So I took all that remained important to me, my poems, my books, all her letters, and all the cash I had. All of which except the money is still intact inside this bag. I’ve wandered somehow from Laguna here to Pangasinan, I don’t know how, I can’t remember now, it has all been too long, all I am now is but a tired old man waiting for his last day to draw near, for the reaper to give my soul it’s final rest.”
He often talked like he was delivering a speech. Most of it is about how life has treated him unjustly, how death awaits him, which was actually true, his health was fast failing him, he could be suffering from cirrhosis mainly because of his alcohol intake; he also had lung problems due to the pollution he was exposed to daily. I said I’d help him, but he didn’t like hospitals. I gave him medications though, I told him his condition was serious, he didn’t seem to care.
I know it sounds weird but I’ve grown to like him. He was like an old friend. It has only been a month after I gave him his book back and already I’ve told him about how things were on my side of the fence.
“Mom and dad are separated. Mom left him after only a year of being married. Mom was also a doctor and had a few small businesses on the side, so we got by ok. She’s retired now. She lives with me and my wife Robin. Dad once visited me when I was still in med-school. I hated him; mom said he used to beat her up real bad. I told him to leave us alone, you know all that drama and shit. Mom said he destroyed the life intended for her, and I hated him for all that he is.”
“Well Noel, it isn’t written anywhere that life is suppose to be easy huh?”
“Gee, you just figured that out?”
"Screw you. Now hand me that sandwich, it's getting cold!”
I would go home a few hours late. My wife would often complain how I smell. I figured about telling her about Sir, but I knew it would lead to where are all the missing blankets.
Every night during my visit, he would tell me stories of his youth and he would recite his poems all from memory. He was a jolly old man as much as he was bitter, we would exchange laughs; and he would always impress me with his broad vocabulary and eloquent choice of words. He often made more sense than the people at work actually.
*
Then one night, after a two months and a half have passed after meeting him, I came to the alley to find that he wasn’t there.
The food I had for him was getting cold and the weather that night was rather harsh.
I searched for him as I called out ‘Sir’ in the dark alley, groping in the shadows, looking for him underneath the blankets I gave him. He wasn’t there, but his bag was. He’d never leave his bag.
I also saw something just beside his things, underneath a few layers of old newspapers. Pills! All the medicine I gave him were all just lying around, he never did take them! I was worried all the more.
Then I heard someone cough out real hard, it was coming from the end of the alley. I ran as fast as I could, I knew it was him.
My heart sank at the sight I saw.
“Dear God!!! What happened to you?!!!” He was bleeding very badly, his old wound was open and he could hardly move.
“Who did this?!!! What happened?!!!”
He was lying in a puddle of his own blood, and was struggling to stand. I used my handkerchief to bandage his bleeding head.
“Some fools stole most of the clothes you gave me. They thought they’d have it without a fight…”
“Don’t talk, just lie down! We need to get you to a hospital fast, you’ve lost too much blood!”
“Noel, I fear it is much too late for that. Besides, I don’t think that fat assed repulsive nurse would be too happy to see me again.”
“Please Sir, try not to talk! We need to get you to my car, the hospital is not too far!”
I drove to the hospital nearly crying, I couldn’t help it. I was panic-stricken, I knew his head was badly injured; it must have been struck by something because it was cut open by the blow. Things didn’t look too good. His liver and his lungs posed another threat.
“Stop this car Noel.” he moaned. The backseat of my car was soaking with blood. We were nearing the hospital.
Then he yelled, “Stop this car Noel! Stop the car! I said, STOP THE FUCKING CAR!!!”
I didn’t know why, but I pulled over carefully. The streets were dark and empty, not a soul was about.
“I’m sorry I stained your nice car seats. There is not much you can do now my friend, I can feel it coming, my final rest is at hand.”
“Don’t talk like that please, we can still make it! We just need to go now!”
“No…go back to the alley. I need my bag with me. It is there I shall retire this pitiful costume I go about in. Go… now… please understand Noel, it is my wish…”
As I held his hand, it felt cold, I too knew it was near, and that what I saw before me was a dying man who had but one final request.
Tears ran down my face as I started the car and headed for the alley.
He asked me to take him out to lie in the alley near his things. He was severely suffering I knew, he was turning yellowish pale. Every moan of pain he made was like a knife cutting across my chest.
“Sir, why don’t you want to go to the hospital?”
“Listen dear friend, it won’t be long now until death consumes me fully tonight. The great cold is slowly gathering around me and I do not intend to die amongst strangers who will only see the old beggar in me. If I am to leave my earthly existence, I prefer to retire here, in the arms of a single friend.
“May God forgive me for not living my life in full, for wasting my years, for soaking my memories in bottles of wine…
“Love and happiness was a luxury I could not afford, though in my last days you have granted me a taste of what it was like to love and be happy; for in this brief span of time you gave me both. You are the son I never had, the friend I always wanted.
“Don’t look too sad Noel, my death is something I welcome, it has been delayed much too long. It marks not the end but rather a beginning of a new life I promise to live better than this…
“Keep my things, it is all I was, all I had, and all I am…
“Fare you well my friend, ‘In this world I must evade with my failure to comply, for neither was I living nor will I ever die. Sad to say left undone, I must leave now in vain; in other worlds, other forms, somehow, to be back once again…’”
Then just like that, he closed his eyes and sank his lifeless head in my blood soaked arms.
*
I told my wife everything that night. I cried in her arms. I also came clean about the missing blankets. Funny how a total stranger suddenly made me value my own life, a life I constantly complained about.
I took it upon me to arrange for his burial. I still didn’t know what his name was, so I searched in his bag for some sort of identification. I found five notebooks of his prose and poetry, the classic novels I told you earlier, and also, I found hundreds upon hundreds of love letters... all in my mother’s handwriting.