On Christmas day, 1998, at four forty-five pm, somewhere in the territory of Indonesia, Sidney Jones died of a massive coronary. He had known of this coming reality since birth, and had lived his life with a purpose to avoid it.
At a certain age, all of mankind realises, through the handing down of such information, that some day we all will die. When, where, and how, are usually mysteries for most, and something that keeps our reckless behaviour in check.
Sid had entered this world with vision in but one eye, the other suffering from a detached retina and inoperable. The trade-off it seemed, had come in the form of having known some detail of his demise. For some, this might have been a lifelong hindrance, but for Sid, it was embraced as providence. This foresight however, had caused him to live his life filled with high risk, and without the fear of falter. Women had swooned in his bravado, and in some men, he had even been revered. Though to most, he was simply regarded, as just plain lucky.
It was Christmas day, a sunny day for Melbourne, Australia, and most were outdoors, enjoying barbecues, or doing a spot of last minute present buying. Unlike most, though, which Sid had always been, he sat at home alone in his apartment, not wishing to engage in any acts that might tempt the hand of fate. Today, he was reserved in his actions, and his safety, enhanced, by confinement. He thought, as he sat, and believed, that the touch of death could be cheated in the taking of certain precautions, such as never setting foot in Asia. He believed that the taking of such would leave him still breathing the next day. But this belief mocked his gift, as he was happy to have its protection, especially in those times of daring feats, but when the moment came to pay the piper, he was more than unwilling.
When the clock struck five past four, he was swept with alarm, as his left arm went numb, and pins and needles tickled at his right foot. He had been waiting in morbid anticipation all day, to see if these symptoms would show, and when they did, he wished he had spent his day engaged in some other activity, or had sat himself outside a hospital’s emergency room.
He stood, as his heart rushed with a flood of anxiety, steadied himself and dashed for the phone. There, he made his mercy call, and then, awkward in his gait, returned to sit in his chair.
Time raced on and sweat dripped thickly, down his brow, as the pain of his heart, stabbed him with the sensation of a frenzied knife attack. He prayed for a change in his condition, hoping that in doing so, he might be saved. But it was a false hope and the pain quickly worsened.
“I know your play, death! I’ll beat you! You just wait and see!” he yelled, shaking his fist in defiance at the empty air, and at the same time his other hand clutched his failing heart.
A loud, knock! knock! eventually sounded from the door. The doorknob twisted with an effort to gain entry and jammed with the mechanism secured. From behind it a call sung out, with a, ‘Sir, are you able to let us in?’
He stood up to grant his saviours entry, and as he did, the world span violently around his eyes. He staggered to the door and opened it, while a crushing pain struck his chest with the weight of a ton. His heart was wishing the world good bye and he couldn’t fathom to understand why. He’d taken precautions to avoid this moment, and to the fuel of his burning ribs, he had to entertain the notion that his efforts might well have been in vain. Death’s hand still reached out for him, and in this moment, he felt powerless to escape its grasp.
Two male paramedics walked through the now opened door, as he collapsed to the floor. Without hesitation, they quickly secured him onto a gurney, and wheeled him out to an awaiting white truck. There, he was loaded into the back of the transport, accompanied by the additional paramedic, who sat beside him to monitor his condition.
The vehicle lurched, and the sirens whaled, the journey to salvation had begun, and in beginning it was short lived. The traffic beyond his apartment block was chaotic. The roads were chocked with processions of stationary of cars, filled with last minute shoppers who were eager to spend. Sid despaired in his hold-up and moaned in his mind for circumstance to change in his favour.
Thinking death may well beat him, a sudden rush of anxiety swept over him and with it he asked the paramedic the time, to know just how much of it he might have left. To his strained heart, the answer was, “Four thirty-five.”
Despite the mounting evidence and his feelings of panic, deep down inside, he firmly believed that his symptoms would soon pass. There simply wasn’t time for all that had been revealed to him, to fall into place. Surely his heart would ride out its tantrum, and salvation, not without a liberal dash of victory, would soon be his.
The ambulance moved at a speed out paced by those on pavements, walking. The traffic was unrelenting, and time ticked on unimpeded.
“Do a u-turn in that car park, up ahead,” suggested the paramedic next to Sid, making reference to the driver by pointing to the mark. “If you turn around there we can take the back streets to the hospital.”
“Alright,” responded the driver, agreeing with the suggestion.
“We’ll have you in hospital in no time,” reassured the paramedic beside him.
The ambulance turned into the car park of the Indonesian consulate, and before coming back onto the road, Sid’s fight was over, and death, was yet again, the undisputed victor over man.
Copyright © 2004 by Anthony Heffernan
