A Visit From Death
In the café, Death eased into existence beside Nella, just as he’d done for the previous meetings in public, and waited for her expression of recognition.
Nella merely smiled, her eyes flicking over his new form as he casually lounged against the crimson velvet.
She looked beautiful. Two plumes of butter-yellow feathers arched over her head, the ends dangling by her delicate ears.
They complemented the marigold-yellow bows that adorned her sleeves and marched down her ivory gown, highlighting the pickups of her skirts.
A beautiful bird in a sea of crows with her head high.
Dressed in all black, an ebony mask in hand, Death blended in with the thousands waiting for Carnival to begin.
He’d chosen a different form: a man, olive skinned, with a thin black mustache and beard and cinnamon-colored eyes framed by thick black lashes.
He’d collected this form from an Amazigh farmer as he’d languished at his home, the victim of a simple tooth abscess.
The man had been kind as Death had taken him, his only concern for the well-being of his wife and children.
Kindness was a state Death had only recently begun to understand, after Nella had written him stories on the concept.
She’d composed one about a baker who’d kept the town alive during a famine, despite people having no money to pay him.
And another about the groups of nurses who’d volunteered to care for the sick during the last cholera outbreak, despite the risk.
He’d come to understand that some humans chose to help one another for no reason other than that they could.
Some humans had kindness—not enough to convince him of their overall goodness, but some did.
He settled back, noting the lavish differences in her dress, her regal bearing, and her confident demeanor.
She’d evolved since he’d seen her last, her wide-eyed wonder gone.
She knew she belonged in this world, among these people who were not worthy of her.
He wondered what new lessons life had taught her and if she’d be ready for him.
Nella faced Death, her gaze clear and direct. “Off to enjoy the festivities?”
“The work of collecting souls never ends.” Death leaned forward. “But I had to make time for you. I do enjoy our bit of catching up. Have you been well?”
“There have certainly been ups and downs,” she said quietly, playing at the gold embellishments on her dress. She realized what she was doing and flexed her fingers to stop, slipping them out of sight.
Death nodded, noting the motion. “For you, more than most. Are you going to tell me or show me?” His eyes swept the table expectantly.
“These are for you.” She pulled out bundles of parchment.
He settled casually back into the seat as his eyes flew over the pages of broadsheets, magazine articles, newspaper columns, and her journals, greedily snapping up each word.
He couldn’t hear the tables around them, only her words as they filled his head.
“The women of the salons, widowed and married alike, turned cages of isolation or loss into vibrancy, channeling their energy into the creation of spaces built just for their pleasure and pursuit of happiness. I’d learned how to stitch my grief and loss into . . .”
She’d improved; if anything, her pieces had become more nuanced as she examined her life and processed the deaths that had affected her so much. Despite everything, she still believed in the good of humankind. She’d learn one day, and he’d relish her defeat.
As he watched her closely, Death paused, the papers still in his hand. “Writing is truly your gift.”
Nella blushed. “I’m glad it meets your approval.”
“From the bit I’ve read, you still believe humans to be worth saving.”
“I do,” she said calmly. “Even after all this time.” She cocked her head, studying him. “What about you? Or do you still think us meaningless?”
Death waved his hand dismissively. She’d understand his point of view eventually.
“What of the doctor who doesn’t heal the poor, only the wealthy?
What of the man who loses his entire wage to gambling, throwing his family into poverty?
What of the people who set fires for fortune .
. . or fun?” Death shook his head. While she had seen some of the world, he had undoubtedly seen more.
“For every argument you make, there is a human example opposing the goodness.”
Nella stood firm in her position. “The world is full of opposites. Without darkness, there can be no light. Without life, there can be no death. Without us, what would you do?”
She seemed too amused by her own question. Death steepled his hands and considered it. He’d only thought of the absence of humans, not the purpose of their existence. He and the other reapers had a role to play as they returned souls to the origin point. So had it been since the dawn of things.
Nella caused an avalanche in his thoughts.
If there were no humans, what would become of me?
Do I exist only in the presence of their lives?
Surely it wasn’t possible that he needed them as they did him. The very notion made him seem weak. Vulnerable.
“I’m certain I’d find ways to occupy my time,” Death said finally. Stowing the thought away for later perusal, he returned his focus to her. “And as for you, my dear Nella, once you’ve seen centuries, as I have, you’ll come around to my way of thinking.”
Centuries. At the word, her breath caught.
He beamed at her wan expression, his smile wicked.
“What’s the matter, Nella? Haven’t you considered what happens if you don’t give in to our wager?
Have you envisioned the very long life you’ll lead?
It’s been hard enough to this point. Imagine what more is to come.
You’ve given me evidence now, which I’ll accept, but how long can it last?
I can only imagine how weary you’ll find yourself in the future. ”
“Not likely,” she said, smoothing her expression, “and not yet. The possibility still exists that I will convince you. That you’ll share my view . . . even end our deal early. Conceding defeat.”
Rich laughter bubbled from Death, loud and long enough to draw stares from the other patrons. Tears streamed down his cheeks while the sides of his solid form ached as amusement filled him. It took several minutes before he could get himself under control.
“It’s a possibility,” he said, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, chuckling still, “but my dear Nella, you shouldn’t plan on convincing me anytime this century.”
Nella’s mouth tightened, and he relished her confidence.
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” she said, wrenching open the black satchel that rested by her feet, revealing two canvases.
She eased them out and handed them over, watching Death’s face as he realized who the subjects were.
“You never know when I’ll surprise you.”
All his mirth faded as he clasped the frames, handling them delicately, surprise evident.
It’s me, he thought.
Two oil portraits of him from the two times she’d seen him.
In the first, his eyes had smoldered as if lit from within, bright against his darkly bronzed skin.
In the second, though the light was different and his dress more refined, the eyes held the same quality, simultaneously knowing and mocking.
It was the first time he’d seen himself from her perspective.
His throat went tight with an emotion he had not felt before.
“Why did you do this?” he said, keeping his face neutral.
Nella’s smile crept across her face, slow and deliberate.
“I’m tasked with finding goodness. I wanted to show you how you appeared to me.
I wanted to capture the goodness I found there.
A friend from the salon recommended a painter from the école des Beaux-Arts, and I commissioned him.
I described you, and he . . . he brought you to life.
” A moment passed between them. “From just a bit of cloth and pigment, humans wring emotion and awe. They create and make the world more beautiful in doing so.”
Death swallowed against the unexpected lump. “You see me very handsomely, indeed. It is to your credit,” he murmured, glancing at her. “I look forward to our next meeting. It will be interesting to see what other tricks you’ll have up your sleeve.”
She inclined her head like a queen to her subject. “I look forward to proving once again that we’re worth it. All of us.”
Death shrugged but gently gathered up the paintings. He dropped gold coins on the table—far more than necessary—and stood. She had done well. He had much to consider in their time apart.
He nodded farewell as he left, slipping into the in-between, paintings carefully in hand.