THERE WAS a merchant in Baghdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said: “Master, just now when I was in the marketplace I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was Death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture. Now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me.”
The merchant lent the servant his horse, and the servant mounted it, and dug his spurs into its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went. Then the merchant went down to the marketplace and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said: “Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning?”
“That was not a threatening gesture,” I said. “It was only a stare of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.”
This story from Iraqi folklore was supposedly retold by W. Somerset Maugham in 1933 and became the title of John O’Hara’s first novel, Appointment In Samarra, published in 1934. The story emphasizes the fact, known to us all, that it does not matter where you come from or who you are, all roads, whether on or off the beaten track, the one less followed or the paths of glory, lead inevitably to Samarra.
Yet I find this very difficult to appreciate especially when my contemporaries or people younger and healthier than me precede me on the trip. Recently, my colleague Keith Smith died in Trinidad, and even though I was not surprised it was still difficult to come to terms with his death. I joke that at my age, and given the fragility of life, I no longer buy green figs or bananas. I tell people that when I wake up in the morning I stay in bed until I get the daily newspaper and if my name is not in the obituaries, I get up and go about my daily business. A
ll that, though, is sheer bravado. My father was in a coma in the hospital for a long time and even though I expected his death, when it came I was still not prepared and I broke down at his funeral.
I read about Keith’s death in an email and, perhaps for the first time in my family’s memory, I was speechless.
I am at the point where I would like my friends and family to be more careful when announcing the deaths of people I know, especially those who are close to me. The best example of how to manage this is from a story about Daniel and Howard, who were brothers and lived in South Trinidad.
Daniel lived with their elderly mother and took care of her. Howard, also a bachelor, worked for a regional conglomerate and lived with his cat Ginger. Howard was besotted by Ginger and his entire life revolved around her.
So when his boss demanded at short notice that Howard travel to Jamaica to sort out a problem there, he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t “fire” the job because he would have no money to support Ginger. He couldn’t take her with him because of the quarantine hassle, and he couldn’t leave her behind on her own. He eventually decided to trust his brother Daniel with Ginger while he was away. Before he left, Howard went around to Daniel and explained in great detail what to do. Along with Ginger, he handed Daniel tons of cat food, medicine and written instructions. With tears in his eyes, he said goodbye to Ginger and then left.
Immediately upon his arrival in Kingston, Howard started calling his brother. Morning, noon and night the calls flew thick and fast. However, on the fourth day when Howard called about his cat, Daniel replied: “I’m afraid Ginger is dead, Howard.” Howard was upset. He told his brother angrily: “That was most cruel, Daniel. You know how much I loved Ginger. Why couldn’t you have broken it to me gently?”
“How could I have done that?” Daniel asked.
“Well,” said Howard, “when I called, you could have said, ‘Well she’s OK but she’s up on the roof.’ Then, when I called the next time, you could have said, ‘She fell off the roof and she’s at the vet.’ And then, the next time, you could have said, ‘I’m sorry, but she passed away peacefully.’ At least then I would have been a little prepared for the bad news.” “Yes, you’re right. I’m so sorry,” said Daniel. Howard then asked, “By the way, how’s mum?” “She’s . . . OK,” replied Daniel. “She’s up on the roof fixing a tile.”
Tony Deyal was last seen walking in a cemetery, where he saw four men carrying a coffin. Three hours later he saw the same men still wandering around carrying the coffin. He thought to himself, “They’ve lost the plot.”
