The Last Storyteller (First Edition) | Page 16

I demanded a doctor accompany me to see him, but the doctor refused, and when I approached other doctors, withering glances and flat denials met me. It seemed no servant’ s life was worth the inconvenience, no visit to a donkey-man worth the social demotion.
I found him lying alone in the far corner of the dark, cold hut— dark and cold, just like the villagers. I struggled to breathe through the stench of mold and earth, but I pushed forward for him, for my friend.
At first, he did not recognize me. Once he did, he began to weep. He attempted to speak, but the congestion in his lungs was too much and he remained silent. It was difficult for him to breathe, let alone speak.
" Ditha, don’ t worry.” I choked back my tears.“ I’ ll take you to see a doctor tomorrow. You’ ll be all right. Let me get some blankets."
I gave his hand a tight squeeze then hurried to the door, but a gurgled plea stopped me. Turning, I saw the shadow of death on his face. He motioned me to his side; I hurried to kneel down beside him. In a weak, rasping voice, he whispered words that haunt me still:“ life will go on whether I’ m a part of it or not.”
“ Don’ t forget me.” His eyes begged as I left.
“ I won’ t Ditha, I won’ t,” I whispered, so lightly that the wind carried my words and scattered them— never to be heard by anyone else. As I walked, I wanted so badly to turn around and look at him. I wanted to see him again. But, I resisted the urge in my heart, forcing myself to look straight. I wouldn’ t look back. Ditha expressed a sweet smile to all, but there was no one to return that, at least when he was dying.
He passed away that night and was consigned to the grave the next morning. There was no ceremony, no final rites or words of remembrance. He was forgotten; it was as if he never existed. There was nobody to hear his stories, no one to know him for his true self. Before his burial, I saw him one last time. He still smiled, as if to tell me, " Death isn’ t as horrible as you might think." They buried him next to strangers in the cemetery. Most of the villagers would have preferred him to be buried with the animals. I sighed: he may have liked that better.
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