Van Der Graaf, taj neuravnoteženi čudak, napiše posljednju stranicu svog novog filozofskog romana, debele knjige koja nikada neće biti objavljena; a i što bi bila kad ju je za sebe napisao.

Tajnovito djelo to odluči nazvati Nedovršena priča.

Van Der Graaf, samouki pisac koji kao takav nikada ništa nije čitao. Istina, probao je doduše, davno je već tome, nešto pročitati, ali došavši do logičke spoznaje kako je književnost tek podmukli način rastezanja nekoliko suvislih rečenica na masu besmislenih stranica teksta, on odustade od daljnjeg naprezanja. Svatko piše za sebe, jer svatko najbolje zna što mu je u glavi, stoga čitanje tuđih mudrolija predstavlja uzaludan trud.

Uzevši tu misao kao zvijezdu vodilju, Van Der Graaf se pretvori u strastvenog grafomana i zatvoren u polumraku svoje sobe, stane slagati teške riječi, ispisivati puste knjige u koje konačno može vjerovati, i kojima si je htio objasniti nešto više o životu, pojavama koje ga okružuju itd…

Svatko piše za sebe, jer svatko najbolje zna što mu je u glavi, stoga čitanje tuđih mudrolija predstavlja uzaludan trud.

Tomove i tomove takvih knjiga.

Svojih uradaka, naravno nije autor pokazivao nikome, a i kome kad nije mu stalo ni do čijeg mišljenja, jer pisac je sam sebi najbolji kritičar i najzahvalniji čitatelj.

On dakle dovrši stranicu, odloži olovku koju je napravio, skine klompe koje je izdubio i sjede na, od otpadnog stakla načinjen krevet.

Van Der Graaf je oduvijek sve radio sam. Mogao je kupiti, država svima daje socijalnu pomoć, koju je, usput budi rečeno, cijelu poklanjao prosjacima, mogao je kupiti, ali što kad u izlozima prodavaonica taj čudni čovjek, još nikada nije ugledao proizvod ili stvar koju bi poželio posjedovati. Takvo nešto nije izmišljeno!

Sve što je upotrebljavao, oblačio, jeo, sve bi sam samcat napravio, kreirao, uzgojio… Recimo da je ponekad njegova odjeća ljudima mogla izgledati odurno; komadi odbačenih najlonskih vreća, kartoni dovučeni sa smetlišta, limovi bijele tehnike…, no važno je reći da se Van Der Graaf u tome osjećao udobno. Hranu je nalazio u kantama za smeće oko Mac Donaldsovih restorana, a nešto je i uzgajao u vrtu iza kuće, na nekoliko četvornih metara zemljišta gdje su susjedi odlagali smeće, isti oni susjedi koji bi okretali glave kada bi ga ugledali kako sjedi pod nekim od mostova i trijebi uši ili prolazi Kraljičinim trgom vukući za sobom crknutog psa. Na tih je nekoliko četvornih metara Van Der Graaf uzgajao kupus, mrkvu i nešto malo krumpira, a kruh je pekao u kamenom ognjištu kojeg je sazidao u kutu svoje samačke sobice.

Izuje klompe, puhne u svijeću i mrak još jednom zavlada među suznim zidovima.

Počeo ga već uljuljkivati i prvi san kada netko zalupi po vratima. Van Der Graaf se trgne. Tko bi to mogao biti, njega nikad nitko ne posjećuje?

Ustane i otvori vrata, a ono petorica policajaca. Stoje i gledaju ga.

– Ti si Van Der Graaf?! – upita brkati s epoletama na ramenima.

– Ja – reče Van Der Graaf sluteći nevolje.

– Imamo nalog za pretres! – izvadi brkonja iz džepa masan papir i vikne:

– Hajdemo!

Policajci upadnu u sobu, započnu pretres, stanu razbijati stvari.

– Ne! Ne! Pustite to! – uzalud je zapomagao zbunjeni Van Der Graaf. – Ovo je neka greška! Nema tu ničeg što bi vas zanimalo!

– Gdje je?! Gdje ga skrivaš?! – mrzovoljno poviče brkati.

– Koga? Što?!

Uto, držeći se za ruke, zaljubljeni par policajaca, dotrči do brke i, pokazujući u najlonskoj vrećici pola glavice kupusa viknu: – Evo mozga! Evo! Našli smo ga!

– Što koga, majmune jedan!?! Ne glupiraj se s nama!

– Ali koga?! – opet upita Van Der Graaf i dobije šamar.

– Ne zajebavaj se s našim strpljenjem!! Gdje je?!

– Ali…

– Gdje skrivaš mozak?!

Van Der Graaf se zaprepasti… Kakav mozak?! Što ovi žele od njega?

Uto, držeći se za ruke, zaljubljeni par policajaca, dotrči do brke i, pokazujući u najlonskoj vrećici pola glavice kupusa viknu: – Evo mozga! Evo! Našli smo ga!

Brkati reče: – Bravo Karamarko i Čmarko! Našli ste ga! Imate tri dana nagradnog – a Van Der Graafu priprijeti prstom: – Tebe vodimo na sud! Ti si najluđi čovjek u gradu!

Na brkine riječi policajci složno i u ritmu zapjevaju:

– Tako, tako Hej ho, m ca ca m ca ca… na sud, na sud, tko je lud ne budi mu drugs & sex & rock’n’roll…

Sve se započe odvijati munjevitom brzinom.

Odvedoše oni Van Der Graafa svezanog k’o salamu, najprije u policijsku postaju, gdje je morao potpisati neke izjave, a poslije i na sud.

Bilo je oko tri i trideset ujutro kada su ga uveli u veliku palaču pravde, sve do posljednjeg mjesta ispunjenu; sudac, porota, branitelj, gomila za proces zainteresiranog pučanstva…

Van Der Graaf se užasno prestraši, obučen onako, samo u kartonsku kutiju, stao i gleda vlažnih očiju. Dakle, sve je ovo namješteno, montirani proces, svi su znali, samo on ništa nije slutio.

Da sve nije toliko stvarno, čovjek bi rekao San!, ali nažalost nije.

Nakon nekoliko riječi uvodna govora sudac reče:

– Ti si Van Der Graafe najluđi čovjek u gradu! Živiš suprotno nazorima i pravilima naših života. Ne pridonosiš boljitku naše građanske udruge, crkvi milodara ne daješ i zbog svega toga tužitelj za tebe zahtijeva najstrožu kaznu!!

– Tooo!! – zaori sudnicom. – Toooo!! – i dugačak pljesak.

– Ali ja… – mucao je Van Der Graaf – … u čemu je moja krivica, ja nikome zla ne nanosim…

– Da vidimo što ima u obranu tvoju reći branitelj?! – prekine ga sudac.

Branitelj pogleda suca, porotnike, pučanstvo i prestrašenog Van Der Graafa, uhiti se za glavu i zavapi: – Ja?! Zašto ja!? Ja ništa ne znam!! Nemam što reći! Ne miješajte mene u ovo!! – poviče i kao luđak istrči iz sudnice.

– … ali kako… kako ću sad bez branitelja… – zapetlja se Van Der Graafu jezik.

– Brani se sam! Dostatno si samoživ za nešto takvo! -otrese se sudac, a mnoštvo stane skandirati: – Linč!! Linč!!

Presuda imade biti izvršena odmah po izlasku sunca i nesretnik je još sat vremena proveo u vlažnoj ćeliji, gledajući kako gasnu posljednje zvijezde, zvjerajući u jutro svoga stravična kraja nedostojna čovjeka.

Uvidi Van Der Graaf, bez borbe neće biti ništa, pa se u jadu svome dosjeti. Iz desnog džepa našivenog na kartonsku kutiju, kojom je bio obavijen, izvuče svijeću i šibice, a iz lijevog čašu vode. Zapali svijeću i da je sucu. Doda mu i čašu vode: – Eto, časni suče, ovdje ja pred ljudima koji zahtijevaju moju smrt, dajem tebi milostivi, ovu zapaljenu svijeću, vatru što je izvor života i čašu vode, tekućinu što isto tako život je. Hajde sada ti, časni suče, zalij plamen svijeće ovom vodom.

Sudac sumnjičavo pogleda Van Der Graafa i vodom prelije plamen svijeće koja zacvrči i ugasi se.

– Hu! – oglasi se Van Der Graaf. – Ti možda i ne slutiš, časni suče, što si učinio! Vodom si ubio vatru, izmiješao dva polariteta, vatru ugasio, a vodu prolio! Uništio si dva života! Čast tebi i štovanje, drugima da sudiš predodređen ti si i svakako najmudriji u ovoj dvorani, pa stoga i sam znaš da ubiti samo luđak može, a ja ne kažem da si ti luđak, već si najpametniji ovdje, bez obzira na to što si lakomisleno uništio dva života. Ja na primjer, premda neprilagođeni probisvjet, nikada ne bih učinio to što si ti malo prije učinio. Možeš li časni suče, zamisliti kolika je tek pamet drugih, mudrost onih daleko ispod tebe, ove fanatične gomile što noćas zahtijeva moju smrt. Usuđujem se reći, ne možete me suprotno habeas corpus zakonu o nepovredivosti čovjekove osobnosti, tek tako sramno osuditi. Ipak je ovo demokracija! Časni suče, na dva sata leta zrakoplovom odavdje bjesni strašni i krvavi rat, u kojem je već stotine tisuća nedužnih ljudi izgubilo živote, a ja se pitam hoće li zlikovci koji ga započeše ikada ugledati lice pravde? Ne možete me tek tako osuditi, nizašto, zbog moje različitosti! Život je neotuđiv! Svačiji! Tako i moj! – izviče u zanosu i bez daha, stvorivši neugodnu tišinu u dvorani, tišinu koju je i danas moguće sastrugati s njenih zidova.

Ne treba reći da monolog, ta ponosita sokratovska obrana, bi vrlo loše primljena i porota jednoglasno, habeas tibi, izglasa najtežu kaznu.

Presuda imade biti izvršena odmah po izlasku sunca i nesretnik je još sat vremena proveo u vlažnoj ćeliji, gledajući kako gasnu posljednje zvijezde, zvjerajući u jutro svoga stravična kraja nedostojna čovjeka.

Kada su se svjetla noći, nalik fluorescentnoj kičmi plesačice izvila, nestala u daljini dana, vrata ćelije se otvore i prostrano se dizalo zaustavi pred njima. Na vratima dizala stršio je natpis Lift za gubilište, a iz njegove unutrašnjosti je u Van Der Graafa gledala crna, visoka spodoba, sablasna lica i s nabrušenom kosom u koštunjavoj ruci.

– Ulazi. Ulazi, Van Der Graafe, da ja ne moram doći po tebe – tiho zaškripe njena užasna usta. – Znaš li tko sam ja? – upita, a Van Der Graaf pogleda uprtog u pod odgovori:

– Znam. Ti si Smrt.

– Da. Ja sam Smrt, a ovo je dizalo za gubilište – zaokruži Smrt koštunjavom rukom prostor oko sebe.

– Znam, – reče Van Der Graaf pogleda i dalje uprtog u pod – gledao sam film Lift za gubilište, to je sa Jeanne Moreau, gledao sam ga davno dok sam još bio mlad, dok još nisam znao da je film istina, a život tek izmišljena celuloidna iluzija.

– Da – kao jeka ponovi Smrt – gledao si taj film. I ja sam ga gledala.

– A jesi li gledala Ingmar Bergmanov Sedmi pečat? – upita Van Der Graaf Smrt.

– 1 taj sam film gledala!

– Vidim da si filmofil! – pridigne naglo on glavu i pogleda Smrti u oči, u te prazne duplje jezive lubanje. – Čini mi se, ako se dobro sjećam, u tom filmu neki vitez igra s tobom šah, a kao zalog stavlja svoj život. Pobijedi li te, ti mu produljuješ život.

– Na što ciljaš, bijednice?! – hladno upita Smrt i uputi mu strašni pogled, ali ga on izdrža ne oborivši glavu.

– Smrti vladarice života… pokloni mi priliku i ne uzimaj me još sa sobom! – zamoli je on, a Smrt upita: – Zašto misliš da bih ti je trebala pokloniti?! Nisam ja državna lutrija!

– Znam… oprosti… – po prvi put tijekom ovog razgo¬vora zadrhti Van Der Graafu glas – … oprosti, mislio sam da bih možda mogao… naučiti voljeti.

– Voljeti?! Ha, ha! Pa to je smiješno! Bijedni crve! Već si star. Ti me nasmijavaš?!

– Ne ljuti se, mislio sam, možda još nisam zaslužio umri¬jeti. Znaš, ljubav još nisam upoznao…

– Kako sad to? Zbunjuješ me! Ja imam nalog! – izvuče Smrt list papira iz svoje mrtvačke odore. – Ovdje sve piše! Ne radim ni ja tek tako! Po nahođenju!

– Znam. Oprosti – pomiri se Van Der Graaf sa sudbom, a Smrt se razmaše koštunjavom rukom: – Ma što znaš?! Vraga ti znaš! Misliš li da je meni lako?! Stalno neki pametnjakovići nalik tebi! Stalno neke veze i protekcije! Znaš li, gnjido, koliko ja posla imam?! Ne znaš! Naravno da ne znaš! Svi ti ratovi, kriminal… kraj svijeta uskoro… o Sotono, kad samo pomislim! A ti me zajebavaš!!

– O jooj! Nemoj se ljutiti! – zacvili nesretnik.

– Dosta prenemaganja! Vrijeme je novac – pogleda Smrt na sat. – Što ti ono hoćeš? Odgodu? Dobro! Nema problema! Potpiši! – pruži mu olovku i nekakav formular.

– G… gdje…? – upre on drhtavom rukom, a Smrt već na rubu strpljenja poviče: – Tuuu!! Što si se utrtario?! Tu potpiši! Odgodu! Što je?! Buljiš, a?! Ne možeš vjerovati?! Eh druškane, pa i ja sam samo sitan kotačić nebeske birokracije! I ja nekome račune podnosim! O.K.! Dakle, kad naučiš voljeti!? Tako si rekao?! Važi, ali ti savjetujem da doista naučiš voljeti, jer non quam diu, sed quam bene vixeris refert, iliti nije važno kako si dugo živio, već kako dobro si živio; a život bez ljubavi baš i nije previše dobar – demonstrira mu Smrt svoje poznavanje mrtvih jezika, u ovome slučaju latinskog, pa digne dva kosturska prsta u znak pozdrava – Ali we need is love! – kiselo se nasmije i nestane, a Van Der Graaf se probudi…

… probudi se pored svoje prekrasne, mlade, crvenokose žene.

– Ahh! – zastenje, stisnuvši se jače uz nju. – Sanjao sam užasan san. Bio sam ludi pisac i, brrr, htjeli su me ubiti, a onda mi je Smrt produžila život!

– Ne brini. Ništa ne brini – prebaci mu ona sneno dugu toplu nogu preko trbuha. – Spavajmo dragi, još je rano. Spavajmo -Poljubi ga i – Volim te – reče.

– I ja tebe volim! – zagrli je Van Der Graaf pa opet zaspi. Ona je neko vrijeme još osluškivala njegovo sve ravnom¬jernije disanje, a onda je i samu svlada spokojan san.

Poslije, kada se probudila, u krevetu pokraj nje ležao je njen mrtav muž.

Van Der Graaf, that unbalanced weirdo, wrote down the very last page of his new philosophical novel, a huge book which was never meant to be published and why would it be, when he wrote it just for himself?

This mysterious work he decided to name Unfinished story.

Van Der Graaf, a self-taught writer, had never read anything; truly and honestly, long ago he tried to read something, but reaching the logical conclusion that literature was just a devious way of stretching out a couple of sensible sentences over a pile of meaningless pages of a text, he had given up any further effort. Everybody writes just for one’s own sake, knowing best what actually lies within their minds, therefore reading someone else’s wisdom represents just a vain vexation.

Everybody writes just for one’s own sake, knowing best what actually lies within their minds, therefore reading someone else’s wisdom represents just a vain vexation.

Taking this thought as his guiding star, Van Der Graaf turned himself into a passionate scribbler, and being secluded in the darkness of his room, he started to compose heavy words, writing numerous books which he could finally trust, and by which he attempted to explain strictly to himself, something more about life, about the phenomena surrounding him, and so on, and so forth…

Volumes and volumes of such kinds of books.

Those masterpieces, the author, of course, showed not to a soul — why would he and to whom? Why would I care for anyone’s opinion, he said, being absolutely aware that the author was his own best critic and the most grateful reader.

So, he finished the page, put down the pencil made by himself, took off the wooden shoes he carved by himself, too, and sat down on his bed made of glass refuse.

As strange as it could appear, Van Der Graaf had always been making all of his things by himself. He could have bought them, that’d be what government welfare was for! Anyhow, he always gave his paycheck to beggars. He could’ve bought everything he needed, but why would he do it anyway? This little strange man had never found a product or merchandise that he wanted to possess. Such a thing had not been not invented yet.

Whatever he used, wore, or ate… was exclusively made by himself. To give an example: sometimes his clothes would look rather appalling to people; they were actually pieces of discarded nylon bags, cardboard dug out from rubbish dumps, tin sheets of discarded white goods — saving devices… But needless to say, Van Der Graaf felt comfortable dressed like that. While scavenging around McDonald’s restaurants he found some food, but he also tended his own garden in the backyard of his house, on a small block of land used by his neighbours as a garbage-dumping place, the very same neighbors who used to turn their heads away each and every time they would see him sitting under any of the bridges pulling lice out of his hair, or while he walked across the Queen’s Square, dragging a dead dog behind him. On this tiny block of land Van Der Graaf grew cabbage, carrots, and some potatoes. He baked his own bread in a stone oven which he had built in a corner of a solitary little room.

He took off his wooden shoes, blew the candle out, and the darkness grew amid those teary walls. He was already drifting away with a first touch of a dream, when he heard banging on his door. It shook him out of his bed. Who could that be…? He never had any visitors…

He rose and opened the door. Five cops were standing there, staring at him.

“You are Van Der Graaf, aren’t you?” asked the one with a mustache and stripes on his shoulders.

“I…” stuttered Van Der Graaf, anticipating troubles.

“We have a search warrant,” the one with a mustache pulled a greasy piece of paper out of his pocket, shouting “Let’s go!”

Policemen rushed into the room, and started their search knocking down everything on their way.

A pair of cops, holding hands like two sweethearts, ran to the mustached one showing him a bag which contained half of a cabbage, shouting ‘Here is the brain! Here it is! We’ve found it!’

“No! Please don’t! Don’t break my things!” helplessly cried Van Der Graaf. “This must be a mistake. There’s nothing here of interest to you!”

“Where is it? Where are you hiding it?” asked the mustached cop angrily.

“What?”

“What do you mean what, you silly mongrel? Don’t you play the smart arse with us!”

“But what?” once again asked Van Der Graaf and instantly got a blow in the face.

“Don’t test our patience! Where is it?”

“But…”

“Where are you hiding your brain?”

Van Der Graaf was astounded. What brain? What did they want from him?

A pair of cops, holding hands like two sweethearts, ran to the mustached one showing him a bag which contained half of a cabbage, shouting “Here is the brain! Here it is! We’ve found it!”

The mustached cop said, “Well done! Well done, R.C. Licker and U. Sucker! You’ve got it! You deserve three days off!” then he shook his finger toward Van Der Graaf “We are taking you straight to the court! You are the craziest person in the whole town!”

Hearing this, the policemen began to sing in unison, “Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to the court we go…”

Everything started to happen with tremendous speed.

They packed him like salami, took him to the police station, first, where he had to sign some statement, and later off to the court.

It was around half past three in the morning when he was ushered in the great hall of justice, filled up to the last place; judge, jury, attorney and curious folk wanting justice…

Van Der Graaf, dressed only in a cardboard box, utterly terrified, stood there with moist eyes. It looked like all that was fake, made-up, he was framed, and everybody knew that, except himself, clueless totally.

If all this hadn’t been so real, it could have been a dream, but unfortunately, it wasn’t.

After a few introductory words, the judge said, “Van Der Graaf, you are the craziest man in town! You live contrary to the rules and norms we obey! You do not contribute to our community, nor do you give any charity to the church. Because of that the attorney demands the gravest punishment!”

“Yay!” cheered the crowed in the courthouse with a long applause, “Yay!”

“But… I…” stuttered Van Der Graaf. “What is my fault, I’ve never harmed anyone…”

“Let’s see what the lawyer has to say in your defense,” the judge interrupted.

The lawyer looked at the judge, at the jury, and the crowd, then in the direction of frightened Van Der Graaf, who buried his head in his hands and moaned, “But? Why me? I don’t know a thing! I have nothing to say! Don’t involve me in this matter!” then screaming like a madman, he ran out of the court.

“But what… what can I do now without any defence…” stuttered Van Der Graaf.

“Defend yourself alone! You are equipped enough to do that!” snapped the judge and the crowd started chanting, “Lynch! Lynch!”

This won’t pass without a fight, figured out Van Der Graaf and out of his misery an ingenious thought was born: out of his right pocket, sewn on the cardboard box in which he was wrapped, he pulled out a candle and matches, and from the left pocket, a glass of water. He lit the candle and gave it to the judge. While handing him the glass of water he said, “Here, your Honor, in front of all these people demanding my death, I am giving you, oh, merciful one, this burning candle; fire which is a source of life, and a glass of water, the liquid which is life itself, too. Would you now, your Honor, pour the water on the candle flame?”

Suspiciously, the judge looked at Van Der Graaf and poured the water over the burning candle, putting out the flame with a hiss.

“Wow!” cried out Van Der Graaf. “You might not be aware, your Honor, of what you have done right now. You have killed the fire with this water. You have mixed two polarities. You have put out the fire and spilt the water. You’ve destroyed two lives. With all due respect, your Honor, we know you have been destined to judge and as you are the wisest in this court you know that only a madman can kill, and I would never call you a madman, but the wisest one here, regardless of your careless destruction of two lives. While I, for example, in spite of being the biggest scumbag would never do what you have just done. Can you, your Honor, understand the intelligence of those far below yourself, of this fanatic mob which demands my death tonight? I dare say, you can’t judge without habeas corpus, judging shamefully against the laws which protect freedom and dignity of an individual. After all, this is democracy! Your Honor, only two hours of flight from here rages a disastrous bloodshed, a war where there are already hundreds of thousands of innocent people brutally murdered. I wonder, will the criminals who have started it ever face justice! You can’t judge me just like that, for nothing, just for being different! Life is a sacred thing! Everyone’s life! So mine is, too!” he shouted, carried away breathlessly, causing an unpleasant silence in the hall, the silence which is possible to scrape off from the walls even today.

Needless to say that the monologue, his proud Socrates’ defence, fell on deaf ears, and the jury unanimously, habeas tibi, voted for the maximum penalty.

The sentence was to be carried out immediately after sunrise, and the unlucky writer spent another hour in the damp cell, watching the stars fading away, facing the dawn of his horrible end, unfair for any human being.

When the night lights, resembling the fluorescent spine of a twirling dancer on stage, vanished in the distance of the day, the cell door opened and there in front of them was a large elevator. On the door there was a sign: Lift to the Gallows. On the other side of the door there was a black tall creature with a ghostly face and a sharpened scythe in his bony hand looking at Van Der Graaf.

“Get in! Get in Van Der Graaf, willingly!” its horrible mouth softly creaked. “Do you know who I am?” it asked, and Van Der Graaf answered staring at the floor, “I know. You are Death.”

“Yes! I am Death, and this is the lift to the gallows.” Death circled the space around itself.

“I know,” said Van Der Graaf, still keeping his eyes on the floor. “I have seen the movie Elevator to the Gallows; the one with Jeanne Moreau. I saw it a while ago when I was young, and I did not know back then that the films were the truth and life itself was nothing, just a false celluloid illusion.”

“Yes,” echoed Death. “You have seen the film. I have seen it, too.”

“And did you see Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal?” asked Van Der Graaf.

“I have seen that one, too.”

“I see, you are fond of movies!” he raised his head suddenly and looked Death in the eyes, those empty sockets in its skull. “If I remember well, there’s a knight playing chess with you, in that movie. He is playing for his own life: If he wins, you’ll grant him life…”

“You miserable fool! What are you aiming at?” asked Death coldly giving him a frightening look, but he withstood the gaze without lowering his head.

“Death, you are the ruler of life… give me one more chance and please, don’t take me with you, oh, not as yet…” he pleaded. Death asked ironically:

“Why do you think I should give you what you are pleading for for free? I am not a State Lottery!”

“I know… I’m sorry…” for the very first time during their conversation his voice trembled. “I’m sorry, I thought, maybe I could learn… to love.”

“Love? Wow! Ha, ha! You pathetic little worm! This is ridiculous! You are too old, don’t make me laugh.”

“Oh, don’t get angry, I think, I do not deserve to die yet… Love… you know, I didn’t know what love is, I mean, I haven’t met love yet.”

“Love? What the hell is this now? You are confusing me! There is this decree, I have my orders!” Death took a sheet of paper out of its mantle. “Here, look, everything is written down. I work legally!”

“I know,” Van Der Graaf shrugged his shoulders resigning to his fate.

“What do you think you know? Hell you know!” Death started to wave its skeletal hand. “You think I do enjoy my job, don’t you? Well, my job isn’t exactly easy! There is always out there at least one smart arse like you! Always someone with connections and protections! You rascal, do you know how much work I have to do?! You don’t have a clue! Of course you don’t! And how much of it is still waiting for me; the wars, the crime… soon there’ll be the end of the world… Oh, Satan, I shouldn’t even think about that! And you, you are fucking around with me! There are so many out there just like you, who want this and that, they say they do believe in God, in love, in creation and recreation, blah, blah… No one can fuck around with me!”

“Don’t get cross!” the poor wretch squealed.

“Enough! Enough of pretentiousness!” The Grim Reaper turned its hollow eye-sockets to the watch. “Time is money! What was it that you wanted? Prolongation of your life? O.K. Sign here.” Death handed him a pencil and some kind of a form.

“Whe… Where…?” he extended his shaky hand, while Death, losing patience, shouted, “Here! Let’s keep moving! Sign here! Postponement! What’s up? You’re staring, huh? You can’t believe it? Hey, chum, I am also just a small cog of the cosmic bureaucracy! I also have to show my bills, there is someone out there to whom I have to give my report too. So, that’s what you’ve asked for — until you learn to love? You’ve got a deal! Take my advice: learn to love! Because: non quam diu, sed quam bene vixeris refert; or — doesn’t matter how long your life was, but it matters how good it was… and, without love life isn’t worth living!” With the last sentence Death showed off his knowledge of ancient languages, in this case Latin, and then he raised his skeletal fingers in the air as a greeting. “All we need is love!” With a sour grin, it disappeared into darkness.

Van Der Graaf woke up…

… and found himself lying next to his beautiful, young, red-headed wife.

“Ahh!” he moaned pressing tighter against her. “I had a horrible dream. I was a crazy writer sentenced to death, and then Death itself had saved my life!”

“Don’t worry, dear! Let’s get back to sleep.” She put her warm, long leg over his belly. “It’s early morning.” She kissed him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Van Der Graaf embraced her and fell fast asleep.

For a little while, she was listening to his rhythmical breathing, before the calm dream came over her as well.

When she opened her eyes some time later, she found her dead husband lying next to her.