ROBERT'S RENEWAL
Robert sat at his desk in the study with a bottle of scotch near one hand and a bottle of sleeping pills near the other. He was already drunk and was feeling very sorry for himself. He had decided to commit suicide.
He was in his late thirties, ambitious, and self-motivated. He had an extravagant home, a picture-perfect wife, a son, a maid, a butler, and few scruples. In neither business nor pleasure had he allowed fairness or conscience get in the way of what he wanted. Every aspect of his life always went according to plan.
Until recently. His position at his company was in serious danger.
He had used every means open to him to work his way up the corporate ladder and had hardly been aware of the heads that he had stepped on as he forged his way to become the president's fair haired boy. Now, with the economy of the country on shaky legs, the company was on a fast down hill slide, and Robert was going down with it.
He glanced at the pictures on his desk. A blond young woman of sophisticated beauty looked out from a silver frame at him, and next to her was a serious looking boy of seven. Clarise and Steven.
Tonight, Clarise had quietly informed him that she wanted a divorce. She had stood in front of his desk, and, cloaked in that cool as ice manner of hers, had told him that she no longer wanted to be his show piece and symbol of respectability. She said that she didn't believe he was overly concerned about Steven nor did Steven feel Robert cared about him.
He took another drink.
"I don't need any of you," he said to the closed door.
He glanced at the sleeping pills. They would all feel badly when they found him in the morning. Even that snippety black butler that his wife was so fond of.
Look at all he had given them.
Anything his family wanted they could have because of him. They needed him.
He picked up the bottle of pills. Let the company fall. He wouldn't be there to see it. Let Clarise and Steven have their freedom, but he would be the first to leave.
He began taking the pills and washing them down with the scotch. When he had taken the last pill, he leaned back and patted his stomach.
It was too bad he couldn't be around to watch their reactions when they found him.
He envisioned the responses to his death. In his mind's eye, all were shocked and overcome by grief. He was himself emotionally affected by his imagined scenario, and his eyes brimmed with tears of self sympathy.
He began to feel sleepy and physically heavy. He laid his head on the desk, knocking over the bottle of scotch. He was too tired to set it upright. He closed his eyes and fell into a deep slumber.
Suddenly, he was awake and standing in front of the desk, facing the door. He didn't know what had roused him. He no longer felt the effects of the scotch or the despair that had brought the need for it. His vision was blurred but he felt alert and alive.almost joyful.
He decided that it would best if he regurgitated the pills. He turned then stopped in surprise. Someone was sitting at his desk. He leaned over to see better in the dim light and drew back in shock and horror. He had looked into his own face.
In confusion and fear, he paced around the desk.
"I must be dead!" he said to himself. He fought for self control and leaned over the body again.
"Dear God! I don't want to be dead!" he cried.
He was on the verge of panic when he saw a movement as the body took a shallow breath. He squatted beside it and watched it intently. It was barely breathing.
"It's alive!" he shouted.
"I'm still alive!"
There was a rap on the door and Robert turned to see the butler, Means, open it.
"Means!" Robert cried in relief. "Means, get a doctor! Quickly!
I'm dying!"
Means merely looked over at Robert's body, shook his head with an amused smile, and turned to leave.
"Means! Means! Come back!
I'm not drunk! I'm dying!"
Robert started for the door.
"For God's sake, man, help me!" he pleaded.
As the butler shut the door, Robert reached for it and found himself on the other side. He followed Means to the library and over to the fireplace as the butler began to tend the fire.
"Means, please," he said.
"I know you detest me and I suppose you have reason. I have never given you cause to care if I live or die. I've been a bigot, I know, and have belittled you at every opportunity, but please, Means, give me another chance. Get a doctor! I've not much time!"
Means continued to stir the fire.
"Means?" spoke a soft voice.
Robert and Means turned to
the door. It was Clarise entering the room and stepping over to the fire to warm her hands.
In Robert's vision the world had lost its sharp clarity, and everything seemed to shimmer at the edges.
Clarise's features were softer than he remembered, and she was incredibly feminine and beautiful. Was it because of his vision or had his awareness of her changed?
"Is Steven ready to come down?" she asked as she faced the fire.
Robert moved closer to her.
What was this tremor he was experiencing? How could it be that he had never noticed how soft and lovely she was? How could he have thought of her as icy when she was radiating this gentleness and warmth?"
"I will go see about him," Means replied and left the room.
"Clarise," Robert said to her, "please, hear me. I am in the study. Go to me. I'm dying in there; I need your help."
She made no movement or acknowledgement of his presence.
"Clarise! It's Robert! I-, " he stopped.
As she stared into the fire, tears glistened on her cheeks. They were like tiny rainbows as the light from the fire was caught by them.
"Oh, Robert," she whispered.
"Why won't you love me?"
Robert felt a pain then, greater than any he had known, and, with it, a sense of urgency.
"Clarise. Forgive me. I do love you. I don't deserve you, I know. But it will be different now. I don't know what has happened to me, but something has changed. I'll make you happy, Clarise, but, please, don't let me die.
Go to the study! Call a doctor!"
She lifted her head for a moment and held it to one side. She turned and left the room. He followed her as she went to the study door. She put her hand on the knob.
"Open it, Clarise!" he urged.
She opened the door and looked across the room. She saw the spilled bottle of scotch and his form across the desk. She turned from the sight as her face crumpled, and she shut the door.
"Clarise!" he cried as she walked away. "It's not what you think! Don't go!"
She didn't hear, nor did she look back.
A movement caught his eye.
Tina, the young maid was in the living room and emptying the ash trays. He crossed over to her.
"Tina, " he said. "I know what you think of me, too. You think that I am a sexist, skirt chaser.
I know that I put pressure on you in the past. I'm truly sorry. It won't happen again. Please go to me and call a doctor. Tina-"
"Is Momma in the library?"
At the sound of the young voice, Robert looked to see Steven behind him. The child had his mother's blond hair and large blue eyes.
"How vulnerable he looks," Robert thought.
"Yes, Dear, " replied Tina.
"Are you going to read with her?"
"I guess so," Steven said.
"I don't s'pose Daddy is in there, too, " he added hopefully.
"No, Sweetie, he's in the study."
As Steven headed for the library, Robert followed him.
"Steven, " he said desperately, "I need you. Go to the study."
Steven paused and looked at the study door wistfully.
"Go on, Steven," Robert prompted. "I know I told you never to disturb me, but that has changed. It's all right."
"Steven?" Clarise called from the library.
"Don't listen, Steven!"
Robert pleaded. "Please, please Steven!"
Steven walked slowly to the study door and stood before it.
"Go on, Steven! Open it!"
Steven stepped closer and put his small hand on the knob, but still hesitated.
"Steven, I'm a different father than the one you're accustomed to. I'll be a real father from now on. You'll see. Open the door."
Steven began to turn the knob.
"Steven," Clarise called. "Are you coming?"
Steven ran to his mother and joined her in the library.
Robert despaired then.
He returned to the study and kneeled beside his body.
"Wake up! I can't leave yet! Please, I don't want to die. There are things I need to do and changes I need to make."
"Robert."
He couldn't tell if the name had been spoken inside or outside of him.
He turned. There was a vague and undefined shape beside him.
He pulled away.
"Don't be afraid, Robert."
"What do you want?"
he asked.
"It is time to go.
The body has ceased to function.
You have to let it go."
"No!" protested Robert.
"I'm not finished! I've learned things and-"
What you have learned won't change, Robert. It will still be useful to you. There is much more for you to learn. Let go of the body, Robert."
"It was a mistake!" Robert cried. "I didn't want to die, really!"
"Then you would not have died. It is only a body, Robert. It isn't you.
You are not dead."
"But my family."
"Your family will do well.
You have freed them and are helping them to grow. Release yourself, Robert."
Robert felt himself loosening. He was beginning to feel lighter and freer. All the worldly weight he had imposed upon himself for all his years began to lift from him. In its place came knowledge and he knew that he had reached his household. A part of each of them had received his messages. They would know without being aware of how they knew that he loved them.
"Well," he thought lightly, "that is all that matters, isn't it?"