nathan

        In his waning years Nathan Silver retired from teaching in California and took up rural homesteading along the upper Hudson, where he could sit beneath an ancient elm. His activism, dating back to the early days with Howard Fast, Arthur Koestler, Walter Lippmann and Max Lerner, had abated to merely sending money to good causes. His latest donation was to Magen David Adom.
        A copse of northern pine flanked the dirt road and the split-rail fence. Nathan walked the road each day, no more than a mile each way. He meditated upon chapters of his long life. He felt wise with hindsight.
In this wisdom he did not regret decisions made in haste and error. That would be folly.
        His knowledge of birds was nil, so he called them all "meadowlarks."
        They sang and played across the fields and soared up into trees. It was wonderful now to take time and love the birds.
        On one of his walks, in the purple gloaming, his heart kicked up a fuss. The pain caused him to clutch his chest and lean for a moment upon the fence. He refused to cry out when he fell to his knees.
        Nathan felt his spirit enter his beloved elm.


        As he had suspected, no one left the planet.  Earth consisted of many  planes of reality. There were those to be seen and touched, known and felt. There were those that were not. The elm permitted Nathan to look about with abundant tranquility. A meadowlark perched upon one of his boughs.


        "Grandfather."
        "Bernice?"
        "Yes. I am here."
        She stood beneath the elm. Black robe, black hooded cloak. Her skin glowed with transfiguration. She touched the elm. A bond between her fingertip and Nathan's spirit existed.
        "We must make a brief journey," she said. "I promise you will return here shortly."
       


                                                                                        *


         Ruth Silver was coming home in her Jeep after shopping at the crossroads general store, a gray slat and shingle relic with a rusted Pepsi sign and a defunct glass-head gaspump. Inside the store a cracker barrel checkers game had been in progress. Pipesmoke. Sweetsmell. Knickerbockers. She could swear there was a Dutch broadhat old as the Bronk family hanging upon the wallrack.
        She found Nathan sprawled in the dirt.
        He was breathing shallowly. On her cellphone she called the EMTs and then held his hand. And wished she knew First Aid.
        She felt the presence of someone else.
        But saw no one.


                                                                                       *


        Nathan was taken to the county hospital. The ER resident doctor treated him until vital signs showed a thin margin of recovery. By then Nathan's own physician had arrived.
        When Nathan woke, Ruth and Maxine were bedside. The room had no color. He could see no color anywhere.
         Words fluttered from his parchment mouth like confetti. He remembered the individual paper letters he once inserted into the sleeves of his cardboard spelling board to compose words, and thoughts.Way, way back in grammar school.
        Maxine turned to Ruth. "What's he saying?"
        Nathan was asking, "Bernice? Are you here, Bernice?"
        Bernice stood in the doorway. She replied, "I am here, Grandfather. I am here."
        Maxine embraced her daughter, sobbing, "He's gone."