Today, instead of writing something like always, I’d like to share a short incident mentioned by my favorite author in his book. If this doesn’t make you feel something, I’m sure nothing else would. Go ahead. Meet me on the other side.
I read in an online newspaper on the internet that, on 10 June 2004, in Tokyo, a man was found dead in his pyjamas.
So far, so good. I think that most people who die in their pyjamas (a) either died in their sleep, which is a blessing, or (b) were with their family or in a hospital bed, meaning that death did not arrive suddenly, and they all had time to get used to the 'Unwanted Guest', as the great Brazilian poet, Manuel Bandeira, calls such people.
Well, lets get back.The news item went on to say that, when he died, the man was in his bedroom. That cancels out the hospital hypothesis, leaving the possibility that he died in his sleep, without suffering, without even realizing that he wouldn't live to see the morning light again.
However, according to me, there remains another possibility: that he might be attacked and killed. But, anyone who knows Tokyo, also knows that, although it is a vast city, it is also one of the safest places in the world.
It was also given that, there was no sign of struggle or violence. An official from the Metropolitan Police, in an interview with the newspaper, stated that the man had almost certainly died of sudden heart attack. So we can also reject the murder hypothesis.
The corpse was found by the employees of a building construction company on the second floor of a building in a housing development that was about to be demolished.Everything lead me to think in all possible ways that the dead man in pyjamas, having failed somewhere to live in one of the most densely populated and most expensive places in the world, had simply decided to live in a building where he wouldn't have to pay any rent as well.
Then came the tragic part of the story.
That dead man was nothing more than a skeleton wearing pyjamas.
Beside him, was an open newspaper dated 20 February 1980. On a nearby table, the calendar marked the same day.
He had been there for twenty years.
And no one had noticed his absence.
The man was identified as an ex-employee in the same company who had built the housing development, where he had moved at the beginning of the 1980′s, immediately after getting divorced. He was just over 50 on the day he was reading the newspaper and suddenly he departed this life.
His ex-wife had never tried to get in touch with him. The journalists went to the company where he had worked and discovered that the company had gone bankrupt immediately after the project was finished, because they had failed to sell any of the apartments, which would explain why they did not find it strange when the man stopped turning up for work.
The journalist tracked down his friends, who attributed his disappearance to the fact that he had borrowed money from them and hadn't been able to pay them back.
The news item ended by saying that the man's mortal remains were returned to his ex-wife.
When I finished reading the article, I kept thinking about that final sentence: the ex-wife was still alive; and yet, for twenty years, she had never even once tried to contact him. What can have been going on inside her mind? That he didn’t love her anymore, and that he had decided to cut her out of his life for good? That he had met another woman and disappeared? That this is simply what life is like once the divorce proceedings are over, and then there is no point in continuing a relationship once it has been legally terminated? I imagine what she must have felt when she learned the fate of the man with whom she had shared a large part of her life.
And then I thought about the dead man in pyjamas, about his complete and utter isolation, to the point that, for twenty long years, no one in the world had noticed that he had simply vanished without trace.
I can only conclude that worst than hunger or thirst, worse than being unemployed, unhappy in love or defeated and in despair, far worse than any or all of those things, is feeling that no one, absolutely no one, cares about us.
I’ll let you ponder over this for a while.
Cherish your relationships, because the beautiful memories with them is the only thing that stays with you when you’re walking into the arms of death. Then poof, you’re gone, just like a little moth flapping its wings and kissing the fire on a cold winter night.
You become a picture on the wall.
