The Tales of an Immortal

"Death is not about sorrow, but a joy mixed with tears."

The family members of the inn have tears in their eyes when they welcome me back.

"Thank you so much for coming" the innkeeper's wife lets out while weeping for her dying child.

I understand the situation immediately. Anna's departure was near.

"I might never see you again," Anna said to him back when he left onto his next journey. Anna's smiling face almost transparent in its whiteness, so fragile and indescribably beautiful, as she lay in her bed.

"May I see Anna now?" I ask.

The innkeeper gives me a tiny nod and says, "I don't think she'll know who you are. She hasn't opened her eyes since last night. You can tell from the slight movement of her chest that she is clinging to a frail thread."

"It's such a shame. I know you made it a point to come very far to see her..." another tear glides down from the wife's cheek.

"Never mind, it's fine," I say.
I have been at an innumerable amount of deaths, and my experience has taught me much. Death takes away the power of speech, then the ability to see. What remains to the very end, however, is the power to hear. Even though the person has lost consciousness, it is by no means unusual for the voices of the family to bring forth smiles or even tears.

I put my arms around the woman's shoulders and say to her, "I have lots of travel stories to tell her. I've been looking forward to this the whole time I was on the road."

Instead of smiling, the woman releases another tear and nods towards me.
"And Anna was looking forward to your stories as well."
Her sobs almost drown out her words.

Anna, the only daughter of the innkeeper and his wife, will probably breathe her last breathe before the sun comes up. I lower my pack on the floor immediately and quietly enter Anna's room.

Anna was frail from birth. Far from enjoying the opportunity to travel, she rarely left the town or even the neighborhood in which she was born and raised.

"The child will probably not live to adult hood," the doctor tells her parents.
To this tiny girl with extraordinarily beautiful doll-like features, the gods have delt an all-too-sad destiny.

Anna was unable to go anywhere, but the guests who stayed at the inn would tell her stories of the countries, towns, landscapes, and people that she would never know. Whenever new guests arrived, she would ask them, "Where are you from?"; "Where are you going?"; "Can you tell me a story?" She would sit there with her sparkling eyes, urging them on to new chapters with "And then? And then what?"

When they left, she would beg them, "Please come back and tell me more stories about far away places!" She would stand there waving until they disappeared, give them one last good bye, and then go back to bed.

Anna is sound asleep when I enter. No one else is in her room.
I sit down next to her with a smile.

"Hello, Anna. I'm back."

She does not respond. Her little chest, still without the swelling of a grown woman, still struggling to hold on to her life.

"I went far across the ocean this time," I tell her.

"The oceans on the side where the sun comes up. I took a boat from the harbor way way way far beyond the mountains you see from your window. I was on the sea from the time the moon was perfectly round till it got smaller and smaller and bigger and bigger until it was full again. There was nothing but ocean as far as your eyes can see. Just the sea and the sky. Can you imagine that Anna? You've never seen the ocean, but I'm sure people have told you about it. It's like a huge big endless puddle! haha."

I chuckle to myself, it semed like Anna's cheek moved slightly.

"You'll be leaving on a journey of your own soon Anna," I tell her gently.
"You'll be leaving for a world that no one knows, a world that has never endured into any of the stories you have heard so far.
Finally, you will be able to leave your bed and walk anywhere you want to go. You'll be free."

I wanted her to know that "death is not a sorrow, but a joy mixed with tears."

"It's your turn now. Be sure and tell everyone about the memories of your journey."

Her parents will make that same journey someday. And someday Anna will be able to meet all the guests she has ever met at the inn, far beyond the great sky.

I, however, can never go there.
I can never escape this world.
I can never see you again.
"This is not good bye. It's just the start of your new adventure."

I speak my final words to her.
"We'll meet again."
My final lie to her.

(Anna then makes her departure into the next world...)

Her face is transfused with a tranquil smile as if she just said, "see you soon!"
Her eyes will never open again.

A single tear glides slowly down her cheek.