The dark time is now upon me. The only clock I need is the hanging over my head... ticking away... unaware that it is stealing my precious time, as it does so. It's too late to save myself. It is now exactly four hours to sunrise. In five hours I'm expected to be dead. I have searched in vain for an explanation to all the things that had happened to me in the past thirteen months, but to avail. Will I live to finish writing this memoir? I hope so.
Two weeks ago Dr. Harvey gave me a clean bill of health. Then what is wrong with me, you might ask. I'm afraid I don't have the answer to this. That's why I'm writing this brief memoir, hoping that one of you out there can give me a logical explanation concerning this. It all started when...
On the morning which I shall never forget, I began a new life. At the first noisy interruption of my newly purchased alarm clock, I awoke and slipped quietly out of my bed. As I sipped my hot coffee, I watched a flock of sparrows chirping over the lowest branch of my mango tree. There they were free to do whatever they choose, unlike me. Yes, I had made my decision and nothing could change it... I had decided to commit suicide!
My lawyer had informed me the day before that I had gone bankrupt after squandering my late grandfather's fortune in a record of five months on some horses that never won a single race. But worse of all, my fiancee, Carrie, had decided to go her own way. Our bond was virually cut off by her mother saying that I was unable to support myself, led alone a family.
Yes, I had decided. I was going to commit suicide. I decided that jumping off the Race Course Flats would be the easiest way out! I arrived at the old drab-looking brick building with a feeling of guilt. I was about to take a life... my own life! As I walked along the unswept lobby, I heard a voice exclaiming, "Papers, papers! Ger your papers here!" Being as curious as I was, I simply could not resist the temptation of reading the results of the Saturday race. I looked at the newspaper seller quizzically. How odd! I had never seen a newspaper seller there before.
The man who handed me the paper was old, very old. He had white hair and a very long pointed beard. Around his neck hung a thin leather cord to which was tied a small wooden skull. As he handed me the 'Times', I found that he had only one hand and only one paper to sell. I could fell the extreme coldness of his hand as I took the paper.
I flipped the pages of the paper hurriedly to the race page. I shook my head in disbelief and rubbed my eyes a number of times. Right in front of my very eyes, where the headlines of the race column, 'National Race Day'. But surely the National Race Day was scheduled for today not yesterday! I scanned the rest of the pages with interest. It was the result of the 4-D draw on Sunday that caught my attention. But today is Sunday. I thought to myself then. The draw is to be hed this afternoon!
I looked again.
My God! On top of the page... the date Monday.
It is tomorrow's paper!
I went to the lobby at once, but my mysterious man was nowhere to be seen. Of cource, I forgot all about killing myself then. Instead I went home and looked through the newspaper. I circled the winners of the afternoon races, the 4-D result, the 'Big Sweep' and the closing prices of the Stock Exchange.
There were scores of questions forming in my mind, but things were happening so fast that I could not comprehend anything. I spend the whole day buying the 4-D, 'Big Sweep and the Stock Exchange.
The following morning, I made my way to the building again. Yes, my greedy mind was in fact thinking how I could use the money I would win that day. I was walking through the unswept lobby when I saw him again.
"Papers, papers! Get your papers here," he called out.
"Times, sir," he said with a knowing smile as I approached him.
"You are Mr...", I inquired as I took the papers from him.
"Lazarus, sir," he said as I shook his hand. Then, all of a sudden he laughed, a creepy kind of laugh that sent shivers down my spine. I shuddered at the thought of talking to him further, so I left. In the days that followed, I made quite a log of money.
Soon, receiving my papers from Lazarus become a daily routine. He was making me rich, very rich. According to the survey conducted, I was the riches man in Malaysia. Once again, I paid court to Carrie after hearing that she was not married yet. Mr. Million (as they now called me) decided to pay Carrie and her mother a visit.
As my new Porche sailed smoothly into their driveway, the excited face of Carrie's mother was enough to settle the date of the wedding.
On the day before our wedding, I decided that I would never ever go for the newspaper anymore. By now I was rated as one of the ten riches in South East Asia.
Yet, the next day, I still went for my paper. This I did, not because I wanted to make more money but because I wanted to read the newspaper coverage on the big even of the day - my wedding.
"Lazarus, I never had the opportunity to thank you," I said as I took the last paper he had to sell.
"There are many ways to thank me, just as there are many ways to die," he said. Then he added, "just kidding, son".
I looked at him in a strange way and walked away. I look at the paper to see the news about my wedding... but it wasn't there! I ran back to the lobby calling Lazarus's name again and agian, but he wasn't there.
Suddenly I was an elderly couple walking into the lobby. I went up to them.
"Excuse me, have you seen a man selling newspapers, white hair, looks a bit like Abraham Lincoln... Have you?" I asked.
"Oh, ou must be talking about Lazarus," the old man said.
"Yes, Lazarus. You don't happen to know where he is... do you?" I asked uncertainly.
The old man looked at me in surprise and said, "He's been dead for thirteen years now. Didn't anyone tell you that?"
Beads of perspiration were beginning to form on my forehead as I slowly walked off towards my car. I started the car in a hurry and stepped hard on the accelerator. I was eager to reach my destination as soon as possible. My home was the only place I left at ease. As I drove into my driveway, I thought to myself. Of all the people... why me! Why did it have to be me? Caught in between the world of reality and fantasy, I went to my room, badly shaken. Then I remembered... the paper! It was the only proof that Lazarus was in fact real and not just my imagination.
The headlines on page two... 'Mr. Million dies night before his wedding. Cause of death unknown'.
NO!! This can't be happening to me... Oh God! You aren't doing this to me... tell me that this is all a joke, please. I can hear the laughter of Lazarus as clearly as before. It seemed like a joke then, but I'm not so sure now. It's right there on the paper, printed in bold print. My heart is pounding and I can't think clearly. Is this really happening to me or is it all a dream? There is a few hours left before the wedding. I throw the paper away in disgust.
Writing this memoir has taken me two hours. Death MIGHT be just around the corner, you never know - but judging from Lazarus's character, this could be his idea of a joke. All I can do now is wait... wait... and wait...
By Lim Sze Yen
