Viaticum - a short story by Adam Carlton

Viaticum 

They had stationed microphones around his deathbed. I imagine because they wanted to capture his last words or something - and they had an AI to figure out all that mumbling, figure out what it thought he was really trying to say.

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“They'll think I'm stupid asking for the viaticum but it's a comfort, it's a framework and it's a process. And is it so very different from the opium of the hospital?"

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“I have a memory which demands my attention. She's sitting back in her chair and she's arguing with me: one of her pet peeves (the bins?) and I'm thinking that this means we're not going to make it tonight. But as she leans back, I see her bare legs, more of them than usual because the hem of her skirt’s riding up - and unconsciously she's looking awfully inviting."

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“I like to believe that I'm not that different from the other consciousnesses who flit about this room: some of them busy; some of them patient with me.

"I imagine myself in their position: thinking rather predictable thoughts; feeling rather predictable feelings - and I think I'm not so special and when I do go there'll be something very much like me in the heads of those people.

"My very personal memories will be abolished - theirs won't. And, as I think Mr. Musk once observed, the flame of consciousness in the universe will flicker a moment, but not die. I find that remarkably reassuring."

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“I was never happier than when I was in bed with her. Wrapped around her body, her night dress hoisted up, my arm under her breasts. I could have stayed there for hours, half-asleep, feeling her curves under my palm. And indeed I did stay for hours until finally she would say, it's time to get up, and I would have to mask my disappointment.

"I'm not especially needy, but even I knew that neediness would have been the most potent poison for our relationship."

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“No, I don't believe I'm to be reunited with her. But nor do I believe the present moment is all there is. Both the past and future are like amber. I was very mindful never to be gratuitously unpleasant with her if I could help it: - all my actions under the aspect of eternity."

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“It's astonishingly hard to really believe the world will go on in my absence. Deep down, I think everyone believes that the safe continuance of things really requires one's continuing and persistent attention."

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“I sometimes used to wake up disbelieving that any part of my ‘official life' was real. Was I really married? And for five decades? If true I'm astonished at my immense good fortune. Today, at this moment, I'm questioning it again.

Derealisation Disorder."

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“I am meant to confess - you see, I am still learning the ropes. But sin has always puzzled me: I always tried to control what I did according to my own standards; generally I did not let myself down. And it seems beside the point to scrape the bottom of the barrel for trivialities - de minimis.

So my stay in Purgatory promises to be brief?"

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“A life - my life! - is a strange thing even in retrospect. I suppose I always wanted to make a difference. Not so much for prestige or fame or any of that. I just felt deep inside that I had a duty of care for the world. Sounds self-importantly idiotic, doesn't it: - but emotions never have to justify themselves."

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“They say you have no real memory of pain - afterwards. They say that childbirth depends on it. I'll generalise: you can't anticipate emotions either.

"I knew it would be bad afterwards, that I would miss her. 

“It's a thing isn't it, that desolation; people write books - which I have mocked. But knowing is one thing, while actually feeling it is …"

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“I don't know why we should rage against the dying of the light? But then, I've always distrusted raw emotion - now is not the time to change the habit of a lifetime. The Church says instead we should die with dignity - and in that, at least, I concur.”

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The priest had finished his business, the bleeping had stopped. The nurse methodically unplugged the wires and tubes: the orderlies liked a clear run at it. 

The microphones registered only silence; the AI had nothing left to transcribe; the universe continued - save for a brief flicker.

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