Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: WEDNESDAY, October 27, 1993 TAG: 9311110383
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 5 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Ben Beagle
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
The wind came late that October, but when it came the leaves obeyed as they always did and the old man watched them swirl and litter the ground. Leaves are lovely when they go to their deaths, he thought. But they die all the same.
''Why dost thee stand before the window that way, viejo?'' the woman asked. ``It is warmly to be hoped that this does not mean another attack of the melancholia.''
``I watch the leaves - the dancing symbols of death - and I read the letters from the hombres at the insurance companies, mujer, and in truth they make me sad,'' the old man said. ``In truth they scare me as would a lion in the streets.''
``Viejo,'' the woman said. ``It is true that the leaves die in their turn in the fall, but do not they come again, green and eager, in the spring?''
``Aiyeee, mi corazon,'' the old man said, ``if it were up to me, the leaves would stay green and eager all year.''
``It is wrong to think in that way, hombre,'' the woman said. ``It is wrong to wish the leaves to be symbols of an immortality thee will never have.''
``I was not thinking of immortality, mujer,'' the old man said. ``I was thinking that if the leaves were green forever, I would never have to clean them up.''
``You must think more of your health of the mind,'' the woman said, ``and cease this moody thinking of the leaves as omens of death.''
``It is is not only the leaves, querida mia,'' the old man said, ``it is the dire prophecies of the insurance hombres and the language they use.
The old man's hands shook as he opened a letter and read from it:
``P.S.: Don't let the overwhelming costs of long-term care destroy your retirement assets, your freedom and your dignity.''
The woman had seen sorrow in her time and was used to the hard ways of the world. But fear showed in her eyes as she listened.
''Caramba, guapo mio,'' she said. ``It is as bad as that?''
``Si,'' the old man. ``Muy malo, mujer. The hombres of the insurance seem to suggest that when we are old and uninsured, it is possible we wil be thrown into the high road and left to die badly. I had always wished to die well, mujer, flushed with the joy of the battle.''
The old man returned to watching the dead leaves in their dance and when the postal man came he went warily to the mailbox.
When he returned to the casa, his smile had a touch of his lost youth in it and his step was as it had been years ago on the Ebro River.
``Que pasa, mi esposo?'' the woman asked, her eyes still showing fear.
``See here, mi vida,'' the old man said. ``One of the credit card hombres thinks we are a good bet for a card with a $5,000 limit and no annual fee. Credit card hombres do not offer such things to doomed people, si?''
``You are right,''the woman said. ``That is a lot of dinero, muchacho.''
``Let's take this card, mujer, and live it up a little before we are thrown into the streets,`` the old man said.
by CNB