How Far He Went

The ship first left port at Malmö, and behind her Death followed. He took his time, as he always did. Dolphins played about him. He liked the small ones the best. Eventually, his stroll came to an end, as did the ship’s voyage. Sweden was long behind them. Wasn’t it a pity that lovely things had to die?

Death slipped above the balmy Mediterranean Sea where all of them had come to an end, through lifeboats, through men opening their arms to each other, until he found the one no one had seen to reach out to. Something was always left behind, Death had found. This time that something was a man treading water, his expression turning sheepish when he saw Death looming overhead. A nice enough young man, Death thought. He had interesting grey eyes and a face made for leaning close to, whether to hear a joke or feel a smile.

There was a cat upon the man’s head, clawing his scalp.

“Oh, piss,” said the man. He went to shake his head and thought twice about it as the cat, orange in colour, growled. “Can I say piss? Is swearing allowed?”

“You can say what you want,” said Death. “This is your moment. Are you ready?”

“Doesn’t seem fair to the cat to say I am,” said the man.

Death said nothing. He had all the time in the world.

“I’m not even supposed to be here, you know,” the man noted. “I only wanted an adventure. Suppose I got one! See how fast she went! And how far!”

“I do see,” said Death, watching her sink. Quickly enough, he supposed.

“And now this is as far as I go,” said the man. “You don’t even know my name.”

Death looked at the man. He looked back. The cat clawed harder.

“It’s Arjun,” said Arjun. “And yours?”

“Death,” said Death. He spotted a lifeboat nearby. If it turned, the men aboard would see Arjun. If it didn’t, they’d row away. Death felt sorry for the cat. “Do me a favour. Raise your arm.”

“I’ll upset the cat. Oh!” Arjun saw the lifeboat and promptly upset the cat with a holler. The lifeboat turned. Shouts greeted them.

“Next time, perhaps,” said Death. “Goodbye, Arjun.”

“Aha!” was the delighted response, the man giving him one of those smiles his face was made for. “Catch you in my eighties, spook!”

The plane was the first of her kind to fly over the Amazon rainforest. She was the first of her kind to go down in the rainforest too.

Death found Arjun sitting under a flowering tree.

“Hello, spook,” said Arjun with that same smile he’d worn years before. It was just as good with age flavouring it. “Sit a while?”

Death had all the time in the world. He tucked his robes around his knees and sat beside Arjun, both of them watching insects zip about. Light broke through above where the plane had shattered the canopy. It was beautiful. And quiet. Death closed his eyes to enjoy the sun on his knees.

“No cat this time,” noted Death eventually when he opened them again, watching Arjun watch the sky.

“She’s back in Brisbane. Hell of a time getting her through customs. Can I say hell?”

“It’s your moment,” Death reminded him.

“So it is. So was last time.” Arjun leaned his head against the tree. “Guess I’ll say it then: you’ve got spectacular legs.”

Death looked at him. Arjun looked back. He winked.

“Why must you keep flirting with death like this?” Death said. “Why not grow old instead? Take your time. Write a book!”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I just like seeing you, and your legs.” Arjun smiled again. It was a smaller smile now. “Maybe I’ve got a crush.”

“Pssh.”

But still Death sat there beside him in the darkening clearing. He had all the time in the world, yes. But Arjun…

Arjun sat beside him until there came the sound of rescue approaching.

“Do me a favour,” said Death quietly. “Stay.”

With that, he stood.

“Until next time?” asked Arjun, his grey eyes in the twilight like stars brighter than Death had ever seen.

“Goodbye, Arjun,” said Death.

Arjun became a constant occurrence in Death’s travels. A train derailment on a brand-new rail. Another maiden ship sinking. They finally had coffee beside the wreck of Arjun’s first car’s first drive. At each of these meetings, Death took his time. Perhaps too much time.

Someone always found Arjun before Death gave up waiting beside him.

Then came a period where Death didn’t see Arjun. He was pleased. Mostly.

But one day Death strolled across a black expanse, admiring the distant glints of stars brighter than almost any he’d ever seen. He walked, it seemed, for a lifetime—to somewhere he’d never been before. A gleaming silver creation suspended outside of the world.

He was the oldest thing there.

Arjun sat in his room within the creation, before a typewriter. “Hello, spook,” he said with a crinkled smile. His eyes were as bright as ever. So was his smile. “Come see what I made you.”

“A book? On a typewriter?” Death leaned over the man’s shoulder to see. “Why?”

“You were always telling me to slow down,” Arjun explained. He seemed so tired; even as he said this, he leaned his head against Death’s chest, his eyes closed. “Then I went to space! First craft of her kind and she’s a beauty. How cool is she?”

“Very,” said Death quietly.

“Was this slow enough for you?” asked Arjun, not smiling at all now.

Death said, “Your life was always going to be too quick for me. Is the book done?”

“I think so. I think so. So, where now?”

Death looked out the window. There was a seat for two before it and a wonderful view of all those stars. “I’m in no hurry,” he said. “Let’s just sit a while.”

Charlie Winter

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Based in Australia, Charlie Winter is an academic by day and, by night, still an academic but much more distractible about it. When not performing the inexplicable rituals of academia, he writes fantasy fiction celebrating everyday magic, eco-optimism, and queer identities.

• Charlie Winter

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