Deathbed

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Sister! Can you hear me? Can you hear me even though you are dead?

I am the one who killed you. But you must know that. By now, you must know all the answers.

It was a mistake. It was a mistake ever to have set myself on this course. But that is of little consolation to you. It is too late for consolation. And I must confess I am sorry. But what good does that do you? It is too late for sorrow.

You are dead and this unbearable pain in my head goes on.

It was all so useless.

With all my heart I wish I could change the course of these events. I wish I could change what has already happened. But of course no one can do that. No one can bring you back to life.

If I were to tell this story to someone—and I may very well be forced to do so—where would I start?

I suppose I would start where so many hospital stories begin. In the emergency room . . .

“There is no heartbeat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I do not get any pulse.” Dr. Lee Kim pressed his fingers against the patient’s carotid artery.

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