Matters of Will

It didn't matter to her.

I guess I had always known she didn't care. It had been a hard fact to digest, but then, unpleasant truths are always hard to digest. Once he had written his will, to benefit her (their, actually?) son, she couldn't be bothered about the state of his health. It was just a matter of when her son would get his money, and then they could buy that house or whatever it is the mother-and-son duo had always wanted.

So when his health deteriorated, it was his friends who took it in turns to help with the hospital stuff. His ex-wife and her son just popped in once, stayed for fifteen minutes, mumbled something about a meeting, and popped back out.

"But they came," he whispered, with tears in his eyes. "You said they didn't care, but they came, didn't they?"

I didn't voice the thought. They came only to check that you were really ill in hospital, and probably to find out if they were any closer to getting your money. But it doesn't do to tell a frail man this. So I smiled, and he slept.

I won't tell you much about the days and weeks that followed. They were fraught with anxiety, boring in their routine and exhausting in their emotions. We came on the verge of losing him a couple of times -- and then, the friend who was on duty in hospital whatsapped all of us so we gathered at his bedside.

But the guy had more in him than we had supposed.

He had more in him than the Doctors had given him credit for.

The miracle didn't take place all at once. It happened so slowly, we didn't recognise that it was a miracle till we were about halfway through it. He drank a little more juice than before, each day. He turned and looked at us when we spoke to him. He showed more interest in the news we gave him.

One day, he sat up in bed.

He had been in hospital two months by then.

The Doctors said he would be able to go home soon. Trained as they were to mask their feelings, they could not hide their joy at this miracle. They had smiles all over their faces as they told us this.

We friends decided that, to begin with, we'd move him in to a hotel close to the hospital, and we booked a couple of rooms there accordingly. I moved in, a day or so in advance, awaiting his discharge from hospital and entry to the hotel.

Never once had he asked about her, or about her (their?) son, but I am guessing he had done some thinking, all those hours in bed. I knew he had called for his lawyer. The same lawyer who had drafted his will.

Forty-six days after her earlier visit, she chose to drop by the hospital again. I was in his room when she walked in.

She looked at the bed, first. Finding it empty, she looked around.

She froze.

Her ex-husband was standing up. Walking around, actually, taking slow, measured steps around his room.

"You're ..." she gasped.

"He's fine," I chuckled. "They're releasing him from here, either tomorrow or the day after."

"He's ..."

"Uh," he said, looking at me. "I hate to do this, but I do need to speak to my former wife alone. Got something important to tell her."

I stepped out of the room, and went to the lobby.

After a while I went out and left the hospital and walked back to the hotel in the rain.