The old man showed up just as Marco was about to jump off the bridge.

"Hey, just what are you doing there?"

Marco turned his head with contempt. "Move along, old man! Nothing to see here."

The old man made a face as if having tasted the sourest plum. "Of course there's something to see. I have eyes, have I not?" Then he chuckled. "You're taking your life, aren't you?"

Taken aback by this casual assessment, Marco did not answer immediately. He looked at the old man more closely. An ordinary man in what had to be his sixties if not seventies, wearing some kind of uniform with a dirty baseball cap, stared back, somewhat amused. He had nothing much else on, not even a scarf, showing no respect for the cold autumn winds.

"What do you care?" Marco said at last.

"Oho ho, I care a lot. When desperate people just like you try to rid me of good business opportunities, I can't just stand and watch, can I?"

Just a silly old man who took a liking to tag questions, Marco thought. Yet, despite himself, he felt a slight scare. "What do you want?"

The old man turned to face the big river that ran wild beneath the bridge. "What if I make you a bargain... Marco?"

Marco squirmed. "How do you know my name? Have you been following me, old man?"

Another chuckle. "Think about it. A strange man out of nowhere whom you never met yet knows your name. And he's offering you a bargain, seconds before you're taking the easy way out. What else could it be?"

Marco took a step back. Jerry's Electrical Supplies, he could now make out the sign on the old man's uniform. "Are you... the Devil?"

The old man threw his head back in laughter. "Oho ho, must you be so blunt? I hope you don't accuse any old man you cross path with as easily." He faced Marco, still grinning. "Let's just say, I like to offer people alternatives to easy death."

"Alternatives?"

"Oh, come on! How old are you, thirty-one? Nah, just kidding. I know you're thirty-one. Haven't you watched movies where a man is offered a special, how to say, power, if you will? In exchange for an alternative afterlife?"

"Power?"

"Stop repeating what I say," the old man laughed again. "All right, how's this. What if I give you a device that allows you to erase any memories you have of one thing of your choice?"

"You mean, if I want to forget something completely, with that device, I can?"

The old man waved his hand. "Simple as that. Anything you want, from whichever time of your life, when you choose to."

Marco thought of his just-failed relationship. The first time he had ever given his heart completely to a girl, only to have it broken to pieces. He thought of all the memories they had shared, the best times of his life and -- he had been sure -- of hers. Now that things had changed, those were memories Marco knew he could not live with, tried hard as he had.

And here was this strange man -- the Devil or one of his assistants -- offering him the power to forget anything of his choice. Suddenly, Marco was no longer afraid.

"And what do you want in return, old man? Not a business for Jerry's Electrical Supplies, I presume."

"You know what I want. You watched those movies."

"My soul?"

"Oho ho, I like you, Marco. You're very precise. The Devil? My soul? You have to be certain, don't you?"

Yes, he had to. And in a way, that had contributed to his broken heart. Marco was always methodical and calculative where the girl was passionate and blithe. He had to present alternative points of view instead of simply giving in to passion and heat of the moment. She could not take that.

Marco remembered when they had first met. She had to pick him up in her own car because he had lost his way. And there she was, standing still, uncertain whether she should let it go or mind her image. Marco decided for her. He walked up to her and gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek. Things had gone oh-so-smoothly from then on.

Until he found himself swamped with work and became a boring young man. She had lost her feelings for him and they had started drifting apart. Each knew something was wrong, yet both had chosen not to acknowledge -- and, consequently, work on -- it. In the end, she had decided it was just about as much as she could have taken.

Marco did not -- could never -- blame her. And that made the memories even more unbearable.

"What's the catch?"

"Nothing. It's a clean deal, you see. You get what you need, I'll collect in the end. Clean, simple. Hey, you don't even have to take my offer."

Forgetting and moving on. It sounded good to the brokenhearted man.

"Of course," the old man said, "a deal's a deal. With me, there's no backing down halfway. No last-minute repentances. You take the offer now, we shake hands on it, and that's really all there is to it."

"So, let me get this clear," said Marco, somewhat sheepishly, having been called so accurately on his trait, "you give me a device to erase all memories of one thing I choose. I can use the device when I choose to."

The old man nodded, his baseball cap bobbed on his unruly, white hair. "That's pretty much it."

Marco thought hard for a full five minutes. The old man waited patiently without comment. He was too experienced.

"All right," Marco finally said. "It's a deal."

The old man gave him a satisfied smile. "Good." From one of the pockets on his uniform, he fished out something and held it up. "See this hourglass? The grains of sand are your memories. When you've made up your mind, break the glass and let the wind blow the sand away. Gone will your memories be."

Marco took the hourglass and placed it on his open palm. To him, it looked like one of those coming straight out of a souvenir shop: made of cheap plastic and mass-produced. It was roughly the size of his thumb. He ran a finger along its glass surface. "That's it? Just break this thing and I'll forget?"

The old man nodded, his eyes twinkling. "What, you want something fancier? One made of ivory and gold-lined? Come on. You're not the only desperate person I make a deal with, you know. I need to watch my production costs."

Marco carefully pocketed the hourglass. "What if I accidentally break it?"

"Oho ho, a deal's a deal. No worries, though, you'll take the best care of it." The old man turned serious. "Remember, Marco. When you use it is completely up to you. Yet, you can exercise this power only once. So, choose your moment wisely." Then he shrugged. "Not that it matters to me, of course."

The old man took a few steps away, then turned his head. "By the way. You didn't seriously think of killing yourself by jumping off this bridge, did you? With the rows of pubs and cafes just round the bend, you'll be saved in no time."

In response, Marco raised an arm. Held between his thumb and forefinger was a razor blade, gleaming in the reflection off the river below. "I had my insurance."

The old man shook his head and let out another chuckle. "The ever calculative Marco." He walked on, whistling. The Jerry's Electrical Supplies uniform flapped in the wind.

***

Back in his room that night, Marco anxiously fingered the hourglass in his palm. Memories of her were flashing before him. Good memories turned bad. One minute he was ready to break the glass. The next minute he shook his head. Part of him wished to store the memories, unbearable as they were now. All these years he had been a strong man, stubborn at times. He had had his ups and downs and he had gone through them all.

But these memories are too painful to keep, he screamed inside.

But I can exercise this power anytime I choose. It doesn't have to be now.

But what if I wait and it ultimately proves too much?

But even then, I will still have this hourglass to break.

The debate went on until the first light broke through his window. With a sigh, Marco put the hourglass down. He made his decision.

He would wait.

Hard as it was to imagine now, there might just be even more painful memories to erase in his future. Deaths of close relatives or shameful professional failures, perhaps.

***

It took Marco three months to mend his heart and another six months for him to get completely over her. Throughout the period, he sat in his bed every night, weighing the hourglass in his palm, contemplating. One night after another, he eventually put it back where he always kept it: in a small pouch that he carried everywhere.

Contrary to their half-hope, they never did get back together. The girl went on with her life and found a career in writing. Marco went on with his, dedicating more time to his work and professional endeavors. He did not forget her or their memories together. But he could now look back at them fondly and could afford to think, yes, they were worth the pain, so sweet they were.

In a few years, a new girl joined the company Marco worked for and entered his heart. Her name was Judy. Unlike the girl that Marco had tried to forget, Judy was more interested in domestic affairs. She generally liked hanging around the house, doing family chores, and spending time cooking in the kitchen. Marco had found her boring at first, but she ultimately impressed him with her dedication to her family. He felt he could -- should -- love her.

They dated for two years. One night, Marco took out his hourglass, unseen since a couple years ago, had a long look, recollected all the thoughts of his previous relationship, and went out to buy a diamond ring. They got engaged that week and within a year, married.

Marco secretly admitted that Judy was not his first choice, but he was determined to love her more than he had the other girl. He had not forgotten the deal he had made with the mysterious old man, but despite its purpose, the hourglass now served to remind him of what lay ahead instead of in the past.

Marco and Judy moved into their own house. A small, cozy bungalow paid for in full -- more out of pride than practical reasons -- by Marco's assistant manager salary. Before long, they were expecting their first child. A boy, the advanced medical technologies had determined. The happy couple went to great lengths to ensure a healthy baby and a successful delivery. Husband and wife were more in love with each other than ever. Nearing the expected date of delivery, their household was bustling with excitement.

It was not to be.

On their way to the hospital, a few minutes past midnight, a drunk driver rammed their car. Marco suffered minor head trauma. Judy and their unborn baby boy did not make it.

Discharged from the hospital, Marco spent seven continuous hours in front of his wife's coffin. The hourglass was in his hand all the time. So strong was his desire to smash it to pieces that he could not believe his eyes when he opened them in the morning to see that it was still intact in his palm. He had been asleep in front of the coffin, all the while holding on to the device to forget.

Marco buried his wife and son and resigned from his job. He kept his and Judy's house, yet left it one morning to rearrange his life, with a short note to his only brother to care for it. He took all his savings -- not much left after financing the house -- but a small sum to keep the house and went backpacking across the region.

***

He did odd jobs in exchange for food and shelter, saving just enough to get him out of the current country or area and into the next. He slept in a farmer's barn or a churchyard. He got wiser and rougher as the time went by. Every night, wherever he was, under the moody sky or a rotten roof, he would take out his hourglass and stare at it for a minute or two. Each time, he could not bring himself to hurl it against the wall, as much as he wished to.

I almost used it to get over the failed romance, he thought. Yet, it proved to be nothing compared to the loss of Judy and our son. So, what's there to guarantee there won't be any worse memories to forget down the road?

The biggest irony was that, as he kept going back and forth at it, the hourglass had become something of a hope for Marco. In it he found a reminder of the hardships life had thrown at him. He had overcome them, without the help of the devilish instrument. In it he found strength to actually look back and smile at the memories that had once been sweet, then bitter, then pleasant again.

Marco the vagabond wandered on. With each step, he gained more belief that while the memories were alive, they were not necessary of tragedy anymore.

One day, Marco shared a cheap hotel room with a fellow backpacker. Not much older than him, the traveler showed a picture of his ex-wife and children. "She ran away," he said. "Took the kids with her. I traced her, only to have a restraining order slapped on my face."

Marco, now wised up from all the travel, took this with a pinch of salt. "That's tough, man," he threw the customary sympathy. "My wife and son died in an accident."

"Aw, so sorry, mate, didn't know that." The man patted Marco's shoulder. "That's not what made you hit the road, I hope?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know. If it is, then you'll be running forever. You can't run away forever, man." The man leaned back and lit his cheap tobacco roll. "You can't."

That night, Marco stayed up all night, thinking about what his roommate had said. In the morning, he packed his bag and embarked on a journey home.

***

Exactly forty-two months after he had left his house, Marco was back at home. Despite his brother's care, the house had deteriorated badly for lack of fund. The roof leaked and termites feasted inside the walls. The utilities board had long ago terminated the electricity and water.

Marco shrugged it off. He settled himself in and slowly rebuilt the house of memories. He landed a job in a local grocery store and started to fix whatever he could of the house. He spent his pay on fresh paint and door frames, on roof tiles and new pipes.

He was made the manager of the store. By this time, the house had been decent once more. Marco maintained his hard work, engaging in new hobbies such as fishing and culinary art. Before long, the owner of the grocery store wanted to start a chain and offered Marco a partnership. He accepted and was put in charge of two newly opened stores.

As the partners opened their sixth store, Marco decided to open his own restaurant. Now well into his fifties, Marco divided his time equally between the chain stores and the restaurant. Soon, his restaurant business grew into one worth a million. He opened a branch, and then another. All this while, the chain stores showed no signs of slowing down.

The hourglass was still in its pouch, but Marco no longer carried it around. In fact, when one day he could not find it, he merely shrugged.

A very successful businessman now, Marco could afford to experiment with a small company specializing in fishing expeditions. This, too, became successful in relatively no time. Marco kept it small yet exclusive, with high profile clients. Big-time money makers spent their holidays in the company of Marco's professional skippers and boatmen.

One of them, named Jordan, approached Marco personally, asking him if he would be interested in a joint venture. At this point, Marco was toying with an idea of retiring and not pursuing any more business opportunities. The man, estimated six times Marco in terms of registered wealth, persevered. He said Marco's experience in starting businesses from nought was invaluable.

Jordan introduced Marco to his daughter. She was half Marco's age, bubbly, and showed a lot of fondness for him. Marco lost his bearings for a moment and decided it was time to learn to love again. He entered into the partnership and Marc-Jordan shipping company was founded. That year, Marco asked his partner for his daughter's hand in marriage.

A 60-year-old, balding man in love, Marco left the running of the company in his partner's hand and noticed little else. He was talking his young wife into having a child when the country where his businesses were based underwent drastic political changes. The nation replaced their longtime leaders with fresh, idealistic men. To his shock, one day Marco came home to an empty house.

His beautiful wife had packed up and left without a single note.

The next day, gentlemen from the country's newly established anticorruption bureau paid Marco a visit. According to them, Marc-Jordan Corporation had all along been used as a money laundering vehicle for the ousted politicians. To Marco's horror, he discovered that Jordan and all his relatives had fled the country.

A long legal battle ensued. Marco used up all his fortune to try to wiggle his way out. The new government showed him no sympathy. Noone believed for one minute that he had been oblivious to what had taken place around him. In an attempt to win the people over and prove that their political promises were for real, the government quickly settled all the corruption trials and entering the new year, Marco found himself penniless and sentenced to ten years in prison.

That morning, Marco was up early in his big house, freshly confiscated by the government, and under the watchful eyes of policemen and government officials, ready to escort him to the jail that would soon be his home for the next ten years. Deliberately slowly -- because a man had to salvage whatever was left of his pride -- Marco gathered his possession, what little of it allowed to be carried along.

At the bottom of one drawer, in what he refused to believe as a coincidence, Marco found his old hourglass. The forgetting device he had long ago forgotten.

Clutching the hourglass in one hand and a small canvas bag in the other, Marco walked with the Law to the car that would take him to prison. They did not even allow the once-successful business the slightest discretion; the car was a paddywagon, the kind with a cage-like fixture at the back.

***

They allowed him to bring the hourglass to his cell, a three-meter-by-three room he had to share with another inmate. That night, lying on his upper bunk, Marco stared at the instrument for the first time in fifteen years or so.

Once again, it would be a good time as any to put it to use. The last thirty years flashed by in his mind. The meeting on the bridge, which but for the hourglass Marco could have sworn had never taken place. His determination to take his own life, only to make a deal with the Devil or his associate. His unforgettable pain recollecting all the good times he had shared with his true love. His eventual decision to wait and see how it would play out. His finally getting over the girl and being able to look back at the memories with a smile.

Then came his moments with Judy. Their happiness together. The purchase of the house. The shopping for the unborn baby. The accident that night. All could have been forgotten forever within seconds. But he had decided to postpone it yet again. For something worse. Something much more painful. Something he could not bear to live with.

And now his predicament. All his hard work, starting with his desire to rebuild his house and his life he had so hurriedly abandoned. All the years dedicated to none but his passions. All the success he had justly enjoyed. His plan to fully retire, only to be tempted to start loving again. His ultimate devastation in the end.

Amidst the snore from the lower bunk, the urge had never been stronger to forget everything. What was there ahead of him? Hardly could Marco see anything even remotely worse that he would want to forget. All these years. All the happiness, all the bliss.

All wasted.

The prison guard did his routine walk by the cells, banging his baton on random doors. They did that every two hours, Marco had absentmindedly noted. Which meant it was four in the morning now.

Marco waited for the guard to pass his door. Then he raised his arm, ready to throw the hourglass at the wall.

Just as he was about to do so, his heart gave way. So did his arm.

The hourglass fell on the bunk bed. Intact.

Marco stared at the ceiling, clutching his chest. This was his time, he was sure. Yet, he frantically grabbing the bed sheet, trying desperately to find his forgetting device.

His hand found it and he held it close to his heart, drawing strength from it to reminisce. All the good times, all the love, all the joy. All there to treasure.

Marco now realized that he had made the right choice not to waste the hourglass on the memories. For these memories were what had made him strong and able to appreciate what he had done in life. For memories were not there to be forgotten, they were there to build upon.

For a better life ahead.

The old man from the bridge suddenly appeared by his bed, smiling. Having not aged since and still in Jerry's Electrical Supplies uniform -- funny, one would think the uniform should have at least got better all these years, even if the company was still around -- he extended his hand to Marco.

"You know why I'm here, don't you?" Still with his penchant for tag questions.

Marco nodded weakly. Or at least he thought he did.

"Good. I come to collect. A deal's a deal."

Again, Marco thought he nodded.

"Give me your hand."

With his left, Marco took the old man's hand. With his right, he fisted the hourglass hard. The accidental source of his life determination all the years.

Just as Marco's soul was leaving his body, the hourglass broke.

 

Inspired by this, this, and this.

Current music: Metallica - Seek and Destroy
Current mood: flat