The Man Who Traded the World

Burning twice as bright and forever long.

The patrons of Hearst Art Gallery waited in a long line for hours, standing in a mist of rain, a kaleidoscope of umbrellas protecting their preened appearances. They were there to bear witness to Sebastian Hearst’s final exhibition. If they were honest with themselves, it was not the display of his talent that brought them, but the opportunity to see the oldest living man and the last of the mortals.

Red velvet ropes lined the sidewalk and led inside the gallery. They wrapped around stark white walls in a carefully planned orchestration, then directed onlookers to a roped off enclave where Sebastian stood, stooped over his cane. The artist dressed in an oversized cardigan sweater and loose fitting pants cinched at the waist by a worn belt. His wrinkles and salty gray hair contrasted the youthful appearance of the attendees, all immortals.

Sebastian’s sister Tabitha hovered nearby. Nearly eighty, she could have been mistaken for a woman of thirty. She fiddled with a stray hair and smoothed the hem of her dress.

“Tabby, will you hold still for one moment?” Sebastian asked.

“Look at how they’re staring at you, Sebastian, like you’re a caged animal,” Tabitha said.

Sebastian nodded to a few strangers, saying hello from a distance. She had been right, many of them shuffling through without a single glance at his artwork. These paintings were his life’s focus, a reminder of dying beauty, a commentary on the temporality of humankind: wilting leaves, a carcass by the roadside, or his favorite — the burning forest. Foreign concepts.

“Weren’t you the same at first, dear sister, enamored by your eccentric older brother, who chose not to drink the elixir provided by our benefactors?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes, right, and then realizing your careless stupidity, I’m the same sister who has tried unconvincingly to change your stubborn mind,” Tabitha said, emptying the contents of a champagne flute. “These people don’t care for your wellbeing. You’re merely an oddity.”

“Have you considered you’re only afraid of being alone once I’m gone? Here I am, certain to die a natural death, and yet you’re doing enough worrying for the both of us,” Sebastian said.

Tabitha turned her head away and wiped a thick tear from her cheek. Sebastian understood the reality of their situation, but had never put it so succinctly, shoving the truth in her face and smearing it in with her running mascara. He touched her gently on the arm and pulled her closer. She did not resist.

“I wish Daddy had been a businessman, harsh and driven, instead of a poet. Your head wouldn’t have been filled with flowery nonsense. There’s nothing beautiful about death,” Tabitha said.

Sebastian spotted a tall, familiar man further down the line, his head poking up above the rest. He wore a plain gray suit and fedora and inspected each painting with careful consideration, ruminating on the grace and beauty of every stroke. A few people slid past, ignoring his spot in line, anxious to peek at Sebastian and mark their place in history.

“Should we repeat this conversation once again, two amateur philosophers debating the necessity of death?” Sebastian asked.

“Necessity? From the stars our saviors arrived, gods on high who gifted us eternal life and you’re talking about necessity. If death were so necessary, they would not have provided The Cure,” Tabitha replied.

A group of ladies whispered among themselves and giggled. They turned their backs and lifted their mobile phones in the air to snap selfies with Sebastian and Tabitha in the background. Brother and sister looked up at the screens. Sebastian smiled wide and waved with glee as Tabitha scowled at the spectacle, upset that eternal youth had not brought these women ageless wisdom.

“Why must you be so happy at the prospect of dying?” Tabitha asked.

“Because they’ve proved my point. These vapid women, who could explore a greater purpose in the depths of color and composition, having chosen instead to embrace vanity. They could look outside themselves but have no reason to now. Every day you have to contend with my passing. I have given you deeper meaning, which will cease to exist when I’m gone,” Sebastian said.

The tall man shuffled forward in line, removing his hat out of respectful admiration and leaned in close to observe a little painting of a shattered vase, the water poured out on the ground, flowers strewn about and trampled. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, turned to another man next to him and tried to engage in conversation, to share a connection regarding the work. The gesture was met with contempt. If he would not move forward, then he should step aside and let others through.

“You don’t have to go anywhere. Death is not inevitable, Sebastian. I beg of you, stop this charade and come to your senses. You still carry your vial on you at all times, I know you do. It can be your final statement, a performance piece of sorts to drink it here and now,” Tabitha said.

“You’re correct, I do carry it with me,” Sebastian said, reaching into the pocket of his sweater. When he pulled it out a few gasps could be heard among the gathering throngs. Several visitors lifted up their mobile phones and began to record. This act grabbed the attention of the tall man, who moved closer to the scene to observe.

“But it’s not to drink,” Sebastian said, a deep sadness drawing his eyes downward. The change in countenance and demeanor surprised Tabitha.

“Are you afraid to live? Is that it, does living scare you more than dying?” Tabitha asked.

“I hope you can forgive me when I leave,” Sebastian said.

“You’re not making any sense. You don’t have to die,” Tabitha said.

The tall man unlatched the velvet rope and stepped inside the protected area. A security guard dressed all in black approached to chastise him for the violation, intent on keeping decorum.

“No, it’s okay. I know him,” Sebastian said, waving off the guard, who looked uncertain, convinced others would follow with similar indiscretions. Nobody did. They were too busy filming.

The tall man approached and held out his hand. Sebastian placed the vial into it.

“Tabby, you’re right, I don’t have to die,” Sebastian said. “This has all been a grand experiment, a test of humanity’s ability to rise above selfish conceit, to determine if we would set aside our vices and strive for anything other than our own complacency. We have failed miserably,” Sebastian said.

“Not all of you. Are you ready?” the tall man asked.

“You’re leaving me,” Tabitha said.

“I’ve traded this world for the stars,” Sebastian said.

Tabitha reached for her brother, to steal one last hug, to forbid him from going, even to save herself. The tall man and Sebastian disappeared in a flicker of blinding light. Tabitha’s knees weakened and her back tightened. Her energy dissipated while age spots emerged, covering her hands and face. Screams could be heard as the veil of youth lifted. She dared not turn to witness the pandemonium. Her eyes were drawn to a painting on the wall. Such beauty.