Mamihlapinatapai

They were sitting on a bench facing the wide river. The cloudy sky reflected on the waters, giving them a silver shine in spots where the current formed ripples and waves. The trees behind them were just starting to put out timid buds after an unusually cold winter. Cars were rushing down the street towards the bridge, the sounds of roaring engines and shrieking brakes resonating in turn from around the traffic light. Some brave, solitary runners would pass on the jogging path right in front of them, huffing and puffing with earbuds blasting music to help them keep the pace, and they could hear the base line get higher in pitch as they got closer, matching the thumps of their feet on the soft pavement, and then deeper and fainter as they went on along the path towards the tip of the island.

– Doppler effect. - said Sarah, after a young man had crossed their field of view in his bright, orange tracksuit.

– It applies to light too. - said Steve, raising his head to look at the clouds.

They both had one arm resting on the back of the bench, and were sitting slightly sideways, so they could look at each other, while barges and tourist boats were going up and down the waterway, causing ripples and waves to grow bigger and get a frilly head of silver foam.

The buoys near the bridge were bobbing up and down, and a few seagulls were circling a tree trunk stuck against one of the pilons, where there was probably a feast of dead fish to be enjoyed.

The dead leaves at their feet. which had been sitting there for months – the ones that hadn't been blown away by the autumn winds fiercely sweeping the island, and hadn't crumbled into fine dust after freezing in the dry winter nights and being stomped on by kids coming here to have a smoke instead of getting deadly bored in school – were drenched by the recent rains, and a fine net of mycelium could be seen growing on them if observed with good eyes at a close distance. Death from life, life from death.

They kept staring at the waters, in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, guessing the other was doing just the same.

Sarah turned her face to observe Steve again. It had been a long time since they had spent some idle moments together. Life takes you to places, drowns you with obligations. He had grown old. And yet, he was exactly that kid that would protect her from the bullies, jumping in front of her with his fists clenched, and that was often enough to dissuade them and gift her with an uneventful way back from school. Thin wrinkles had started appearing around his eyes, and he had some grey in his eyebrows too. The irises were still so dark brown to be classified in official documents as black. Just like hers. The darker tone under his eyes indicated a lack of sleep taking its toll and sending its alarms out, hoping they wouldn't be dismissed. She wished he would say what needed to be said, and spare her.

Steve turned his face to observe Sarah again. It was strange to sit on that bench together, in a silent bubble waiting to burst. She had grown old. Yet she was still the little girl that needed protection from the bullies, and was easy to fool and take advantage of. Her cheeks had sunk in, getting vertical lines in the process that were just going to get deeper, like canyons dug by ancient rivers. He could see how new rivers of salty secretion could be channeled into them to reach the chin. The darker tone under her eyes was nothing new: she had never been able to sleep more than five hours per night. He wished she would say what needed to be said, and spare him.

Another ambulance emerged from the background noise, its siren blaring with a growing pitch and then stabilizing right behind them, across the street.

They looked at each other. Just sat there staring at each other, as if trying to communicate without a word, begging each other to save them, to do what needed to be done.

– Doppler effect again - commented Steve, glancing across the street at the ambulance getting into the ER entrance. 

– Red shift, blue shift… - commented Sarah, stretching her forearm to reach his hand and grab it in a gentle hold. Then she continued:

– Things come into your life like a blaring siren, louder and louder, higher and higher in pitch as they approach, until they are right there, in the center of your universe, calling for your complete attention, muffling out everything else, their blue fading to bright white…

– And then they go, and their light gets smaller and redder as they get further away, and their sound descends into a deeper and deeper tone, and then it's gone, just the memory of its passing you like a bright trail on your retina and a residual vibration in your ear bones. - continued Steve. 

– And then nothing. - he concluded.

– Until the next one… - added Sara.

Their hands were holding tight now, their eyes diving deep into each other, searching for the words that needed to be brought to light and spoken out.

Sarah's phone started buzzing, but she ignored it. Soon enough, Steve's ringtone came in a crescendo from his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen, put it back in his pocket.

– You're not answering? - asked Sarah.

– Neither were you. - pointed out Steve.

She pulled out her phone and saw the unanswered call, then put it back in her purse. She looked at him again. He looked at her. Would she be the one saving him just this once?

They both stood up at the same time, just to stumble into a tight hug.

– I love you - said Steve in her ear.

– Yeah, I love you too - said Sarah.

Then they crossed the busy street to get into the hospital, took the elevator to the 7th floor, exchanging shorter and shorter glances without saying a word.

By the time they got to the ward, they still hadn't decided who was going to say to just pull the plug. The waves of their father's brain, the one they had inherited as a gift and a curse, were way beyond detection in a deep red, distant field, one with the background radiation of the universe.

The doctor who came to talk to them waited patiently to hear the legally binding words. "Mamihlapinatapai", he had read about that peculiar word once, and seen it materialized so many times right in that very room. He turned his eyes to the window, contemplating the gray waters below and remembering that no man ever steps in the same river twice. Not the same river, sure, not the same man. And yet, that scene, that "looking at each other hoping that the other will offer to do something which both parties desire but are unwilling to do" was always the same.

He gave them time. There was no urgent need of the equipment.