Biff Loman stood over his father’s grave in Greenwood Cemetery, New York. The sun began setting in the distance, silhouetting
the Manhattan skyline and covering Brooklyn in a soft orange glow. The crisp,
autumnal air numbed his cheeks and a solitary tear slowly fell from his eye, its
presence revealed by a little sparkle reflecting the light of the dying sun. It
was only then that Biff began to appreciate that he would never see his father
again. Until that point he had felt guilty for not shedding a single tear over
his father’s death but since then, Charley’s respectful, eulogistic words towards
Willy Loman’s memory resonated in his head and he could not contain his anguish
any longer.
“Nobody dast blame
this man”, he told himself, echoing Charley. “Nobody dast blame this man”.
Despite everything, Biff could not bring himself to condemn his father. From
Biff’s perspective, his father had been blinded by the totality of the American
Dream and more specifically, the commercialisation of it. However, Biff also
recognised that this was only due to what his father’s profession had taught
him. This was what his profession deluded him into thinking. His father was
dead and there was nothing on this Earth that could bring him back.
“I’m sorry, dad”,
whispered Biff, barely audible. “If only you’d have listened when I told you.
If only you would have taken that dream of yours and destroyed it. Oh why, dad?
Why did you have to go and do this?” Biff’s emotions got the better of him
before remembering not to blame his father. Biff knew Willy was neither the perfect father nor the
idealistic husband, but he was nevertheless a determined one – a father that
would support his family at any cost; even if that meant sacrificing his life.
“I… I’m sorry for everything”, continued Biff, with a
wisp of regret, “I’m sorry about Bill Oliver. I’m sorry for the way I treated
you …and I’m sorry about us. I just…” his voice broke slightly and paused while
attempting to control himself but his composure still failed him. “I just can’t
believe you’re really gone.”
Biff wiped away his tears. Life suddenly seemed
unforgiving and devoid of compassion. His eyes glanced at the memorial flowers
at the base of the gravestone which reminded him of his father – a vibrant and
colourful exterior that disguised a slow, inevitable death from within. The sun
was now gone and the sky was a deep, dejected blue scattered with tiny, faint
sources of light. Biff stood alone gazing at them for an unknown amount of time,
simply staring; staring and thinking of nothing but his father.
* * *
The sound of the streets of New York became overwhelming for Chris Keller as he laid roses on his father’s grave. The cacophony of the
concrete jungle engulfed him; suffocating him and his head began to ache with the
pain.
Chris fumbled around in his trench coat pockets hoping to
find a cigarette to ease his throbbing head. He found none, but felt the
fragile texture of a piece of paper protruding slightly from his breast pocket.
Curiously, he put his hand back in his pocket and pulled it out. It was Larry’s
letter – Larry’s final attempt at communicating with his family and the
embodiment of his final moments on Earth. Chris read it once again only to feel
his headache worsening.
Fine rain had begun to fall from the overhanging clouds, striking Chris
Keller’s reddened and impassive face. He walked away from the grave, saying one
final goodbye and unable to take his mind off his father. He simply walked, unaware
where he was going, purely to let his mind reminisce over his memories. He felt
desolated, as though he was the only individual to ever live through such an
experience. At that very instant, while his mentality was at its lowest, he collided
with a stranger solemnly gazing at the night sky. It was Biff Loman.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” explained Chris, trying to
justify his actions.
“No, it’s my fault. I was in a world of my own there,” excused Biff.
This simple scenario was the only human intervention Chris could remember
having for hours. He was so overcome with the disillusionment caused by his father’s
death that he decided to simply talk to someone – anyone, even a stranger – but
only because he believed it may unburden himself of the pain. “I’m sorry it’s
just… I’ve just lost my dad” admitted Chris, “I can’t really believe he’s
gone.”
The stranger suddenly seemed more attentive as though something Chris said
this man could identify with.
“He was a good man, my dad”
continued Chris, “He always looked out for his kids. Practically everything he
ever did he did for his boys. I guess I just never really appreciated that when
he was alive.” Chris did not expect this man to care nor indeed concern himself with such an account as this – especially
since it had been told by a man attempting to connect with another individual
whom he had never met. However, Biff was attentive and responsive on a level
Chris had not expected.
Biff was astonished to hear this. He suddenly no longer
felt his isolation and quenched his need for connection and empathy.
“Hey, don’t worry about it, kid,” replied Biff. “Believe
it or not, I just lost my pop too. I gotta say it feels good to hear from
another person who went through the same thing.” Biff pointed to a small,
rather trivial headstone with the heading “Here lays Willy Loman, devoted
father and beloved husband”.
“Really?”
enquired Chris; not quite believing what he was hearing.
“Really.
He… committed suicide. He was a salesman, you see, although his job taught him
these ridiculous values that fooled him into thinkin’ that just being well
liked and successful was all you needed to do well in life. That dream of his
killed him. Problem was he taught it to me and my brother as well which is why…
well look at me, do I look successful? I just wish his funeral was a requiem
for that dream as well.”
“Your
father committed suicide?”
“Yeah, I
know what you’re thinkin’ –” said Biff, defending his father’s pride, “Cowardly,
huh? But you didn’t know him. He wasn’t like that. He just couldn’t really
understand himself or figure out who he was. You can’t blame him for that.”
“No, no,
I mean…” Chris began to slow his speech down and think carefully about what he
was saying as he sensed this was clearly a sensitive issue for this man. “…my
father committed suicide too.” Biff’s eyes became more focused. “He was pretty
delusional” continued Chris, “– not that l hold that against him ‘cause l
understand now why he did the things he did… even if he refused to accept
responsibility for it.”
“Is that right?” questioned Biff, who seemed captivated
at Chris’s every word.
“Yeah, God’s honest truth. I’m glad
to say he came to terms with his mistakes in the end… even if he did take his
own life.” Chris decided to tell this complete stranger what his father had
done hoping it would make him feel better. “My dad worked as an engineer, you
see – used to make engines for planes during the war. He and his partner were
to ship out this batch of engines to the military but discovered that they were
cracked right at the last minute. Afraid that he might lose his contract, he
sent ‘em anyway. When they were caught, he blamed it on his partner and… got
off free. Now I know sending them engines out knowin’ they were faulty is a
horrible thing to do, not to mention blamin’ it on your partner but… he did it
for his family. Everything he did he did for his family.”
Biff was amazed to hear this. Moved by the openness of
Chris’s story, he felt it was only fair to tell him about his own father’s
flawed nature. “Hey listen kid, I know what you’re going through and I know it
ain’t easy.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“My old man did some things he wasn’t proud of as well but
he only ever had good intentions… He had an affair with some floozy from Boston
which I know is an awful thing to do but he only did it ‘cause it would help improve
his sales which meant he could bring home a bigger cheque for his family.”
“I know just how you feel. My dad was just the same. He
couldn’t understand that actions have consequences – that there’s always a
cause and effect. If you send out cracked air engines, you’re puttin’ people’s
lives at risk. I just wish he would have realised that.”
Both men were in awe of each other’s experience and
astounded at the similarities between the two. Two complete strangers
exchanging deeply personal affairs but gaining invaluable insight from them were
rejuvenated by each other’s presence. With Chris standing before him, Biff
understood more clearly now than ever the sacrifices his father made for his family
as he knew his father was not the only one to do so. Biff acknowledged that his
father had bought the subliminal lies that America uses to advertise itself,
and the price of this was his death. He saw Willy as a victim but also as a devoted
father and his encounter with Chris had helped him come to terms with his loss,
now knowing that he is not alone. He knew his father was neither perfect nor
indeed particularly ethical; but there was one inalienable characteristic about
his persona that was undeniable – absolutely everything he did, he did for his
children. He did it for Biff.
Chris knew that his father was a man who simply tried to
do well by his family, even at the cost of the lives of 21 men. However Chris,
like Biff, was now able to cope with his father’s tragic death much more easily
than before, having found another individual whom he can empathise with.
As the stars dotted throughout the night sky seemed
brighter and more vivid than ever before, both men left the cemetery that night
with a clearer understanding of themselves and more importantly, of their
fathers. They were able to view life in a new, profound perspective – a vista
previously denied to them. The connectedness of their experiences was uncanny
and they now felt connected in the same way. Each of them had acted as a catalyst for the
reconciliation of their relationship with their respective fathers, and they
were both eternally grateful for their encounter, a chance night-time meeting
that shed light into the dark recesses of their troubled souls.
11/10
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