Theodore Dreiser - The Stoic

“I know that,” said Cowperwood to his friend, “and naturally you want to encourage me. But I still have the feeling that I am not going to recover. And in connection with this, I would like you to call Aileen and ask her to come here and talk over some estate matters with me. I’ve been thinking of this for some time, but now I feel I’d better not wait any longer.”

“Just as you say, Frank,” said James. “But I do wish you would not decide that you are not going to get well. It isn’t good, you know. And besides, I think to the contrary. As a favor to me, you might try a little.”

“I’ll try, Jeff, but please call Aileen, will you?”

“Why certainly, Frank, but don’t talk too long, remember!”

And James retired to his own room, where he called Aileen on the telephone and asked her to come over to see her husband.

“Would you be good enough to come this afternoon, if possible, say around three o’clock?” he asked her.

She hesitated for a moment, and then replied: “Why, yes, of course, Dr. James,” and accordingly at about the time agreed upon she came, disturbed and wondering and not a little sad.

Upon seeing her, Cowperwood experienced a sense of weariness, such as for years he had often experienced in regard to her, not so much physical weariness as aesthetic weariness. She was so sadly lacking in that rare inner refinement that characterized a woman like Berenice. And yet, here she was, still his wife, and for the reason he felt that he owed her a reasonable degree of consideration in return for the kindness and affection which she had displayed at a time when he most needed them. And thus thinking, his mood softened somewhat toward her, and he reached out and took her hand as she greeted him.

“How are you, Frank?” she asked.

“Well, Aileen, I’ve been here four weeks now, and although the doctor thinks I am doing well enough, I realize that I am getting weaker all the time. And since there are a number of things I wanted to talk to you about, I thought I’d send for you. Is there anything you would like to tell me first about the house?”

“Well, yes, a few things,” she said hesitantly. “But whatever they are, they can wait until you are better, don’t you think?”

“But you see, Aileen, I don’t think I’m going to get any better. And that’s the reason I wanted to see you now, today,” said Cowperwood, softly.

Aileen hesitated and did not answer.

“You see, Aileen,” he continued, “the bulk of my estate is going to you, although I’ve taken care of some others in my will, such as my son and my daughter. But the great responsibility of the care of this estate is going to fall on you. It’s a large amount of money, and I want to know if you feel equal to the task; and if so, if you will faithfully carry out the instructions I have written out for you in my will.”

“Oh, yes, Frank, I will do everything you say.”

He sighed inwardly, and continued: “Although I have made a will which gives you full control, nevertheless, that is the very reason I feel the necessity of warning you of overconfidence in anyone; for the moment I am gone, I’m sure there will be any number of people who will come to you with this and that plan, to do something for this cause or the other, or this or that institution. I have tried to guard against that by instructing the executors to submit any plan they may have to you for your approval. You are to be the judge, and you must decide whether it is worthy or not. Dr. James, you know, is one of the executors, and he is the one on whose judgment I can rely. He is a man not only of great medical skill but goodness of heart and intention. I have told him that you may stand in need of advice, and he has promised me faithfully to advise you to the best of his knowledge and ability. I want to tell you that he is so honest a man that when I told him he was to be left a sum of money for his services to me, he refused to allow it, although he was willing to act as your adviser. So if ever you should find yourself troubled as to what to do, please go to him first and see what he thinks.”

“Yes, Frank, I will do exactly as you say. If you believe in him, I certainly will also.”

“Of course,” he continued, “there are specific provisions in my will to be taken care of after the beneficiaries are satisfied. One of these is the completion and preservation of my art gallery. I want the mansion kept intact as it now stands; that is, as a museum for the benefit of the public. And since I have left plenty of money for its upkeep, it will be your duty to see that it is maintained in the best possible state.

“In fact, Aileen, I don’t know if you ever realized how much that place has meant to me. It has helped me to live through the endless practical problems to which I have had to devote myself. In building it and buying things for it, I have tried to bring into my life and yours the beauty which is entirely outside of cities and business.”

And as Cowperwood talked on, Aileen at last realized to a degree, at least, and perhaps for the first time, what all this meant to him, and again she promised to do everything as he directed.

“There’s another thing,” he went on, “and that is the hospital. You know I have wanted for a long time to build one. It doesn’t have to occupy an expensive site. A rather convenient Bronx location has been suggested in my will. Furthermore, it is to be for the poor—not for people with money who can afford to go elsewhere—and neither race, creed, nor color are to have anything to do with the right of admission.”

She sat there silently while he paused for a moment.

“There’s one more thing, Aileen. I haven’t mentioned it to you before, because I wasn’t certain how you would feel about it. I am having a tomb erected over in Greenwood Cemetery, and it’s very near completion: a beautiful copy of an ancient Greek design. It contains two bronze sarcophagi, one for me and one for you, if you choose to be buried there.”

At this she stirred uneasily, for he seemed to be considering his prospective death as practically as he had taken his business affairs.

“You say it is in Greenwood?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Cowperwood, solemnly.

“And that it is already completed?”

“So nearly completed that I could be buried there if I died within a short time.”

“Certainly, Frank, you are the strangest of men! The idea of building your own tomb—and mine—and you aren’t certain at all that you’re going to die of this . . .”

“But this tomb, Aileen, will last for a thousand years,” he said, with a slight lift in his voice. “And besides, we’re all going to die sometime, and you might as well rest there with me; that is, if you care to.”

She remained silent.

“Well, there it is,” he concluded, “and I feel it should be for the two of us, particularly since it has been built that way. However, if you feel you do not want to be there . . .”

But here she interrupted him. “Oh, Frank, let’s not talk about that now. If you want me there, I’ll be there. You know that,” and a restrained sob manifested itself in her voice.

However, at this point the door opened and Dr. James came in to say that it was unwise for Cowperwood to talk any longer; she might come another day if she would call up beforehand. She got up from where she had been sitting beside his bed, and taking his hand, said: “I’ll come in again tomorrow, Frank, just for a little while, and if there is anything I can do, please have Dr. James call me. But you must get well, Frank. You must believe that you will. There is so much that you want to do. Try . . .”

“Well, all right, dear, I will do my best,” he said, waving his hand and adding: “See you tomorrow.”