There was a man who designed movie sets with such panache that he was in demand the world over. He was seen and photographed with celebrated people in celebrated places and his life was full and happy. He did not dwell on the fact that he had contracted AIDS in the early eighties because with the help of different combinations of drugs he had stayed well.
But now he knew he was dying. He thought about his life and of all the people he loved. He wanted to thank them all. He decided to throw a farewell party. He paid for plane tickets and hotel rooms so every one could attend. The party was a stunning success. It lasted until morning.
The next day the man packed up his stuff and closed his beautiful house. He drove his car into the foothills where he had rented a cabin. He spent his days resting and eating and e-mailing long letters to his friends.
He slept fairly well, but sometimes in the night he would awake and think that he could hear a river running by outside the cabin. Just the wind in the trees, he told himself, and at first that seemed possible, but each night the sound of rushing water grew louder. ``I must be dreaming it,'' he decided. It was really a pleasant, soothing sound.
Then one night he heard something else. Thumps against the walls of the cabin. Gentle at first, but in a few days the sounds became more violent. The walls shook.
The man had got to know the barber in the nearby town, because he had a thing about getting his hair trimmed every week. He told the barber about the strange noises.
``Weird,'' the barber said, thinking another nut case in the forest.
``There used to be a river there,'' an old man waiting for a haircut said, ``My grandfather used to catch salmon there when he was a boy. It was the hydraulic miners did it in. When they were out of there the river was gone. Never came back.''
Back at the cabin the night sound was as loud as ever. The man got up his courage and went to the window and looked out. Nothing. Serene trees. Serene sky.
He had not bothered to try and get out of bed for days. Even the thought of getting a haircut could not motivate his exhausted body. One night as the walls shook there was a crash. Something smashed through the window. It was a salmon - glitteringly alive, arcing through the room and bringing with it rushing, sparkling water. The salmon and water crashed through the opposite wall. The cabin was disintegrating. The man escaped on shaking legs. He stood on higher ground wrapped in a blanket watching his computer hang up on some tree roots for a few moments before disappearing. It occurred to him that nature was an incomparable set designer.
When the man did not answer his e-mail his friends drove out to check on him. They found the cabin quiet, the man dead on his futon.
``Must have slipped away in his sleep,'' they said.