Steve Irwin, etc
I was translating the horoscope files that my American client newly sent to me,
when my friend suddenly asked me “Have you ever seen this guy before?” Looking at his computer screen, I saw a manly guy, grinning, with a ferocious-looking
crocodile in his arm. “Do you know that he just died last week?” Added my friend.
No, I don’t know. Actually if my friend didn’t mention it, I would have never
known him. Probably neither would I care. His risky life and sudden death wouldnever have had anything to do with me, hadn’t my friend happened to read the news.
“Steve Irwin, Wildlife Master, Is Killed by a Stingray at 44” was the headline
. Along the report, there was he in his photo, smiling together with his wife and lovely daughter. According to the report, deaths from stingray attacks are so
unusual that on an average there are only one or two fatalities a year worldwide
… Steve was filming TV segments, when the stingray he played with pierced its barb straight into his heart. The vomit killed him immediately.
Some people said it was depressing to know he, a guy who told and showed you wildlife were actually safe, was killed by wildlife himself. Although Steven had long since realized his profession involved a high risk of getting hurt, but I guess he would probably never know one day he might die due to it.
Looking at the picture, it was so hard to relate to the smiling, brown guy with
the one in the depressing report. Then I started to think how fragile one’s life could be. Year ago one of my friends’ mother suddenly died. There wasn’t any presentiment. She went out for exercise at one morning, and suddenly fainted on the ground. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. But days later she died in the hospital. When I was told the news, I was stunned and shocked. I had grown soused to her gossiping around back in my county. But then suddenly life deserted her.
I felt dreadful. The news was so disturbing and annoying. I always feel that I can manage my life, and direct everything toward my favour. But then cases like this seem to sneer at me, indicating me how my effort may go down the drain one day. The mother, before she died, said she would like to visit her two daughters
by plane, as that time taking plane was still considered to be a grand event in
her neighbourhood. But soon afterwards she died, together with her unfulfilled dream.
I told myself that I should be all right soon: Other people’s death could nevercause others staying mournful long; after all, it won’t make any difference whatever you do. But still right now I can’t help staying disturbed and mourningfor Steve’s death. Neither could I brush off those memories related to the gossiping but always smiling mother. Then suddenly, the words from For Whom the Bell tolls, Earnest Hemingway quoted from John Donne, came into my mind: “No man
is an island entire of itself. Each is a piece of the continent, a part of the main…Any man’s death diminishes me because I am involved in Mankind; and therefore send not to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” Maybe that was the cause of it.
