Encounter

“‘You’re so angry. Why are you so angry?’ he asked, almost in a whisper. ‘Life is why. So, tell me, my wise, calm friend, where I can register my complaint? Whom can I tell that it’s easy to set a rhythm of births and deaths, it’s not so easy to do the living in between? It isn’t like some of us don’t try, damn it! We try and try and hope against hope and try some more, but it’s rigged, isn’t it? The whole damned game of life is rigged. So, get the hell outta here! Take a bus! Walk! Thumb a ride! I don’t give a damn! Just leave me alone!’ Leila’s sudden fierceness shook her. She leaned against the rail.”—Helen Noakes

Waking Point

By Helen Noakes

SAN FRANCISO California—(Hubris)—August/September 2024—The bridge shuddered beneath her feet. Leila wasn’t sure if it was the wind, the rushing traffic behind her, or her own heart that caused it.

It was her third time standing at the rail, staring across the green waters of the bay at the luminous city beyond. My third and final time, she thought. But glancing down at the waves heaving against the carnelian buttresses of the Golden Gate Bridge, she lost all certainty.

Tears stung her eyes. Was it fear or disgust at her cowardice? She shivered and drew her coat tighter around her thin frame.

“Beautiful city.”

Startled by the deep voice, Leila glanced briefly at the tall, lean man who stood beside her, his elbows propped on the railing, gazing out at the city, and quickly looked away, following the direction of his gaze. Perhaps if she ignored him, he’d leave.

But he persisted, “I love San Francisco.” His speech had a cadence, a rhythm that sounded foreign. “All that beauty and so much sorrow.”

Leila’s heart lurched.

“I’m often on this bridge. How about you?” he continued.

Leila tightened her grip on the handrail.

“You live here?”

Despite her misgivings, Leila nodded, not looking at him.

“Walk the bridge a lot?” he persisted.

She shook her head.

“I walk a lot of bridges—in beautiful cities.” He sighed.

She didn’t know what compelled her to look at him. He placidly returned her gaze and said, “Beautiful bridges draw people—all sorts of people.”

“Who are you?” Leila demanded.

“Janus Tenshi.”

“What do you want?”

“Just a chat. I’ve been traveling by myself. Talk-starved. Traveling by yourself is a lonely business, don’t you find?”

“Living is a lonely business. I repeat, what do you want?”

“What were you thinking before I came up to you?” He gazed at her calmly.

Janus’s black raincoat flapped, marking the time it took for her to respond, tersely, “Private thoughts.”

He made a small smile and turned to look down at the sea-spray far below. “Water must be freezing.”

Leila felt it gurgle painfully inside her before she let out a sound almost like a chuckle. “Oh, I see. You think I’ll jump.”

Continuing to gaze down, he said nothing. She noticed the muscles of his jaw working. “My savior.” Leila was surprised by the level of vitriol in her tone.

“If you let me,” Janus replied, softly. When Leila turned away from him, he said, “It’s not the answer.”

“That depends on the question.” Leila hoped the wind had carried away her words.

“Some questions have no answers.”

“To be or not to be?” she retorted.

“There was an answer to that one— ‘. . . to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.’”

“There was another answer too: ‘. . . to die, to sleep . . .’”

“Too easy.”

It was the first time she’d heard irritation in his voice. Inexplicably, she felt stillness quell her anger. “Not so easy.”

Curious at his silence, Leila looked at him. “Tenshi means spirit or angelic being in Japanese. You’re not Japanese. And Janus was a Roman god with two faces.”

“Interesting that you should know that.”

“I know a lot of things not worth a damn.”  She looked down, assessing the distance between the railing and the water. What would go through my mind as I plummeted?

Janus knew the look. “Fog is rolling in. There’ll be no spectacular sunset tonight.”

Alarmed, Leila whirled on him. “Go away!

Janus was taken aback, but only for a second. “I can’t,” he said, gently.

“What do you mean, can’t?”

“Did you drive? I took a bus and, waiting for one in this fog . . . well, I could use a ride.”

Leila blinked. Was he mad? The absurdity of his words forced a laugh, and she continued laughing, her mirth, disproportionate to his response, bringing tears to her eyes. “I come here for a dramatic exit and instead I get an encounter with a loon.”

“Made you laugh.”

She wiped at her cheeks. “And cry.” Leila examined Janus’s face. A nice face, she concluded. Pleasant. Kind eyes. “The Roman Janus had two faces. Which face are you showing me, Janus Tenshi?” Now who’s the loon?

Janus shrugged. “I just have the one.” After a little pause, he said, “You’re clearly a woman who searches for hidden truths.”

Leila smirked. “The truth is I’m standing here talking to a crazy man because I figure maybe, just maybe, he’ll solve my problem.”

“What problem?”

“Haven’t you guessed, Mr. Tenshi? I’m a coward. All I need from you is a little push.”

“In the right direction.”

“Who appointed you the judge of that!” Janus shook his head, sorrow in his eyes.

She felt her rage subside. “Do you believe in synchronicity, Mr. Tenshi? In odd things happening? Like the dream I had about you, and you showing up?”

“Greater minds than mine believe in it.”

“I didn’t see his face. You just have his overall vibe.”

“Dreams are remarkable.”

“You’re humoring me. Think I’ve got a screw loose. I must have. Talking to an absolute stranger like this. No. Please. Don’t say anything. I can see the look in your eyes. I . . . .I’m not crazy.” Leila wouldn’t look at him in case he saw the panic in her eyes.

“I never thought you were. Pain is not madness.”

“Do you know why I’m talking to you? I’m trying to postpone the inevitable. There. I said it.”

“Nothing is inevitable. And maybe you’re talking to me because I’m listening.”

Had he stepped closer, or was it her imagination? She was sure of nothing these days. “Yeah? A little too late, don’t you think?”

“You’re so angry. Why are you so angry?” he asked, almost in a whisper.

“Life is why. So, tell me, my wise, calm friend, where I can register my complaint? Whom can I tell that it’s easy to set a rhythm of births and deaths, but it’s not so easy to do the living in between? It isn’t like some of us don’t try, damn it! We try and try and hope against hope and try some more, but it’s rigged, isn’t it? The whole damned game of life is rigged. So, get the hell outta here! Take a bus! Walk! Thumb a ride! I don’t give a damn! Just leave me alone!” Leila’s sudden fierceness shook her. She leaned against the rail.

After a long moment, Janus asked, “Are you sure you want to do this? You have no doubts?”

“I’m scared,” Leila whispered.

“Me too.”

“You? Why’re you scared?”

“I’ve been searching for the right time, the right place—gone to a lot of bridges. But I told you that already.” He was so close, now, they were almost touching.

Leila peered at him. “You mean . . . ” Janus nodded. “And now? You think that . . .”

“You give me courage. Don’t know why. Maybe it’s the idea of not doing it alone . . . I don’t know.”

“I can’t be responsible for your death!” Leila shouted.

“You wouldn’t be. We’d just—support each other—so to speak.”

“No!” she cried. “I can’t do that! No matter what you say, I’d be enabling you. No! I won’t!”

Janus heaved a great sigh. “Not today, then.”

Leila breathed normally now. “Not today,” she said, and, after a moment, continued, “Can’t see the city anymore, the fog’s so thick. I want to see the city when I . . .”

“Absolutely. And the sunset, of course.”

“Of course,” she replied, feeling a strange euphoria.

“The city. The bridge. The fog. They’ll be here tomorrow and the next day. And the fog will lift, and we’ll live to die another day.” Janus lightly touched her arm. “Come, Leila.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Didn’t you tell me? It’s a lovely name. It means ‘night.’”

Leila gazed up at him as Janus placed a hand at the small of her back and led her off the bridge. She let him.

Author’s Note: This story grew out of two incidents in my life which had a profound impact on me. They happened years apart and years before I began to write Encounter. About a decade after the incidents occurred, I read about a man who lived next to a bridge in Australia where people would come to commit suicide. This man made it his mission to talk them out of their decisions. The article conjured the memory of the suicides of my two friends. Tragically, they were not rescued. Recalling the many questions their choices conjured during my grief, I was compelled to write about the complicated dynamics between people whose desperation leads to a dire decision and those intent upon pulling them away from a fatal act.

About 2,000 people are estimated to have jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge since 1937. The bridge now has a continuous physical suicide barrier installed along the full length of its 1.7-mile span.

Please, if you or anyone you know is contemplating such an act, contact your local Suicide Prevention Lifeline: Dial or text 988.