Like all good stories, there are multiple themes at work in Living. There is the theme of Grief. Since his wife’s death several years ago, Williams has attempted to deal with his grief by shutting off his emotions and going about his job. But the grief is still there witness the flashback on 24-25 where Williams remembers his wife’s funeral procession. Also, the song he sings (The Rowan Tree), both in the pub and on the swing at the very end of the story, he associated with his deceased wife. Clearly, Williams still grieves the death of his wife.
There is also the theme of Regret. It’s likely that Williams only begins to embrace regrets about how he has lived his life after he learns of his terminal condition, then begins to live it up. However, I suspect that even before the story begins – Williams’ life before Fade In – in the quiet of the night, either he consciously feels those feelings or unconsciously so. But he doesn’t allow himself to verbalize his regrets until he meets Sutherland and especially Margaret, most pointedly on 73:
WILLIAMS (CONT'D)
Miss Harris, I wonder if you ever
stop on your way home and watch the
children playing. In the street, in
the yard. Balls, cowboys, whatever.
Always so full of life. And when
the time comes and their mothers
call them in, they’re often
reluctant, get a little contrary.
Well, that’s as it should be. Far
better that than be the child you
occasionally see, sitting by
himself in a corner. Not taking
part, not happy, not unhappy.
Merely waiting for his mother to
call him in. Now I’ve become rather
afraid I might end up like that
little fellow and... and I so very
much wish not to do so.
But I will choose this as the story’s central theme: Mr. Zombie. This is the “secret nickname” Margaret has for Williams (49):
MARGARET
Mr Zombie. There was a film about
it with, oh, what’s her name. A
zombie’s rather like an Egyptian
mummy. Except it can walk around,
go about doing things. They’re sort
of dead and not dead. They say they
really have them in the West
Indies, though I don’t suppose
that’s true.
Beat.
WILLIAMS
Mr Zombie. My, my.
Margaret is close to tears.
MARGARET
I’m so sorry. It’s wicked of me.
Williams reaches over, touches her arm.
WILLIAMS
Miss Harris, you mustn’t get upset.
Mr Zombie.
(breaks into smile)
It’s rather good. In fact it’s
quite appropriate. I like it. Mr
Zombie. An Egyptian mummy except...
I can walk about!
Then later, Williams says this (72):
WILLIAMS (CONT'D)
A birthday. How pleasant...
(beat)
Yes, I’m sure of it, Miss Harris. I
wasn’t always this... what was it?
Your name for me...?
MARGARET
(close to tears)
Mr Zombie...
WILLIAMS
Ah yes, Mr Zombie. No, I wasn’t
always... When my wife was with me,
for instance. Then later, all the
time Michael was growing up. I
wasn’t Mr Zombie at all then.
Perhaps I didn’t much resemble you.
But in my own way –
Then on 74:
Suddenly he’s stopped by an idea opening within him. Beat.
Williams starts to laugh. Secretively at first, then his
laughter seems to shake his whole being - a laughter filled
with relief, revelation, and the appreciation of having
missed something staring one in the face.
Margaret looks at him, alarmed, puzzled.
WILLIAMS (CONT'D)
(another short laugh)
Perhaps it’s not too late after all
for Mr Zombie.
This is a major turning point in the story, when Williams decides he must see to it the children’s playground gets constructed. As Margaret says of zombies: “They’re sort of dead and not dead.” That describes Williams’ life. Up until he learns he is dying, Williams has been leading a life-less existence (very much like Carl Fredricksen in the movie Up). With the help of Sutherland, but especially Margaret, he has lived it up a bit, which sets the stage for him to hatch his plan: build the children’s playground.
Next: Dialogue.
