Life Sentence

Happy New Year! she cried. But how often should one hear it said in a single lifetime?
Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS
Outside, bells were ringing. Happy New Year!
The mad sound of people crazed for the moment, shouting, echoed the bells.
Happy New Year!
A sound of music, waxing, waning, now joined in wild symphony by the voices, now left alone to counterpoint the noise of human celebration....
For a while, Oliver Symmes heard the raucous music of the crowd. It became a part of him, seemed to come from somewhere inside him, gave him life. And then, as always, it passed on, leaving him empty.
Shadows....
The door to his room opened and a young-looking woman, dressed in a pleasant green uniform, came in and turned up the light. On her sleeve she wore the badge of geriatrician, with the motto, To Care for the Aged.
Happy New Year, Mr. Symmes, she said, and went over to stand by the window. In the mild light, the sheen of her hair attracted attention away from the slight imperfections of her face.
She watched the crowd outside, wishing she could be a part of it. There seemed so little life inside the prison where the only function of living was the awaiting of death. To Care for the Aged. That meant to like and love them as well as to take physical care of them. Only, somehow, it seemed so hard to really love them.
She sighed and turned away from the window to look at one of the reasons she could not be with the rest of the world that night.