Ancião Jacobá

It was a few months ago that I first saw him sitting on the doorsteps of the bar in our neighborhood. Since then, he hasn't missed a day. When the sun rises, he comes, sits down, legs crossed, and rests his head on his left hand while his right hand holds on to the stick. He stays until the bar opens around 6PM. Only then does he go home.
When I tried to get some information about him from my neighbors, they could only tell me his name and that his wife had died a couple of months ago.
Maybe he couldn't stand staying in his house without his wife, where everything reminded him of her absence? I wondered.
I continued to observe him. Whenever I drove past the bar, there he was, legs crossed, his head leaning on his left hand and his right hand holding on to his stick. He looked old, tired, and miserable. I felt sorry for him.
Yesterday, I finally decided to talk to him and to offer him my help. Anything that would alleviate his suffering. 
I sat down beside him.
"Ancião Jacobá" (ancião means "elder"), I said, "what are you doing here? The days go by one after another, and you let them pass one by one, ignoring them. What are you doing here?"
He looked at me sideways, without lifting his head, and said: "I'm waiting for Death."
It was the answer I had feared. "Because of your wife?"
He nodded.
"You must be missing her terribly."
Ancião Jacobá chuckled: "No. I don't miss dead people. People come and go."
"So why do you want do die?"
"I don't!" he answered with a resolute voice.
"I don't understand. Why then are you waiting for death?"
"I must convince Death that his time to retire has come."
"Hm", I said, still not understanding.
"You are still very young", he said, "I forgive you your ignorance. Let me tell you my story. When I was a little boy, I was playing right here on this spot with a couple of friends. There were no houses here, just trees. We were climbing trees and picking fruits when Death, a proud and strong man, appeared on his horse. Oh, he was handsome, and I understood why women blushed when they talked about him. He stopped, looked at us impatiently while trying to control his very nervous horse, and asked for directions. 'Where's the house of Dona Beneditina? I know she lives somewhere around here, so don't lie to me.' Dona Beneditina was my grandmother, and I didn't know that this man was Death himself. I told him to continue on this path. It would lead him right to our house. Later, when I came home, I found our whole family wailing and lamenting the death of my grandmother. That's when I understood that I had met Death on his Horse. I looked at my grandmother's corpse and saw a smile on her face. A few months ago, I met Death again. My wife and I were already in bed, getting ready to sleep, when he appeared in our bedroom. 'I have come to take you with me', he told me, his big bush knife already raised high above his head. He didn't look that strong and beautiful anymore. He had aged like myself. That's the course of life and death, I thought. I nodded, and said: 'I am ready.' I saw how his big knife came down to deal a deadly blow to my soul, but then the unthinkable happened: He missed! Instead of taking me, he took my beautiful wife!"
Ancião Jacobá shook his head. "His eyes are getting weak and his hand has lost it's strength. He is taking the lives of the wrong people. Time has come for him to retire and to pass on his job to one of his sons."
"So, you're fine?" I asked. "There's nothing you want me to do for you?"
"I'm good", he said. "But if you see Death, tell him I'm waiting for him."