I don’t want you to go yet, she said. She reached across and took his hand. I don’t. There were tears in her eyes. I’m not ready.
I know.… We better call Lorraine pretty soon, he said.
I’ll call her.
Tell her she doesn’t have to come home yet. Give her some time.
He looked at the beer bottle and held it in front of him and took a small drink.
I might get me some kind of better grade of beer before I go. A guy I was talking to said something about Belgian beer. Maybe I’ll try some of that. If I can get it around here.
He sat and drank the beer and held his wife’s hand sitting out on the front porch. So the truth was he was dying. That’s what they were saying. He would be dead before the end of summer. By the beginning of September the dirt would be piled over what was left of him out at the cemetery three miles east of town. Someone would cut his name into the face of a tombstone and it would be as if he never was.
2
NINE O’CLOCK in the morning, he was sitting in his chair beside the window in the living room looking out at the side yard at the dark shade under the tree and at the wrought iron fence beyond the tree. He’d eaten his breakfast. He hadn’t been hungry but he’d eaten it and he was thinking he wasn’t going to eat anything anymore he didn’t want to eat, and he was thinking how he wasn’t going to paint the iron fence again in this life, and then Mary came in the room.
She was carrying a watering can. She had washed and dried the breakfast dishes and put them away in the cupboard and had gone out back to set the sprinkler going on the lawn, and now she had come inside to water the houseplants. It was a clear hot day. Not a cloud anywhere. But crossing the room she all of a sudden went down on the floor like a little loose pile of collapsed clothes. She threw the water can away from her as she fell. The water splashed up on the rose wallpaper and there was a stain growing on the wall.
Darlin, Dad said. You all right? What’s going on?
She didn’t move, didn’t answer.
Mary. Goddamn it. What’s going on here?
He stood and bent over her. Her eyes were shut and her face was sweating and very red. But she was breathing.
Mary. Sweetheart.
He got down on his knees beside her and felt her head. She felt hot. He pulled her toward him and slid his arms under her, propping her up against the couch. Can you hear me? I got to call somebody. I’ll be right back. She made no sign. Is that all right with you if I leave a minute? I’m coming right back. He hurried out to the kitchen and called the emergency number at the hospital. Then he returned and got down on the floor again and held her and talked to her softly and kissed her cheek and brushed back her damp white hair and patted her arm and waited. After a little while he heard the siren outside and then it stopped and people came up on the front porch and knocked.
Come in here, Dad called. Christ Almighty. What are you knocking for? Come on in here.
They entered the house, two men in white shirts and black pants, and looked at Dad and his wife on the floor and knelt down and began to attend to her. What happened?
She fainted out. She was walking across the room. Then she just went down on the floor.
The younger of the men stood up and went out to the ambulance and brought back a gurney.
Can you move back, please? he said.
What’s that? Dad said. What are you saying?
Sir, you’ll need to move back so we can take care of her. Are you all right yourself? You don’t look too good.
Yeah, I’m all right. Do what you got to do, and hurry.
They lifted the old white-haired woman onto the wheeled cart and buckled the straps across her chest and legs. Dad got up from the floor and stood watching. He put his hand on her.
You won’t let nothing happen to her, he said.
No sir. We’ll do our best.
That’s not what I’m saying. Your best might not be good enough. This is my wife here. This lady means everything to me in the world.