drying up, but we both knew that it was only a matter of time now, since she was literally starving to death, wasting away for lack of any nourishment. It was a remarkable thing, but once I even thought that Isabel was smiling at me, right there at the end, as I sat beside her dabbing water on her lips. I can’t be absolutely certain, however, since she was already so far away from me by then, but I like to think that it was a smile, even if Isabel did not know what she was doing. She had been so apologetic about getting sick, so ashamed at having to rely on me for everything, but the fact was that I needed her just as much as she needed me. What happened then, right after the smile, if it was a smile, was that Isabel began to choke on her own saliva. She just couldn’t get it down anymore, and though I tried to clean out her mouth with my fingers, too much of it was sliding back down her throat, and soon there was no more air left for her to breathe. The sound she made then was horrible, but it was so weak, so devoid of real struggle, that it did not last very long.
Later that same day, I gathered up a number of things from the apartment, packed them in my cart, and took them over to Progress Avenue in the eighth census zone. I wasn’t thinking very clearly—I can even remember being aware of it at the time—but that didn’t stand in my way. I solddishes, clothes, bedding, pots, pans, God knows what else—anything I could get my hands on. It was a relief to be getting rid of it all, and in some way it took the place of tears for me. I couldn’t cry anymore, you see, not since that day on the roof, and after Isabel died, I felt like smashing things, I felt like turning the house upside down. I took the money and went across the city to Ozone Prospect and bought the most beautiful dress I could find. It was white, with lace on the collar and sleeves, and a broad satin sash that went around the waist. I think Isabel would have been happy if she had known she was wearing it.
After that, things get a little confused for me. I was exhausted, you understand, and I had that blurring in the brain that makes you think you are no longer yourself, when you begin to drift in and out of consciousness, even though you are awake. I can remember lifting Isabel in my arms and shuddering when I felt how light she had become. It was like carrying a child, with those feathery bones and that soft, pliant body. Then I was out on the street, pushing her in the cart across the city, and I can remember being scared, feeling that everyone I passed was looking at the cart, wondering how they could attack me and steal the dress Isabel was wearing. After that, I can see myself arriving at the gate of the Third Transformation Center and waiting in line with many others—and then, when my turn came, being paid the normal fee by one of the officials. He, too, eyed Isabel’s dress with more than usual interest, and I could see the wheels spinning in his sordid little head. I held up the money he had just given me and said that he could have it if he promised to burn the dress along with Isabel. Naturally he agreed—with a vulgar, complicitouswink—but I have no way of knowing if he kept his word. I tend to think not, which explains why I prefer not to think about any of this at all.
After leaving the Transformation Center, I must have wandered around for a while, my head in the clouds, paying no attention to where I was. Later, I fell asleep somewhere, probably in a doorway, but I woke up feeling no better than I had before, maybe worse. I thought about returning to the apartment, then decided that I wasn’t ready to face it. I dreaded the prospect of being there alone, of going back to that room and just sitting there with nothing to do. Perhaps another few hours of fresh air would do me some good, I thought. Then, as I woke up a little more and gradually saw where I was, I discovered that I no longer had the cart. The umbilical cord was
Later that same day, I gathered up a number of things from the apartment, packed them in my cart, and took them over to Progress Avenue in the eighth census zone. I wasn’t thinking very clearly—I can even remember being aware of it at the time—but that didn’t stand in my way. I solddishes, clothes, bedding, pots, pans, God knows what else—anything I could get my hands on. It was a relief to be getting rid of it all, and in some way it took the place of tears for me. I couldn’t cry anymore, you see, not since that day on the roof, and after Isabel died, I felt like smashing things, I felt like turning the house upside down. I took the money and went across the city to Ozone Prospect and bought the most beautiful dress I could find. It was white, with lace on the collar and sleeves, and a broad satin sash that went around the waist. I think Isabel would have been happy if she had known she was wearing it.
After that, things get a little confused for me. I was exhausted, you understand, and I had that blurring in the brain that makes you think you are no longer yourself, when you begin to drift in and out of consciousness, even though you are awake. I can remember lifting Isabel in my arms and shuddering when I felt how light she had become. It was like carrying a child, with those feathery bones and that soft, pliant body. Then I was out on the street, pushing her in the cart across the city, and I can remember being scared, feeling that everyone I passed was looking at the cart, wondering how they could attack me and steal the dress Isabel was wearing. After that, I can see myself arriving at the gate of the Third Transformation Center and waiting in line with many others—and then, when my turn came, being paid the normal fee by one of the officials. He, too, eyed Isabel’s dress with more than usual interest, and I could see the wheels spinning in his sordid little head. I held up the money he had just given me and said that he could have it if he promised to burn the dress along with Isabel. Naturally he agreed—with a vulgar, complicitouswink—but I have no way of knowing if he kept his word. I tend to think not, which explains why I prefer not to think about any of this at all.
After leaving the Transformation Center, I must have wandered around for a while, my head in the clouds, paying no attention to where I was. Later, I fell asleep somewhere, probably in a doorway, but I woke up feeling no better than I had before, maybe worse. I thought about returning to the apartment, then decided that I wasn’t ready to face it. I dreaded the prospect of being there alone, of going back to that room and just sitting there with nothing to do. Perhaps another few hours of fresh air would do me some good, I thought. Then, as I woke up a little more and gradually saw where I was, I discovered that I no longer had the cart. The umbilical cord was
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