morphine made Cal restless, struggling reflexively to rise from the futon, but he was too weak and dizzy to stand. If there was no one there to catch him he would fall, and did, lacerating his skull; or else he would have seizures. The medication to control these would knock him out for five or six hours, but Tina didn’t like to give it to him. She was afraid he would die in his sleep; she was afraid to sleep herself, thinking he would die then. I would practically force her onto the futon beside him, tucking the two of them in, Cal unconscious, Tina wild-eyed and speaking slowly, purposefully, crazily, like a child with night terrors. Sometimes she would read to him, from Hans Christian Andersen. He would say, “I love you, Fox,” she would say, “I love you, Little Wolf,” and curl around him like a cat. He couldn’t move by himself; she would lift her head every few minutes, checking that he was breathing and then looking around until she saw me, sitting in a chair and reading old issues of Vogue . A few times I got her to go up to the loft, where she finally would pass out for an hour, maybe two, before climbing back down the ladder again. Several times we had to contact the hospice nurse who was on call, to come help when an IV popped out, or to talk us through the process of administering a new type of painkiller—opium suppositories, the morphine pump . The morphine continued to make Cal restless; he hadn’t eaten for ten days, was taking in very little fluid, but he still tried to stand and walk to the bathroom. He couldn’t walk, of course, and what water he did drink he would vomit up again within an hour, along with black bile.
One night while Tina was in the loft sleeping I read aloud to Cal, “The Seven Swans” from the Brothers Grimm. As I read his eyes flickered, so sunken in his white face they were like marbles buried in the snow.
“That’s nice, Carrie,” he whispered when I’d finished. “Thank you.”
It was the last time he said my name. Afterwards, as he slept, I read “The Juniper Tree.”
—
Meanwhile, Marlene gathered all the bones, tied them up in her silk kerchief and carried them outside. There she wept bitter tears and buried the bones beneath the juniper tree. But as she put them there, she suddenly felt relieved and stopped crying. That was when the juniper tree began to sway, its branches moving as though they were clapping. At the same time smoke came out of the tree, and a flame that seemed to be burning. Then a beautiful bird flew out of the fire and began to sing, the most beautiful song she had ever heard . . .
—
When I finished “The Juniper Tree” I started on the book of pagan death rituals that I found in the living room, alongside ar ticles on cancer therapy and acupuncture left by Luna and Pansy. I prayed that up in the loft Tina was sleeping. But every time Cal stirred she would peer down, and I despaired of her ever resting at all. If Tina slept for two hours it was a triumph. I would always pass out before dawn and feel like Peter in Gethsemane, waking to the sound of Tina ringing a pair of piercingly clear Tibetan temple bells as she stood before the window facing the sun, reciting an incantation.
—
Spirits of the East, of water and sky and starlight, I welcome you.
Spirits of the West, land of fire and the dying sun, I welcome you.
Spirits of the North, hear u s . . .
—
As the weeks passed, Cal grew frailer and weaker, though his hands when I helped him to stand were painfully strong, fingers like claws digging into my arm. There were always people around now, sometimes only two or three of us; at other times the house was full, like a party. Cal’s ex-wife Yala came from Vermont and stayed for three weeks. Some cousins and an elderly aunt flew in from Texas and stayed for several days. That was the last time I saw Cal really happy, just beaming with delight, his eyes widening behind the morphine cloud when he saw them walking slowly
One night while Tina was in the loft sleeping I read aloud to Cal, “The Seven Swans” from the Brothers Grimm. As I read his eyes flickered, so sunken in his white face they were like marbles buried in the snow.
“That’s nice, Carrie,” he whispered when I’d finished. “Thank you.”
It was the last time he said my name. Afterwards, as he slept, I read “The Juniper Tree.”
—
Meanwhile, Marlene gathered all the bones, tied them up in her silk kerchief and carried them outside. There she wept bitter tears and buried the bones beneath the juniper tree. But as she put them there, she suddenly felt relieved and stopped crying. That was when the juniper tree began to sway, its branches moving as though they were clapping. At the same time smoke came out of the tree, and a flame that seemed to be burning. Then a beautiful bird flew out of the fire and began to sing, the most beautiful song she had ever heard . . .
—
When I finished “The Juniper Tree” I started on the book of pagan death rituals that I found in the living room, alongside ar ticles on cancer therapy and acupuncture left by Luna and Pansy. I prayed that up in the loft Tina was sleeping. But every time Cal stirred she would peer down, and I despaired of her ever resting at all. If Tina slept for two hours it was a triumph. I would always pass out before dawn and feel like Peter in Gethsemane, waking to the sound of Tina ringing a pair of piercingly clear Tibetan temple bells as she stood before the window facing the sun, reciting an incantation.
—
Spirits of the East, of water and sky and starlight, I welcome you.
Spirits of the West, land of fire and the dying sun, I welcome you.
Spirits of the North, hear u s . . .
—
As the weeks passed, Cal grew frailer and weaker, though his hands when I helped him to stand were painfully strong, fingers like claws digging into my arm. There were always people around now, sometimes only two or three of us; at other times the house was full, like a party. Cal’s ex-wife Yala came from Vermont and stayed for three weeks. Some cousins and an elderly aunt flew in from Texas and stayed for several days. That was the last time I saw Cal really happy, just beaming with delight, his eyes widening behind the morphine cloud when he saw them walking slowly
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