The elevator opened; a doctor and a nurse
came by, both making a sort of fast strut straight to Grandma’s door. When they
were inside, my grandfather (Grandfather? He looked much too young and
soldier-like for that) fiddled with his rifle for a moment; almost the way some
men I knew fiddled with a pipe while the words they needed came to them.
“I’ve been dead a long while, and she’s
lived her life. Met people, done things, raised a child. People change; even
dead people change. I suppose I’ll know in a few minutes whether we’re still
enough of who we used to be to still love each other.”
“So you don’t know?”
“No. I have a suspicion and a hope, but
we’ll see.”
“She’s definitely dying, then?”
“In about 15 minutes. I’m her escort.”
Noreen swallowed a giggle when I repeated
this. The local paper had been running an advert for “escort services” lately,
and our father had hummed and muttered and hinted his way through explaining
what such services entailed.
“Our soldier grandfather quirked his lip,
somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “It’s not quite a dance I’m taking
her too. “
I wanted to impress him, so I said “You’re
a psychopomp! Noreen, he’s going to lead her to the Land of the Dead.”
He wouldn’t tell us much about what it was
like being dead. “It’s just like being alive, if you set aside the fact that
it’s totally different. Some things stay, and others that you thought would
never change just fade away. I can still assemble a rifle, or the ghost of one.
I’m pretty sure I used to be able to wiggle my left ear, but I can’t now.”
“We should go in now; there’s just a few
minutes left. If you want to do me and your Granny a favor, see if you can open
a window in there, even a crack. I am very
pleased I got to meet you.”
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