| TH~ LAST time I saw my father, he was lying quietly on hisback in his coffin, his eyes closed, an unaccustomed blandnesson his strong features, his thick white hair and heavy eye-brows neatly brushed. I stood there in the silence of the fu-neral chapel staring down at him. There was somethingwrong. All wrong. After a moment I realized what it was. Myfather had never slept on his back. Not once in all the years Iknew him. Usually my father slept balanced on his side, his barrelchest and big belly sinking into the mattress, one arm thrownover his eyes to shield them from the light, a scowl of concen-tration fierce even in sleep on his face. Now there was nothingthere. Not even the hatred of the morning that would come totear him from his private world. Then the lid of the coffincame down and I never saw him again. I was flooded with a sense of relief. It was over. I was free.I tore my eyes away from the burnished copper-and-mahog-any coffin and looked up. |
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