| BY NOW, my friend August was flat as a man of ginger-bread, buckled at the knees and curled at the feet by toohot an oven, nibbled cruelly up and down his long limbsand sides. Apologizing for our lateness, Ruth bent down tohim. Her right hand touched his cheek and neck, while herleft caught up the brown-black hair that fell swinging toshroud their kiss. A dark delta o[ damp, like the mark of atongue, had stained the side of her sleeveless summer dress. I carefully raised and lowered August s apparently hollowfingers. "Slept most of the night," he piped at us. Though heno longer made the effort to roll his head in our direction,his voice was the same as ever. "I ate two full meals today."Anyone unused to his shrillness would have guessed thatthe cancer was in his throat. Ruth withdrew her hand he couldn t bear to be touchedfor long. She grasped his bed rail and leaned forward tiredly,resting her elbows on it. Her narrow shoulders seemed torise in relief, and I saw the thin stuff of her dress shift asher shoulder blades drew together. "Were there visitors?"she asked. Doc-tor Perlmutter, Doc-tor Perlmutter, murmured theloudspeaker. |
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