Take old man Donegal, for example. I want to be alone." "You're not dying." I want to be buried with my back to space, understand? he complained. "Be patient, Donny," she sighed. he offered. It was always so. The rest of his body was lost to him. The wires were down, and
he was cut off from himself. "You ought to get some sleep," he said. Don't talk, Donny. It tires you." "You ought to get more sleep. My hand. You maudlin ass. Please." he asked. "Please, Donny, the priest?" "If I'm not dying, I don't need a priest," he said sleepily. "That's not right," she scolded softly. "You know that's not right,
Donny. "I wouldn't know," she said stiffly. "I feel fine, Martha. I like parties. Pour
me a drink, will you? "It's empty." I know. "You shouldn't have it, Donny. Please don't." "But this is a party, Martha. "Sure, Donny, sure. Getting well." Just a finger in a tumbler, no more. He was freckled and grinning. "What did you say, Donny?" I wish they'd get here. I wish they'd hurry." "Leave it open," he said. There'll be such a
racket." She looked at him hopefully, the way she did when she prompted
his manners before company came. She wants the window closed
for her own sake, not yours. "Leave it closed," he grunted. I want to listen." I wish you'd throw it out. It's loud." "It's your medicine-clock, Donny." he asked. Don't fret." He chuckled. I know your
tricks, he told it with a smile, and I learned to walk on the bottomside
of things before you were a maggot. I know your
tricks, fly. "I don't know if I should tell you," she said. She looked up slowly, scrutinizing his face. She shook her head
slowly. "Open the window, Martha," he said. After frozen seconds, she sighed and went to open it. This is some shebang. He chuckled, but it choked off
into a fit of coughing. "Donny, about Ken--"
"No matter, Martha," he said hastily. "What, Donny?" "Fried mush," he said. "I feel real crazy," he added. "Hand me the king kong, fluff-muff." The memories were good. "Leave it," he said. "It's a party. Whiskey, Martha. "Whiskey. "Donny, it's not right. Whiskey. Forget the priest." Jesus, but it was good. The nun held out a pie pan, rattled a few coins in it. "I know you," he said. he breathed, and reached for the whiskey. But when they came up, the boy was not with them. "You smell good," he said. "You don't, Pops. You smell like a sot. She looked at him apologetically. "It's all right, Nora." "It's okay. "No jets, Pop. Not for Ken." "Donny says he likes it." She snorted. "Maybe he did," growled Old Donegal. "You don't understand, girl." "I lost Oley. asked the psych. He found
Martha. "You went to sleep," said Martha. "She had to go. I'm all head. "I love you, Old Donegal." "I'm holding it, old man." "I lie to myself, Martha. You know how much I lie to myself?" "I lie to myself about Ken, and about dying. She shook her head. "Don't talk, Donny, please." "That's not true. I lied to myself. "Don't, Donny. Bring me my boots, woman." "The boots, they're in my locker in the attic. I want them." "You can't; the priest's coming." "Well, get them anyway. She shook her head. "You can't, until Father Paul's finished." She sighed. I wish you
wouldn't, Donny. It's sacrilege, you know it is." "Yes, you do." "The boots, woman, the boots." he growled. You know how he is." "Skip the small talk. The priest humphed thoughtfully, sauntered across to the bed, gazed down
at the old man disinterestedly. he growled. "Hurry up and get out. The last time. I want to hear." "Maybe, maybe not. the priest asked. "No soap. The priest brought
his bag to the bedside. "Bless me, father, for I have sinned." "Bless you, son." The priest opened the window for him again, and repacked his bag. She was smiling when she kissed him, and she looked less tired. "Donny, don't start that again." Donny, you don't want them." "I don't know," she said. "They won't do it. They're the Keiths,
Martha. "It's too late," he said after her. The trumpet was alone. The trumpet stopped suddenly. He sank quietly then.