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The
wind
awoke
Louis
,
and
he
started
up
on
his
elbows
,
mostly
asleep
and
confused
.
There
were
steps
on
the
stairs
...
slow
,
dragging
steps
.
Pascow
had
come
back
.
Only
now
,
he
thought
,
two
months
had
passed
.
When
the
door
opened
he
would
see
a
rotting
horror
,
the
jogging
shorts
caked
with
mould
,
the
flesh
fallen
away
in
great
holes
,
the
brain
decayed
to
paste
.
Only
the
eyes
would
be
alive
...
hellishly
bright
and
alive
.
Pascow
would
not
speak
this
time
;
his
vocal
cords
would
be
too
decayed
to
produce
sounds
.
But
his
eyes
...
they
would
beckon
him
to
come
.
"
No
,
"
he
breathed
,
and
the
steps
died
out
He
got
up
,
went
to
the
door
,
and
pulled
it
open
,
his
lips
drawn
back
in
a
grimace
of
fear
and
resolution
,
his
flesh
cringing
.
Pascow
would
be
there
,
and
with
his
raised
arms
he
would
look
like
a
long-dead
conductor
about
to
call
for
the
first
thundering
phrase
of
Walpurgisnacht
.
No
such
thing
,
as
Jud
might
have
said
.
The
landing
was
empty
...
silent
.
There
was
no
sound
but
the
wind
.
Louis
went
back
to
bed
and
slept
.
The
next
day
Louis
called
the
intensive
care
unit
at
the
EMMC
.
Norma
's
condition
was
still
listed
as
critical
;
that
was
standard
operating
procedure
for
the
first
twenty-four
hours
following
a
heart
attack
.
Louis
got
a
cheerier
assessment
from
Weybridge
,
her
doctor
,
however
.
"
I
would
n't
even
call
it
a
minor
myocardial
infarction
,
"
he
said
.
"
No
scarring
.
She
owes
you
a
hell
of
a
lot
,
Dr.
Creed
.
"
On
impulse
,
Louis
stopped
by
the
hospital
later
that
week
with
a
bouquet
of
flowers
,
and
found
that
Norma
had
been
moved
to
a
semiprivate
room
downstairs
--
a
very
good
sign
.
Jud
was
with
her
.
Norma
exclaimed
over
the
flowers
and
buzzed
a
nurse
for
a
vase
.
Then
she
directed
Jud
until
they
were
in
water
,
arranged
to
her
specifications
,
and
placed
on
the
dresser
in
the
corner
.
"
Mother
's
feeling
ever
s
'm
uch
better
,
"
Jud
said
dryly
after
he
had
fiddled
with
the
flowers
for
the
third
time
.
"
Do
n't
be
smart
,
Judson
,
"
Norma
said
.
"
No
,
ma'am
.
"
