“Dr. Marashi said he poured salt on my husband,” she said. “But it didn’t work. There are some people too sick to be salted.”
She looked around the room as if she expected her husband and cat to materialize. How well can you mourn if you continually forget that the dead are dead?
I needed to escape.
“I’m really sorry, ma’am,” I said. “I really am. But I have to get back to the newspaper with these.”
“Is that my husband’s photograph?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And is that his obituary?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s the one you wrote.”
“I remember, I remember.”
She studied the artifacts in my hands.
“Can I have them back?” she asked.
“Excuse me?”
“The photo, and my letter, that’s all I have to remember my husband. He died, you know?”
“Yes, I know,” I said.
“He was at D-Day.”
“If I give you these back,” I said. “I won’t be able to run them in the newspaper.”
“Oh, I don’t want them in the newspaper,” she said. “My husband was a very private man.”
Ah, Lois, I thought, you never told me about this kind of death.
“I have to go now,” I said. I wanted to crash through the door and run away from this house fire.
“Okay, okay. Thank you for visiting,” she said. “Will you come back? I love visitors.”
“Yes,” I said. I lied. I knew I should call somebody about her dementia. She surely couldn’t take care of herself anymore. I knew I should call the police or her doctor or find her children and tell them. I knew I had responsibilities to her — to this grieving and confused stranger — but I was young and terrified.
So I left her on her porch. She was still waving when I turned the corner. Ah, Lois, I thought, are you with me, are you with me? I drove the newspaper’s car out of the city and onto the freeway. I drove for three hours to the shore of Soap Lake, an inland sea heavy with iron, calcium, and salt. For thousands of years, my indigenous ancestors had traveled here to be healed. They’re all gone now, dead by disease and self-destruction. Why had they believed so strongly in this magic water when it never protected them for long? When it might not have protected them at all? But you, Lois, you were never afraid of death, were you? You laughed and played. And you honored the dead with your brief and serious prayers.
Standing on the shore, I prayed for my dead. I praised them. I stupidly hoped the lake would heal my small wounds. Then I stripped off my clothes and waded naked into the water.
Jesus, I don’t want to die today or tomorrow, but I don’t want to live forever.
Food Chain
This is my wilclass="underline"
Bury me
In an anthill.
After one week
Of this feast,
Set the ants on fire.
Make me a funeral pyre.
Let my smoke rise
Into the eyes
Of those crows
On the telephone wire.
Startle those birds
Into flight
With my last words:
I loved my life.