mile fled and she
swallowed hard, like swallowing a fish-bone. He glanced down, and
noticed that she was squeezing his hand spasmodically.

There wasn't much left of the hand, he thought. Bones and ugly
tight-stretched hide spotted with brown. Bulging knuckles with yellow
cigaret stains. My hand. He tried to tighten it, tried to squeeze
Martha's thin one in return. He watched it open and contract a little,
but it was like operating a remote-control mechanism. Goodbye, hand,
you're leaving me the way my legs did, he told it. I'll see you again in
hell. How hammy can you get, Old Donegal? You maudlin ass.

"Requiescat," he muttered over the hand, and let it lie in peace.

Perhaps she heard him. "Donny," she whispered, leaning closer, "won't
you let me call the priest now? Please."

He rattled a sigh and rolled his head toward the window again. "Are the
Keiths having a party today?" he asked. "Sounds like they're moving
chairs out on the terrace."

"Please, Donny, the priest?"

He let his head roll aside and closed his eyes, as if asleep. The bed
shook slightly as she quickly caught at his wrist to feel for a pulse.

"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. You know better."

Maybe I'm being too rough on her? he wondered. He hadn't minded getting
baptized her way, and married her way, and occasionally priest-handled
the way she wanted him to when he was home from a space-run, but when it
came to dying, Old Donegal wanted to do it his own way.

* * * * *

He opened his eyes at the sound of a bench being dragged across the
stone terrace. "Martha, what kind of a party are the Keiths having
today?"

"I wouldn't know," she said stiffly. "You'd think they'd have a little
more respect. You'd think they'd put it off a few days."

"Until--?"

"Until you feel better."

"I feel fine, Martha. I like parties. I'm glad they're having one. Pour
me a drink, will you? I can't reach the bottle anymore."

"It's empty."

"No, it isn't, Martha, it's still a quarter full. I know. I've been
watching it."

"You shouldn't have it, Donny. Please don't."

"But this is a party, Martha. Besides, the doctor says I can have
whatever I want. Whatever I want, you hear? That means I'm getting well,
doesn't it?"

"Sure, Donny, sure. Getting well."

"The whiskey, Martha. Just a finger in a tumbler, no more