(Short story with type analysis to follow)

“The long and the short of it is…my wife won’t grant me a divorce…” 

Mick spoke with a gentle impatience; with some effort he was trying to bring her back to them.  “Unless…well, she wants to meet you.”

            Phones were ringing in Heather’s office and she struggled to focus on an authorization her secretary was holding out for her.  She could hear Mick was waiting.  In a business-like tone she asked flatly, “Hmm-mmm.  Why?”

            “It’s…you know.  When you’ve been together as long as we have.  She has asked for this last thing.  What do you…how do you feel about it?”

            There was a strain in his voice that she’d never heard before, as though his very vocal cords were stretched taut between her and his wife.  She had lunch in 15 and considered telling him she’d call him back.  Then she swiveled in her chair and searched out over campus towards his office in the Humanities building.   He was in the plush new wing with the other distinguished Research Chairs.  “Mick, what are you saying?”

“Everyone has second thoughts, at times.  Even I –“

“Mick!”

He sucked in his breath. “I didn’t mean it quite like that.”

“Well.”

“It’s just hard.  You know.”

“But is she going to try and kill me?”

            “Oh, heavens no!  Sweetheart.  It’s more like, closure.  For her.  It’s very difficult, you must understand that.  I mean, I’m already thinking about packing, and soon I’ll be out of there.  She just found out this morning.  But… tell me, would it bother you, terribly?”

            She found herself already strategizing – it would have to be in a public place – no restaurants though – there might be knives on the table.  God!  Maybe in front of a police precinct.  No, no, no.  No.

            Mick was saying, “I think it would be a decent thing to do.  Probably the right thing in this situation.  I think so.  Don’t you agree?”

            Of course she ought to do the right thing.  Be mature about it.  She sighed.  “But Mick, why?”

            She could hear him clicking his pen.

            In a lowered voice, he said,  “She’s a very decent, honorable woman, Heather.  This is hard.”  He coughed.  “In an odd way – this sounds strange, I know – but I think she wants to be sure you are a good person.”

            This idea caught Heather by surprise.  She paused to think about it.  “Oh,” she said.  “Well, I could let you know –“

            “She said you could pick the time or place.”

            “Oh,” she said again.  “Well, if you can be sure –“

            “Oh yes, it’ll be fine.”

            Her secretary waved her phone at Heather, pointing at it.  

            “I have to go, Mick.”  Her hand massaged her temple.  “Okay, all right, fine then.”

            “Splendid.  Oh, darling.   I’m so glad.  See you tonight?”

*  *  * 

            They’d been sitting in the breakfast nook.  He was obviously very uncomfortable.  Mary knew he hadn’t slept well.  Ending 30 years of marriage, she didn’t wonder.  He still had that full head of black hair and piercing gaze, charged now with the weightiness of being someone substantial in the world.  She fully expected he would tell her at this moment, and when he lay down the newspaper, she listened to the words he had practiced, chosen with great sensitivity.  She also knew this was done intentionally before he went off to his meeting with the Chancellor.  He could escape then, lose himself in his work, and somehow ignore it for the rest of the day, the week, his life.  When she made her request, his eyes rolled around, like a horse that suddenly had its blinkers removed.

            “You wouldn’t do anything crazy now, Mary, would you?”

            He was 26 again, suddenly keenly aware of her.

            “I just want to meet her.  That’s all.”

            “I am very sorry about all this, Mary.  It’s not at all fair to you and I take the full blame.”  He kept staring at her.  “You wouldn’t get into it, slug her?  Start a fight?”

            Mary held up open palms.  “I won’t lay a hand on her.”

*  *  * 

            The drive to the spa was through that lovely part of town that edged along her parents’ neighborhood, where today all the cherry trees in bloom made the light reflect pink on the familiar mansions and boutiques.  Heather strode into the atrium a half hour early and instructed Carlos and Eddie to position a table in line with the desk so they could keep visual contact.  They’d known her here since she was a Master’s student when her dad had secured her a permanent membership.  As the men shifted a couple of heavy potted plants, Heather checked her cell and scrutinized herself in one of the many mirrors.  She hadn’t changed since high school and could wear anything, everything, especially this shimmering viridian suit that emphasized her healthy complexion and helmet of burnished gold hair.  What a hostile stranger might see, she thought, spying on her here, was someone who thought enough of herself to look her best.  The wife will be jealous though.  But, she remembered, she was doing this for Mick.  And herself.   There he was, within her reach, the golden apple languishing on a withered bough.

            She went over to the desk and helped herself to a pad of paper and a pen.    Her secretary gave her the details on the guests coming to the fundraiser tonight.  Black tie, her first major PR event, and the profits could be staggering, the greater impact immeasurable.  It was both exhausting and exciting.  At 34 she was doing “splendidly” as Mick said, filling some big shoes.  Equally important, she was sticking to her promise to her dad.   He recognized her desire to use this job to launch herself into higher realms as he had done but reminded her she needed to authentically commit herself to promoting education.  Anyway, at this stage she had earned the job.  She was good.  No doubt about it.

            Eddie brought a bottle of water and poured it for her.  “Looking hot, Heather.  Very hot.  What’s on for tonight.”

            “Working.”  She smiled up at him.

            “The 70 hour a week girl.  Hope the money is everything.”

            “I made $10 million so far this week.”

            He whistled as he walked away.  “Need help blowing it?”

“Sure,” she chortled.  “But we’ll go Dutch.” 

They had lasted exactly three dates, she and Eddie; like most, he couldn’t take the grind.  But when she had met Mick, everything became fun.  They had a good time and worked hard.  No strain of competition there; rather they got each other revved up about large, visionary plans and acted.  With the clout to bring in other big names, Mick brought in the money.  But more than that, what struck her as most unusual in Mick was how much he cared about things – people, ideas, causes.  She never met anyone so profoundly warm and sincere.  He just knew so much about what was worth caring about and why. 

            She took her glass over to the table and chose a soft, deep leather armchair and keyed into her laptop.  It definitely was the passion and enthusiasm that erased their gap in years.  Besides, it was the year 2004; 50 was the new 40.  He looked pretty damn good to her.  And he wasn’t bored; no, in fact, he admired her for waking up to the game at such an early age.  She scoffed at him; wasn’t he the great professor, Dr. Michael O’Leary, possibly the biggest calling card for scholars and students alike for their school?  He was too modest to agree.  But that was what drew him closer to her, the image she held of him, in terms of significant achievement.  A sense of outrage flared in her as she imagined what Mick must be made to feel about himself at home.   He wouldn’t talk about his wife though; he was too kind.  He’d just say things hadn’t been great for a long time.  She liked this about him, his loyalty, his noble generosity.  It was the contrast, he said, in how he felt so optimistic after being with her, so energized.  She was just gradually awakening to this power she possessed.  She had right to exercise it; in fact, it was expected of someone of her stature to demand more.  In her office they liked her less but she’d had to get out of the mistake she’d made coming in being too friendly.  More confident now, she could queen it over them if it was warranted, to get the job done.  They were making her look good now, her team.  And she was receiving favorable reviews from superiors. 

            Her watch read 1:45.  These mental exercises worked well.  It was worth the time they took to pump herself up; she knew she was good.  She took a deep relaxing breath.  This would be dealt with, no catfights, and she’d be back in the office in an hour.   The bottom line was -- Mick had chosen.   Who was this woman anyway?  A nurse, basic Bachelor’s degree.  Mick hinted at little imagination.  Disadvantaged upbringing – she was sorry about that.  But people just sometimes naturally grow apart.  He had gravitated to her, this stellar man.  Hmm.  He had been so nice yesterday.  She glanced around the atrium, smiling.  There was a perfect angle of light coming in, glowing on all the surfaces.  The palm leafs spread fully open to the light, arched back on their stems to offer their lush green foliage to the sun’s caress.  She was pleased with the effect the light had on her suit.  With the plants set to the side there was a clear view to the fountain.  Perched atop was a fine sandstone statue of a couple lying in an embrace, the water flowing around them into a pool.  The male figure cupped his hands under the female’s hair, his mouth on her neck.  Yes, so nice.  She let a warm sensation spread up inside her, tingling up and heating her face.  For sure there was no better reward than falling into bed with Mick at the end of a long, crazy day.  He absolutely devoured her.  She licked her lips and tasted him again and she took a sip of water.  The glass on the table was half full. 

            When her eyes returned to the statue she noticed a woman sitting nearby, staring intently at her.  Heather jerked in surprise.  Annoyed with herself for being so naked, Heather quickly assumed a mask of impatience.  The woman stood and deliberately made her way over to Heather’s table.  At first glance, she could be another version of her grandma.  She was smaller than Heather had pictured her, thin and wiry, with a crown of gray curls around her head.  Struggling up in her chair Heather lifted herself higher by the elbows as the woman reached her.

            The older woman thrust her hand at Heather.  “Mary O’Leary.” 

Without waiting for the other’s introduction, Mary seated herself opposite in an armless, straight-back chair.  Heather’s eyes flicked to the front desk.  Carlos and Eddie were nowhere to be found.

            Before Heather could clear her mind, Mary leaned forward. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to know why I’ve asked you to come here today.”

*  *  * 

            Earlier that day when Michael had told Mary he wanted a divorce, she’d gone into the hospital as usual.  As she passed the replicas of the two famous statues that flanked the main entrance of St. James’s she recalled something Michael had joked about decades ago.  The lovely Venus de Milo stood on one side; on the other, the battle-gory hero Perseus triumphantly raised a severed head.  While Michael was being discharged he had asked the security guard in mock seriousness why they couldn’t replace the latter with The David, or some other tribute to the human body.  It wasn’t a match, really, was it?  Beauty and war?   Unless it was the hospital’s idea of ‘let the patient beware’; they’d found an extra head but taken off Venus’s arms.  They had laughed.   Then Michael had whispered that possibly it was Theseus’s warning to Venus, ‘I’ll have your head next!’  She groaned and never thought of it again, until today. 

            Twenty-nine years ago, when he had had double knee surgery, Michael had been her patient.  In those days people recuperated in the hospital for months, not at home.  He was bored and she was lively; he challenged her wits and she matched him.   As an English lit and psych major, he claimed to know more about people than she did.  She said no one knew more about people than nurses.  Soon he was challenging her to get out of her rounds so she could spend time with him.  With one intern, it was his depression, with the head nurse it was paranoia, another, delusions of grandeur.   In front of the doctor, Michael convinced all of them that Mary alone could soothe him.  He raved in Greek and Latin until she put a cold compress on his brow.  It was the most fun she’d ever had in her life; his boldness scared and thrilled her.  With an appreciative accomplice, he became more and more excited and told her about his dream of doing a PhD and the great need for more studies on the brain.  When his casts came off, patient and caregiver were too smitten to part.   She suggested she put him through grad school so he could finish sooner and get to the level he aspired.  He thought she was amazingly practical; she thought he was too brilliant not to be.  Sometimes working double shifts and a lot of weekends, she enabled him to go on research trips and conferences to make necessary contacts.  Soon he was publishing in journals and a position was offered to him at the university in town.  And in that time, they had had two boys, now away at schools themselves. 

            From time to time she’d known about other affairs.  She wouldn’t blind herself.  Luckily they’d ended after a period of months.  He was the type of man whose energy couldn’t be bound up in one person.  With that black wavy hair and gray eyes, every woman noticed him.  Who wouldn’t? It was the delight of discovering how kind and interested he was that drew even the shiest of women towards him.  Michael was just a man that all women fell in love with.  Mary had recognized that early on and lived with it.  It had made things much easier.

            Today she squared her shoulders as she stepped off the ward elevator.   She nodded at the nurses’ station.  

Mrs. Bartlett informed her, “The newcomers are in the waiting lounge.”

“Time to separate the wheat from the chaff then?”

The women grinned at each other and Mary went directly into the crowded room.

She could always tell a potential nurse by looking at her.  Those she couldn’t tell, she had a system for elimination.  Taking care of the living, injured or dying was much too important a job for pretenders. 

She called off their names and thanked them for their interest in the preliminary training.  They had volunteered this Spring Break with the idea that it would indicate whether it was a job they would like to resume in the summer months.  In reality, only a few would be taken back for this valuable opportunity to get some nursing experience.  The real test would be today, after 6 days of basic instructions, to find out whether they were truly committed.  Her first step was to let them know that now they could all put this weeks’ work on their “resume”.  They had signed an agreement to work for six full days but they could go home now if they preferred.  A few students left and Mary crossed off their names.  After inviting the rest to pick up their assignments for the day she went into the washroom.  There she found the girls who regularly styled their hair and fixed their make-up in front of the mirror.   Remarking upon how matronly they looked from behind in their hospital uniforms, she mentioned how even her young RN’s were often mistaken for middle age women.  She left them to ponder on this.  Then back in the lounge she asked the students who were still drinking coffee if they could work till eleven that night.  Would they mind coming back after dinner?  Simple system, really, she thought.  However, it was the smart girls who feigned enthusiasm but could be seen to have something not just right about their attitude that took a little more flushing out.  The girls from St. Agnes or Fraser Heights worked hard and knew better to complain, but they had too much pride, Mary believed. 

Lastly, she made a point of bantering with Mrs. Bartlett at the station as the students picked up their assignment sheets.

“Last year they really thought they’d come up in the world, didn’t they, Mrs. B.?”

“Oh, they were bragging about avoiding flipping burgers for the summer.”

“Little did they know they’d be spending two months flipping bedpans!”

The two women roared.  A few of the students grimaced to hide their shock and went off whispering.  One girl’s face burned particularly red with indignation and Mary almost thought she might say something. 

Mary winked at the girl and turned to Mrs. B., “Must be complete fools, if you want to know the truth.  It’s the best joke in the hospital.”

“Oh, Mary.  Tsk, tsk.  They come to like it by September.”  Mrs. Bartlett played along.

“That’s not very nice!”  the girl said hotly.

“Nice?”  Mary turned to face her.  “It’s doing you a favor, it is, by finding out now what you’re made of.  Not when you’re charged with caring for someone dying in agony and you figure out suddenly you don’t have it in you.”

Mary knew they’d only get five or six applicants of 25.  And of them, only 2 or 3 would apply to nursing school the following year.  But the ones who stayed and completed their training, to them, Mary and her staff would be completely loyal.  Mary had defended her nurses up to the point of jeopardizing her own job.  They were all worth it in her eyes.  Every one of them.  And it bound them together fiercely.

Today Mary planned to spend a few hours with Mrs. Jenkins who had begun to fail.  She went in to see if she was comfortable and waited for her to speak.  The skeletal form on the bed stirred when she saw Mary and she adjusted the woman’s pillows.

“How are we today, dearie?”

“Oh, it’s my eyes now you know Mary?”

“Yes, that will be the morphine.  But you can see what a lovely day it is, how bright, can’t you?”

“I’m so tired, so tired.  Will you sit with me for a while, Mary?”

“Of course.  Don’t talk now.”  She sat beside her on the bed and took Mrs. Jenkins’s hand.  Blocking out the odor of diseased flesh, Mary fumed again about that red-faced girl and her ilk.

Mrs. Jenkins had come in six months ago, breast cancer, and been in and out and then finally stayed in.  No family around the area, grown children with children of their own.  At first it hadn’t bothered Mrs. Jenkins, but as the end became clearer, she began to take fright.  Why didn’t they come?  What if they waited too long?  Then, how could they not come, to see their mother?  Mary spoken to them on the phone and delivered the medical diagnosis in straight language.   Then she had flat out told them to get on a plane.  Now.  Not for the funeral.  The daughter had flown out from Arizona four months ago but said she just couldn’t afford to come again; she had a baby and a toddler.  Mrs. Jenkins’s son was in law school, he couldn’t just leave; the other son couldn’t manage it at all.  She heard in his voice the denial of children of other cancer patients.  Not often, but once and awhile, Mary had patients with families like this.  It broke one’s heart.  The whole staff adored Mrs. Jenkins and went out of their way to give her special attention and to cheer her.  But it was the steady downhill slide coupled with the realization that her family wasn’t going to be there that broke her spirit.  She began to tell Mary that she had been a poor mother; that her children had done well in school but hadn’t caught a sense of what life was about.  It was the regrets that Mary found intolerable.  She had eased hundreds of patients into whatever lay beyond this life into the next but what she was doing for Mrs. Jenkins was standing witness to her basic human goodness.   Mary gave her the strength to acknowledge the lack of control over things, and the injustice of this kind of ending.  It wasn’t an antidote but it was something.  Mary spent extra time with her each day, increasing her meds as despair did as much as the disease.  Neither of them excused the children or commiserated over how hard times were for young people.   They had marked the distortion in modern life, how its values provided easy alibis.  Unfortunately there would be a terrible day coming for these children.  If you could not face death as you got older, you would never be able to cope with your own inexorable debility and death.  Michael couldn’t even bear coming into the hospital when one of their boys got hurt.  Once Mary came awfully close to confiding in Mrs. Jenkins but she recovered her professionalism.  She was adamant about not burdening a patient with any of her own concerns.  To herself, though, she vowed she would do whatever she could now to avoid, in the last phase of her life, those terrorizing feelings of regret.

Mary tapped Mrs. Jenkin’s needle and measure out the dose.  Morally, she had no hesitation about administering extra painkillers if Mrs. Jenkins’s mental state required it.  Their ward doctors had long since ceased to monitor what exactly went on in palliative care.  They shared Mary’s philosophy of ‘whatever it took’ to get the most humane moments out of the end of a life.  The only goal was to die with dignity.  When Mrs. Jenkins’s breathing became deeper, Mary left the room and signed off for the day.

*  *  * 

She stopped at home and changed her clothes.  Mary had never been to one of those resorts before.  First holding out a black silk cocktail dress, she then reached into the back of her closet and pulled out a polyester pantsuit she hadn’t worn in 15 years.  She slipped back into her nurses’ shoes and left the house.

The building was opposite her hairdresser’s and she drove around the block to park.  Not long after she’d taken a seat, two tanned, husky fellows began moving plants around, following a young woman’s directions.  Mary knew immediately it was Heather, and her heart softened a bit.  She was indeed a lovely girl.  Irish complexion, auburn hair.  Quite the figure -- right up front with it in those new dresses cut low for cleavage.  Wealthy, too, she thought, not just in the striking suit and matching heels.  More in her self-possession.  Confidence.  Oh well, she thought.  She took a long look around the lounge.  The pattern on the floor rather captured her fancy.  It was what you called a tromp l’oeil – if you saw it one way, it was a black pattern with tan diamonds; if you blinked, you might see it anew as a tan pattern with black diamonds.  Heather sat at a point where the patterns converged.  Mary gave it a few minutes and then went over to her.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting to know why I asked you to come today.”  A brogue she hadn’t heard in years came rolling off her tongue.  She watched Heather try to pull herself erect and then added, “The truth is, I wanted to thank the woman who is going to take my husband off my hands.”

Heather’s mouth tightened at the corners.  Partly a laugh, partly a gasp escaped from her lips. 

Mary continued, “I expected you would be pretty, intelligent, and your own person.  But I didn’t know how successful you’d be.” She nodded at her laptop.  “Quite the woman on the go.” 

Eddie showed up with a decanter of coffee and fine porcelain cups and saucers.  He winked at Heather, “Guess the big, bad witch didn’t show, eh? Cream?”

Heather smiled uncomfortably as Eddie left them.

Mary picked up the tiny spoon and stirred.  “I’m not surprised you are young.  Michael had told me you were a “mature” 40.”

“I’m not 40!”

“Oh, no, don’t worry.  You’re still very attractive.  Those Irish genes.   Michael always goes for that.  By the way,” Mary smiled.  “How old did he tell you he was?”  She didn’t wait for an answer.  “Well, he’s 58 last January.”  Mary saw the news register on Heather’s face.

“It’s a good thing you two don’t want children.” Mary sipped her coffee. “Oh dear.  You’re not thinking about that, are you?”

Heather couldn’t find her voice, it squeaked as she protested,  “…’s none .. business.” 

Mary said, “Oh, I am sorry.  I didn’t think you believed in a traditional marriage.  Well.  Michael’s sons are already grown, although Michael is still paying off their loans.”  She said more delicately, “Maybe he did tell you about the child he has with another woman?  There’s still child support there.  Quite expensive.”

Mary could see Heather’s face draining to white. “But it is very good that you are going to make a lot of money.  I can see that right off.  Understand, Michael actually does not make a large income.  He opted for research all these years, and less teaching, so he was never on the A scale.   In fact, it is my salary at the hospital that has put us ahead.  The house?  Our summer cottage?  I’m quite relieved that those will be out of his hands if we divorce.  He won’t have much of a pension.  And he’s just years from retirement, when you think about it.”  

There was a silence.  Mary tilted her head at Heather.  “You don’t know much about his life, do you?”  Mary hoped Heather was ready to leave but saw that she wasn’t able to wrench herself away yet.

Heather gathered all the effort she could muster, and gave a childish hop forward in her seat.   “You don’t appreciate who he is.”

“You only know him at his pinnacle.  Not how he got there.  My eyes have been open for a long time.”

Shaking, Heather gripped the arms of her chair.  “He is–a-remarkable-man.”

“Remarkable in that he got two students pregnant?” 

Mary didn’t want to go so far but she couldn’t help it. “I knew he was interested in someone months ago.  He went for the hair replacement, buying that drug off the Internet.  He lost 40 lbs, did he tell you that?  When I married him he looked fit, too.  But for 25 years he had that professor belly hanging over his belt.  Funny how that goes.” 

Heather blurted,  “He said you cared about him.”

In a blink, Mary suddenly saw herself as Heather, madly, compulsively, attracted to Michael, everything about him, his hands, his eyes, his voice and the thrill of his attention -- her constant yearning for that man.  When his arm crept around her back there was nothing for it but to fit to its curve.  The heat of it applied directly to her spine.  Through his eyes they passed into a secret world that was there for the taking.  She had been ready to do anything for him.  And then, in that same second, she realized she hadn’t meant at all to go so far; disloyalty wasn’t meant to play a part in this.  Something inside had coalesced into a great wad of hot, caustic gauze and was moving up her throat.  She was afraid she might choke, and the absurdity of it made her threw back her head and laugh, releasing all the humiliation and pain of the moment.  As the sound ripped out of her mouth she looked right at Heather, who was not laughing.

“This will be perfect for everyone,” Mary exclaimed.  “Now I can retire and hold onto what I’ve earned.”

At this, Heather’s head snapped back as if stung.  Chewing hard on the inside of her cheek, she suddenly snatched up her cell phone and read its face.  Then she picked up her water but set it down.  The glass was half empty. 

 Mary calmed herself and waited.  “He may get royalties on his books someday.  You never know.” 

With a decisive heave, Heather got herself out of the sunken chair and stowed her laptop in its case.   In less than a minute there was no one else in the lounge.  Mary forced herself to sit ten minutes. 

*  *  * 

Mary went home and knew it was just a matter of time.  There was the certainty of Heather’s good sense and her not wanting to make a scandal of things.   Michael had been right; she was a lovely young woman.

On her way into the hospital each morning, Mary glanced up at Venus.  All week long she studied upon it then it struck her.  The only mate for Perseus was Winged Victory.  She had lost her head to him.  After greeting Mrs. Bartlett, Mary went down the hall.  Mary kept company with Mrs. Jenkins, sometimes for the whole day.    It wouldn’t be long now.  All the final signs were there.  She prepared herself for the passing.  No sense in trying to deny the inevitable.

Sure enough, on the weekend, she found Michael in a dead drunk, lying on the sofa at 3 am listening to his favorite Irish tenor.  An empty whiskey bottle leaned against his cheek.  She knew not to say one word; she just got his arm over her shoulder and led him to bed.  He rolled over on his side and she could feel the bed shaking but he didn’t utter a sound.  There was also a certainty of knowing that this would be the last time.  In a couple of months he would get over the heartbreak.  He would become intensely preoccupied with his work.  More and more often he would work at home in the evenings.   It was not out of the question that in ten years he might receive the Nobel Prize.  There was already some talk of it.  Possibly he would come to remember these next years as some of the most productive of his career, the most worthwhile time of his life. 

Sometimes she indulged herself and imagined ahead.  His mane of hair will be gray, she told herself, as surely he will be a little heavier around the middle.   She will keep him comfortable so he can work undisturbed.  In the evening when she brings him his tea he’ll smile his thanks.  Then she will ask if he’ll come sit by the fire for a bit before bed.  When he finally retires they’ll go for more walks together, with the dog, to get out and enjoy nature.  They always used to go for long walks.  Over the countryside, often down to the hilly cemetery at the end of their road.  The winter will pass and they’ll be surprised together by spring, here again already, and speak the name of flowers one by one as they appear on into late May. By now, fully white and stooped, he will recognize her care.  He wouldn’t have wanted to be alone at this time.  Then they’ll take strength from the dependability of summer.  His hands gnarled but strong in hers, together they’ll make the climb.  This her reward, then, his murmured gratitude as she rubs down his bowed legs, keeping his muscles warm.  And when the fall comes, because it will come, they will wander while they can through the oaks and birches.  Picking their way through alternate rows among the twin tombstones.  Atop the monuments, where matching marble statues hold one another in eternal gaze.   Here they will be, illuminated then, without regrets, by that last flame of color that precedes the falling of faded leaves.

The End