Francis grunts, making some odd sounds. Probably there will be a poo. Ella still hasn’t got around to doing the breakfast dishes. She again has to climb upstairs. Those devilish spiral stairs!

Francis smiles. Phooey – what a cake he has dropped. But thank God for that.

“Attaboy,” Ella says as she wipes his bum. Then she removes the large pillows and settles Francis in to sleep. She already knows that she will have to wake Francis for lunch; otherwise, he will sleep through until the next morning.

But see how he looks on the white pillows. Soon he’ll be a goner. In the night table drawer beside Francis’ bed, she has already hidden a handkerchief to tie up his jaw. She has never seen anyone die, but remembers that in the country they immediately tied up her old uncle’s jaw, so that it would not hang loose in the coffin.

She will bear her own cross, no matter how great. But God too is not a small child. When Francis dies, they all will come – the children, the children’s children, yes, she even has a great granddaughter apparently, whom she has never seen. She wants to have a good talk with everyone. After all, she is the one who has the house. There will probably be many who will want it, but she will divvy it up fairly.

Francis is sleeping wrapped in his sheets. He still wants to see his son and his granddaughters. He tries to tell Ella that, but all that comes out is:

“Argharghargh?”

“What rot are you blurting now,” Ella shouts. “Go on –

sleepy-byes, spoiled hand and foot just like the king of spades.”

Down the spiral stairs once more. She must wash those breakfast dishes. And start cooking. The beef bones in one pot, beets in another. Francis likes his beet soup, a thick one, enriched with sour cream. Ella puts the dirty gauze into a wash basin to soak.

Her daughter-in-law died in her early prime. Probably she did herself in. When Ella went to find out what had happened, her granddaughter, white as a sheet, was standing at the garage door and warned her not to come near. And not to show up for the funeral either. Her son cried, screamed and pounded the wall all night long. She wanted to call the police, but her son’s eyes flashed in anger. He tore away the telephone receiver and shook a fist at her. Ella felt hurt and broke into tears.

Well, yes, yes. Francis is still of the opinion that his daughter-in-law had saved his life at the time when there was no dividing wall erected to separate them. Francis had had meningitis.

Ella did think that he was just faking, just caught a bit of a cold, that’s all. She made him sit up and urged: “Pull yourself together, pull yourself together …”