The thought of Ruby in terror makes it difficult for me to breathe. As I look down at her, her lips tremble, then move with purpose. She’s trying to speak. But what comes from behind the mask is only a ragged passage of air. I lean closer and speak into her ear.

“Ruby? It’s Penn, Ruby. I hear you.”

At last the rasps forms words. “. . . fine blessing. You . . . give a fine blessing, Dr. Cage. You go on . . . go on, now.”

A chill races over my neck and arms. “Dad? I think she wants you to say something religious.”

“She’s obtunded, son. She doesn’t really know what she’s saying.”

“She knows. She wants you to say something over her.”

My father looks around at the ring of expectant faces. “Jesus. I don’t remember much.”

“Anything. It doesn’t matter.”

He takes Ruby’s hand and leans over her.

“Ruby, this is Dr. Cage. Tom, by God, though you refused to call me that for thirty-five years.” He chuckles softly. “You’re the only one in the world who could get me reciting from the Bible. Haven’t done it since I was a boy.”

Ruby’s lips move again, but no sound emerges.

“The Lord is my shepherd,” Dad says quietly. “I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me . . . he—” Dad stops and picks up further on. “Yea, though I walk through the shadow of . . . through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thy . . .” He looks over at me. “Damn it, what’s the rest of it?”

I lean down beside Ruby’s ear and continue for him. “Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil. My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

Ruby has stopped trying to speak. Her face is placid.

Dad lays a hand on my shoulder. “Well, between us we managed it. She’s got two atheists praying over her. Pretty pathetic, I guess.”

“It was good enough.”

Looking around, I notice expressions of shock and awe on the faces of the assembled doctors and nurses. “What’s the matter?”

“They’ve never seen me do anything like that before.”

“She’s trying to speak,” says a nurse.

Ruby’s jaw is quivering with effort, her wrinkled, toothless mouth opening and closing behind the mask like that of a landed fish. Dad and I lean over her and strain to hear. At first there is only a lisping sound. Then three words coalesce from the shapeless sounds.

“Thank you . . . Tom.”