There was a pause. Then Helen said rapidly, “A hernia! These old maids! I told him a year ago he ought to be examined by a doctor. He promised…of course he didn’t go. Oh, these old men! They won’t get undressed, you know, not even in front of a man. That’s no hernia. I should have told him then what I thought it was. My fault…all my fault. I should have gone to see him. But this place wears me out, just wears me.down to the ground. I’ll send our ambulance there. It’ll be about an hour. The driver is having his dinner. Make him a cup of tea, if he’s got any.”

“There’s no electricity.”

“Oh, God! They’re all alike! No electricity! Do what you can then. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Annie sat on the bed and held his scaly old hand. He slept; he woke. Sometimes he spoke. She told him she was hoping to go to England soon. He simply looked at her. She saw it meant nothing to him.

“I have to buy new tools,” he said suddenly. “My hedge clippers couldn’t cut butter. If things aren’t scarce, they cost so much! Oh, I could fly to Jericho! The whole world makes me so riled! You see how the town looks? They spit on the sidewalks and don’t care about anything. When I think of how my dear father loved this place!” Abruptly his eyes closed. His breathing was so heavy, as though he were drawing the air up out of his lungs with a bucket, not enough air for one decent breath.

They came at last, and wrapped him in the quilt and lifted him to a stretcher, one holding a flashlight as they went down the stairs. Annie blew out the candle. In the darkness of the room, the water dripped ceaselessly into the pots. By morning, they would surely overflow.

The front door latch was broken. She brought the door to, watching the ambulance attendant cover the old man with a pink blanket. As she went to her car, she tripped over the quilt, already water-soaked where it had been tossed to the ground.

At the nursing home, Helen Sears was waiting. She nodded to Annie and gave directions to a nurse who was looking down at the old man as he lay on a table. A young doctor entered the room and peeled off the blanket. Uncle Greg was dressed in pants and shirt, but his feet were bare. The doctor pulled down the trousers, pushed up the shirt. He felt, he probed, he shook his head.

Later, Helen Sears said, “Well, it’s unmistakable and much too late to do anything. He’s riddled with cancer. We don’t need lab reports for that. Even that ignoramus of a doctor, so-called doctor …God knows what they’re teaching them in school these days, even he knows that. He won’t live long.”

“Long?”