This one said: You might be interested to know that in 1866 45 percent of the public funds collected by the state of Mississippi were spent on artificial limbs. No? Then how about his? Fred here was walking down a road in 1942 on his way to join the army when he was run over by a family of people of German descent. They were sausage makers. Isn’t that a riot? Four of them in a ’39 Packard. The old man’s the only one left alive. He’s got some grandkids on dope in Los Angeles, but he’s never seen them. He’s hooked up to a respirator in Panama City and he’s been screaming every night for the last forty-two years. Fred’s been holding a grudge against him.

He flailed soundlessly against the sweaty material, and it seemed that a weight had settled on his chest. When he opened his eyes a small rotted child was sitting there.

No ice cream, it said. Its skull had been halved and one mad orb leaned out on a red strand like the eye of a broken doll.

No ice cream. Puppies I could have had. Swimming in creeks and touching girls at fourteen.

But it was not his fault. None of it. Silent, he screeched and tried to gag. Labored. Fought with his knotted fists what had no shape or existence. Struck mightily but without progress.

Panting, he lay composed. Thin beads of sweat never formed.

A nightmare, he said. I am having a nightmare again.

They smiled to see his logical mind, all the ordered facts to explain his embalmment, the varnished casket beginning to mold.

One in tattered rags lay upon him. Stretched out, full and cold. Feet to feet. Hip to hip. Toe to toe.

You can just stop all this foolishness right now, it said. You might as well get used to it. We’re here to help you.

And finally he found his voice, found that indeed he did have a voice.

I am sick, he said. I am a very sick man. I need my rest.

The faces watched. Gray, all gray. They had seen it before.

And kids, he said. Two in high school. One plays the guitar. He’s good on Hank Williams stuff. When I’m well we sit out on the porch and he plays for me.

They watched him. Somnolent, ravished of emotion, sleepwalkers. One yawned. Gristles hinged on a cusp of bone.

And this is just a nightmare. The medicine. I’ve had them before. Nurse? Would you come in here, please?

Something wet and dark came inside the circle of faces, a leprous, glistening thing that hissed and touched him with shards of heat. Small fires danced in his ribs. They bared their teeth and it howled and vanished, smoke left in its trail. He felt the cold take him again.