Chapter 21 twenty one

It fell to me to inform Phil Cavilleri.Not me, who else?I was really worried he was going to break down, but he didn't: he locked up the Cranston house peacefully and came to live in our apartment.We each have our own unique ways of coping with grief.Phil's solution was to do the cleaning: washing and brushing and mopping.What's going on in his head, I really can't figure it out, but never mind, let him do it. Was he still dreaming that Jenny would come back? He had this idea, didn't he?Poor Phil!That's what he does the cleaning for.He just refused to accept this cruel reality.Of course, he wouldn't admit it to me, but I knew it was on his mind.

Because I think so too. As soon as Jennifer was in the hospital, I called old man Jonas and told him why I couldn't come to work.I pretended I had something to do, so I had to hang up the phone quickly, because I knew he was sad, but I couldn't say what I wanted to say.Since then, I have spent my daily time in two ways: one is visiting patients, and the other is dealing with various other things.The so-called dealing with various other things, needless to say, actually means nothing.Eating was tasteless; Phil cleaned the house (again!) and I could only watch; I couldn't sleep even with the medicine Ackerman prescribed me.

I once overheard Phil muttering, "I can't take this any longer," while he was washing our dinner dishes (without the machine) in the next room.Although I didn't speak up, I thought to myself: I can bear it.No matter what God is secretly directing this drama, Mr. Supreme Master, let it go, I can bear it indefinitely.Because Gianni is always Gianni. That night, she kicked me out of the ward.She wants to talk to her father "from the bottom of my heart". “This meeting is only for Italian Americans,” she said, as white as her pillow. “So, you get out, Barrett.” "Okay," I said.

"But don't go too far," she said again when I reached the door. I'm sitting in the lounge.Soon, Phil came out. "She told you to get her out," his voice was hoarse, almost silent, as if all his internal organs had been emptied. "I'm going to buy a pack of cigarettes." I walked into the ward, and she ordered: "Close the damn door!" I obeyed the order, closed the door softly, turned around and sat down beside her bed, and only then did I see her face more clearly. appearance.I mean, that's when I saw that she still had tubes in that right arm that she kept hiding under the covers.I usually like to sit next to her and stare at her face.Although her face was pale, her eyes were still piercing.

So I quickly sat down next to her, as usual. "Ollie, I kid you not, I don't feel pain," she said. "I feel like I'm falling off a cliff slowly, in slow motion, you know?" There seemed to be something stirring in the depths of my internal organs, and this invisible thing went straight to my throat, making me cry.But I can't cry.I never cry.I'm a tough guy, understand?I can't cry. But if I don't cry, I can't open my mouth.I can only nod my head.So, I just nodded my head in understanding. "Bullshit," she said. "Huh?" To say it was a sentence, it would be better to say it was a groan.

"You don't understand what it's like to fall off a cliff, preppy," she said. "You've never had that experience in your life." "I have," I regained the ability to speak. "Just when I met you." "Yes," a smile crossed her face as she spoke. "'Oh, what a utter depravity.' Whose words are these?" "I don't know," I replied, "Shakespeare." "I know that, but who is it..." Her tone was a little sad. "I can't even remember which play it came from. 1 I went to Radcliffe College, and I should remember some things. I could have memorized the entire Mozart catalog compiled by Kerscher." 2

1 This sentence is found in Shakespeare's tragedy "Hamlet", Act 1, Scene 5.The ghost told Hamlet that his mother's new widow was married to his uncle, so some people translated it as: "What a despicable and shameless betrayal that was." 2 Ludwig von Kocher (1800-1877), an Austrian musicologist.The catalog of Mozart's works he compiled has more than 600 numbers. "Amazing," I said. "It's unequivocal," she said, and then asked, frowning, "what number is his Piano Concerto in C minor?" "I'll look it up," I said.

I know where to look.Right here in our apartment, on a shelf next to the piano.I'll go back and check. The first thing I do tomorrow is to tell her the work number. "I could have known it all," Jenny said, "really. I could have known it all." "Listen," I said, imitating Bogart, "you really want to talk about music?" "Would you rather talk about the funeral?" she asked. "No," I regretted interrupting her. "I talked it over with Phil. Ollie, are you listening?" Because my face has already been turned away. "Yes, I'm listening, Jenny."

"I told him that the ceremony can be held according to the Catholic canon, and I believe you will say OK. OK?" "OK," I said. "OK," she replied. At this time, I was a little relieved, because no matter what we talked about next, it would never be so uncomfortable again. However, I was wrong. "Listen, Oliver," she said, with anger in her voice, though mildly, "Oliver, stop being so annoying!" "I?" "That guilty conscience in your face, Oliver, is disgusting." To be honest, I also want to change my expression, but my facial muscles are all stiff.

"It's no one's fault, you clueless preppy," she said. "Please stop blaming yourself, okay?" I really wanted to keep looking at her because I couldn't bear to take my eyes off her, but I couldn't help but lower my eyelids.I'm ashamed as hell that up to this moment Jenny can see my mind so clearly. "Look, Ollie, that's all the shit I'm begging you to do. Other than that, I'm totally safe with you." That thing in my internal organs was stirring again, so I couldn't even say OK.I just looked at her like a dumbass. "What is Paris?" she said suddenly.

"Ok?" "What's Paris? What's music? What do you think I've sacrificed for you? I don't care, you son of a bitch. Do you believe it?" "No," I answered honestly. "Then fuck off," she said. "I don't want you at my deathbed." She spoke the truth.I can hear when Jenny keeps his word and moves his heart.In order to stay with her, I had to tell a lie: "I trust you," I said. "That's right," she said. "Now can you do something for me?" The thing in the depths of the five inner parts launched a devastating impact on me, and it was enough to make me cry.But I just resisted and I was determined not to cry.I just wanted to show Jennifer—with a nod of the head to her seriously—that I would do anything for her. "Hold me tight, please?" she asked. I put a hand on her forearm - oh my god, she's so skinny! —and pinched it lightly. "It's not like that, Oliver," she said, "you have to hold me in a decent way. Cling to me." Afraid of knocking those pipes or something, I tremblingly climbed onto the bed, next to her, and held her in my arms. "Thanks, Ollie." These were her last words.