Chapter 6 chapter Five

Jack Crawford, fifty-three, was sitting in an armchair in his bedroom at home, reading a book by a low lamp.In front of him were two double beds, both padded with wooden blocks to the height of a hospital bed.One was his own; on the other lay his wife Bella.Crawford could hear her breathing through her mouth.Two days had passed, and she had not moved to speak to him. Her breathing stopped.Crawford looked up from his book and looked over his glasses.He put the book down.Bella was breathing again, first a tremor, then a full breath.He got up and touched her with his hands, taking her blood pressure and pulse.After a few months, he has become an expert in measuring blood pressure.

He made himself a bed next to her because he didn't want to leave her alone at night.And because he could reach out and touch her in the dark, his bed was just as rough as hers. Aside from the height of the bed and some minimal sanitary items for Bella's comfort, Crawford managed to make it look like a sick room.There are flowers, but not many.No pills in sight—Crawford emptied a linen closet in the hall and filled it with her medications and paraphernalia before taking her home from the hospital. (This is the second time he has crossed the threshold of his house with her on his back. Thinking of this, he almost loses his courage.)

A warm wind blows from the south.With the windows open, the air in Virginia is mild and fresh. In the dark, little frogs look at me and I look at you. The room was spotless, but the carpet had begun to fluff—Crawford didn't want to use the noisy vacuum cleaner in the room, he used a hand-operated carpet sweeper, which didn't work as well.He walked softly to the closet and turned on the light.There are two clipboards hanging behind the door.On one of them, he recorded Bella's pulse and blood pressure.The numbers he memorized and the numbers memorized by the nurse during the day shift formed a column alternately. After many days, weeks and nights, the yellow paper has stretched over many pages.On another clipboard, the day nurse had signed Bella's medication.

Crawford has been able to give her any kind of treatment she needs at night.Before taking her home, he followed the nurse's instructions; practicing injections on lemons and then on his own thigh. For maybe three minutes Crawford stood beside her, looking down into her face.A beautiful moiré silk scarf covered her hair, like a Muslim woman's turban.She insisted on using the scarf until she couldn't.Now it is he who insists on his wife covering it.He moistened her lips with glycerin, and with his thick thumb, wiped a small speck of dirt from the corner of her eye.She didn't move at all, and it wasn't time to turn her over.

Crawford looked in the mirror and was convinced that he was in good health and that he did not have to go to hell with her.He felt ashamed again when he found himself doing it. He went back to his chair and sat down, unable to remember what he was reading.He touched the books beside him, and found one of them that was still warm.