Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (151 page)

He
pulled
himself
together
inwardly,
as
outwardly
he
must
leave himself
sprawled—"As
the
tree
falls,
so
shall
it
lie."
He
was
alone
in the
house
(he
began
his
summary
of
his
situation),
not
in
pain—well, that
was
a
reasonable
expectation.
But,
more,
he
felt
wonderfully
light and
fresh.
Indeed,
if
he
hadn't
known
beyond
a
doubt
that
he
was extensively
paralyzed
and
perhaps
on
the
verge
of
death,
he
would actually—funny
thought
(he
began
actually
to
chuckle),
he
would have
thought
he
was
wonderfully
well—indeed,
years
younger
than when
he
had
crawled
under
the
sheets
to
begin
the
night.

He
wished
a
moment
that
he'd
troubled
to
ask
his
other
friends who'd
had
strokes
whether
they'd
felt
this
lightness,
freshness,
this absurd
sense
of
being
free
and
careless.
Perhaps
they
had
all
felt
it. He'd
often
heard
doctors
say
that
many
of
the
insane
are
happier
than when
they
had
their
wits.
Consumptives,
too,
they're
peculiarly
optimistic
just
before
their
final
hemorrhage.
So
it
would
be
that
when your
brain
is
wrecked
you
have
illusions
of
being
young,
a
sort
of mental
face
lifting—he
chuckled
again,
and
the
thought
floated
out of
his
mind.
He
felt
so
careless
and
so
easy
that
it
wasn't
worth
thinking
about
anything
very
long.
That
was
perhaps
the
funniest
part about
it
all—to
be
so
completely
at
one's
ease,
to
feel
so
well
in
one's body
that
one
didn't
care
about
anything
else,
when,
as
a
matter
of fact,
everything,
mind,
body,
and
estate
were
gone.

Yes,
everything:
for
he
now
realized
that
not
only
was
he
helplessly
paralyzed
and
his
sight
blurred
but
his
mind
was
rapidly
going. That
was
it—the
brain
hemorrhage
must
be
spreading
rapidly.
He couldn't
think
now
of
what
he'd
last
been
thinking,
only
a
moment ago!
What
was
that
thing
he
meant
to
ask
old
sick
men
about?
Something
to
do
with
what
they
felt
when
they
were
ill.
Oh,
well,
it didn't
matter.
What
would
he
be
wanting
to
do,
bothering
old
wrecks about
what
they
felt
or
didn't
feel!
His
mind
was
so
light
and
gay that
he
couldn't
keep
it
more
than
a
moment
on
anything.
And
that, too,
he
found
rather
fun.
Still,
as
things
ran
through
his
mind,
it
was jolly
just
to
run
after
them,
as
it
were.
To
keep
track
of
the
carnival,
he
began
to
talk
aloud
to
himself
as
a
sort
of
comment
on
his thoughts.
Evidently
his
speech
was
left,
or
at
least
it
seemed
so.

But,
before
he'd
time
to
check
up
on
that,
his
voice
was
joined
by another,
or
rather
was
collided
into
by
it.
"Don't
keep
on
murmuring to
yourself
like
that,"
it
said.