Instead of the solid semi-antique furniture that crowds the rest of the place, her bedroom set is of recent origin, a white French provincial group probably purchased from Sears or Levitt’s. The floor is carpeted in beige and three walls are painted in “salmon” while the fourth is covered with wallpaper in a fleur-de-lis design that reappears in the drapes and in her bedspread. As such, the room strikes me as an unfit place for a man to sleep, let alone die, though I never say this to Jason, who undoubtedly has more important things on his mind than the esthetic qualities of a room that I increasingly fear may be the last place on earth he sees.Yesterday morning he sat up in bed and let me feed him some oatmeal and toast and a few sips of tea. Afterwards he asked me to sit down in the chair next to his bed because he wanted to “get a few things said.” Normally I sit down without being bidden and we exchange a few words about the weather and how he’s feeling, or he simply rolls away from me and I get the message and leave.
