She was his wife, and she was dying! -He took a vial from his pocket, and began to feed her pills of pure Arctic ice. He held her hand, which weighed nothing. He could feel it cooling down as the red fever-flush went away from her face. - I wuff you, she said. - The nurse detached the intravenous snakes. He put his hand on his wife's heart and kept it there until the pool of sweat between her breasts evaporated. She'd been breathing quietly but desperately through her mouth, and now her lips closed and her sweet eyes opened and she gestured to her throat until he understood that she needed more water. He jumped up to fill the pitcher. The water was tepid and muddy. When he poured it into the cup, he shook in the last pill of ice, and it turned clear and cold at once; after she'd drunk it down she smiled at him just as she had when he'd bought her the gold bracelet, that smile that scorned the world's scorn; then she sat slowly up and made room for him to sit beside her on the narrow bed as she put her arm around him and began very quietly to sing a strange sad song in her lisping voice.
What do You think about Butterfly Stories: A Novel?
