Chapter 6

           ThatwastheweekMelindaMoores,thewarden’swife,camehomefromIndianola.Thedoctorsweredonewithher;theyhadtheirinteresting,newfangledX-rayphotographsofthetumorinherhead;theyhaddocumentedtheweaknessinherhandandtheparalyzingpainsthatrackedheralmostconstantlybythen,andweredonewithher.TheygaveherhusbandabunchofpillswithmorphineinthemandsentMelindahometodie.HalMooreshadsomesick-leavepiledup—notalot,theydidn’tgiveyoualotinthosedays,buthetookwhathehadsohecouldhelpherdowhatshehadtodo.

           MywifeandIwenttoseeherthreedaysorsoaftershecamehome.IcalledaheadandHalsaidyes,thatwouldbefine,Melindawashavingaprettygooddayandwouldenjoyseeingus.

           "Ihatecallslikethis,"IsaidtoJaniceaswedrovetothelittlehousewheretheMooreseshadspentmostoftheirmarriage.

           "Sodoeseveryone,honey,"shesaid,andpattedmyhand."We’llbearupunderit,andsowillshe."

           "Ihopeso."

           WefoundMelindainthesittingroom,plantedinabrightslantofunseasonablywarmOctobersun,andmyfirstshockedthoughtwasthatshehadlostninetypounds.Shehadn’t,ofcourse—ifshe’dlostthatmuchweight,shehardlywouldhavebeenthereatall—butthatwasmybrain’sinitialreactiontowhatmyeyeswerereporting.Herfacehadfallenawaytoshowtheshapeoftheunderlyingskull,andherskinwasaswhiteasparchment.