THE SIXTY-FIRST PAGE

His death was not as easy as he thought it might be.

We could no longer sleep in the same bed, though I slept near him in his room. Should he need help in the night I could aid him.

He had taken to saying goodnight in a strange way—"good night, but not goodbye”. The first time he said it, he apparently heard me crying. Mustering an angry shout, he screamed that he had not said goodbye, only good night.

His last night he did not say good night. Toward morning I heard a hideous thrashing and guttural noises. He was not going gentle into that good night. Then as swiftly as the sound began there was silence. Yup, deadly silence.

He had taken his memory somewhere else.