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Show Things to Remember 140 Geoffrey, draped in her arms. The room f i l l e d with police hats, holsters, blue s u i t s , faces, words, questions, David. Then, everything except David, Susan and the sound of sirens, vanished. Tethered to the w a i l , their maroon Pontiac followed. Moon car, humming over craters on a bed of a i r . Moon car, turning, winding stopping, starting, braking at the emergency entrance. "They've got him on a respirator," the nurse said. "His heart's beating. They don't know how much brain damage." The telephone. Call Kate. They can't make i t to her dinner party. The telephone. Call their parents. The afternoon quiet and Susan, watching a hollow body pump up and down with simulated l i f e . She hated that machine. It meant that she might have to decide something. A nurse peeked in every quarter hour to check vital signs. "He's not there everybody," Susan whispered. Night came. 10:00 o'clock. " G o d . . . i f this baby can l i ve with some happiness, i f his brain has not been soaked into oblivion, l e t him l i v e . Let him l i v e . But God, i f he w i l l vegetate and stare into space, l e t him go. Thy w i l l be done." David and Susan rose from their knees, sat side by side on turquoise v i n y l . Held hands. At 10:05 the nurse came i n. "He's gone." |