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Show 416 pocket. The elevator stopped and they helped Lorin's father out and led him, eaching holding an arm, down a long hallway whose carpet was worn to the threads and coming up along the wall, exposing ridges of dirt. They passed doors whose knobs had fallen off and whose windows were dark. Some doors stood open and Lorin could see desks and chairs piled into corners next to windows which gave onto airshafts with broken windows on the other side. Fingermarks blotted the gold leaf on the walls, and initials had been carved into doorjambs. They passed a sullen angel sitting in a doorway, his white robe open to his navel and stained yellow around the cuffs. He watched them go by but didn't move. They entered a large parlor where a dozen old people sat in wooden chairs against a wall. Two or three stared at them as they came in. A shrivelled lady with a ribbon around her neck put a hand to her mouth and tittered. They led him to a crone in a wheelchair. Kiss your grandma, son, the old man said. The old sow has been waiting to see you since I can't remember when. Lorin's father's eyes, their whites the color of saffron, flicked left and right. His mouth curled at the corners and a drool escaped as he bent to kiss the thin hair through which her pink little scalp flaked. Her dentures clicked in pleasure and she waggled her fingers, straining against the straps on her wrists. Here's your grandpa, the old woman said. They stood him upright and turned him around. A skinny old man with pants too big at the waist stared up at him. You got my peepstone? he asked. Lorin's father reeled backward and fell over a cart containing a stack of clean towels and a bedpan. Lost my damn peepstone, the old gentleman said. A burly angel in a labcoat led him away, and the old couple helped Lorin's father to his feet again and restored his glasses to his face. Time to meet the rest of them, the old man said. Sweeten up now, the old woman said. |