She had glimpsed Paradise. During a few short weeks of the long, long years, unutterable joy had flashed before her. She had drunk deep of the wine of living. Now, the dregs again.
"Ah, God!" she whispered. "No." And, again, fiercely, "No!"
The room swam. She felt herself falling. The cat leaped from her arms, and stood in a corner, watching her. Catching at the table, she steadied herself until she was calmed, quieted.
She moved to the stove, lifted the kettle, divided the water into two cups and carried them into the living-room. David kept up his railing, fretting, asking about the time, about the weather, about the possibility of the doctor forgetting the engagement, about her fumbling, clumsy, trembling fingers. She had never known him so voluble, so vitriolic.
"Here," she said gently, holding the steaming cup beneath his nose. "Drink this. It'll strengthen you. . . . You'll need strength, you know."
He pushed it away.
"Don't baby me! Don't pester around me. I'm strong enough."
"But drink it," she insisted. "It will warm you up."
Still grumbling, he obeyed, then resumed his raging.
"Blast a pestering woman," he grated. "We ain't got no time to fool around. Look out the door, there, and see if you can see him. Hurry!"
Drained cup in her hand, Meta waited, quietly waited. David started from his chair, fumbled to his feet, took a staggering step or two, feeling his way about the room.
"Where. . . ?" he asked. His lips curiously were thickened. He staggered against the door frame, and would have fallen except for Meta's quick arms.
"I'm—I'm—," he muttered, "I'm—"
"I know," she whispered. "Just lie down a little. Just rest a minute."
With his body leaning heavily against her, she guided his feet to the bed and stretched him upon it. Breathing deeply, he sighed, struggled upward and would have risen, except for Meta's pressing hands. During ticking minutes she stood there; watching. . . . watching. David groaned, whimpered. His body stiffened.
One could see it stiffening.
Meta went into the living-room, lifted the second cup from the table and carried it back to the sleeping room. In the careful moment, out of her habit of a lifetime, she crossed David's arms over his body, straightened his legs, smoothed his thin hair. Two specks of lint she found on the coat of the black suit, and with wetted finger she brushed them away. David looked nice, she thought as she stood looking down upon him. The new cat had followed her into the room, and was now at her feet, rubbing its arched back against the edge of her skirt.
Stretching herself beside David, Meta smoothed all wrinkles out of the grey silk dress. She hoped it wouldn't be mussed. Then, having prepared her house, she lifted on one elbow, raised the second cup to her lips, and drained it. It had a sweetish taste, she decided.
In a little while; a grey haze began to steal over her, a soft grey haze. She was rising, floating, wavering in long loops and dashes. It was delicious; peacefully and quietly delicious, Grey clouds enveloped her, softening her journey; she knew David was beside her, could feel his body rising and lifting with hers, going with her on the journey through the grey clouds.
Once, for a moment—or was it an age?—she was fearful that David would fall from the great height to which they were ascending. David was blind. She must guard against his falling. Her arms wavered out, under David's neck, cradling his head in the crook of her shoulder, drawing him closer to her as the grey sleep came.
The new cat leaped lightly to the bed, stood for a moment, tail switching, watching Meta's features. Her free hand was stretched at her side, close to the feet of the cat. Her fingers began to close, thumb folding inward, under the fingers, close against the hardened palm.
The new cat watched, tail switching. Cautiously the animal extended a front paw, delicately touching the closing fingers. Dropping to its belly, it gently touched the fingers, as they gripped the thumb, touched them again and again.
