Page 69 - WTP Vol. V #1

stood on the otherwise bare table.
“Where can he be?” murmured Miss Shanks to her- “We sat at either end of
self. She stood very close beside me and I was certainly aware of her proximity. She looked at me frankly. I could not make out what she was think- ing. “The conservatory. We’ll try the conserva- tory.”
the table looking at each other. We were content to sit in silence. It was com- panionable, this silence.”
She led the way to the back of the house.
The conservatory was a later Victorian addition. I found it exposed and disliked it, overlooked as it was by numerous windows at the back of an adja- cent terrace.
Miss Shanks looked down at her father. She seemed to be taking in every detail of his appearance: of the disposition of his body as though it had been laid- out in preparation for burial.
“No. Not here. I left him in the breakfast room only minutes before I met you, Dr Lawless,” she said. “His bedroom. We’ll try that.”
“It isn’t natural sleep,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone breathe like that.” She folded her arms, only to unfold them, her arms and placed a long-fingered hand on my shoulder. I knew that the action was not for reassurance. No; she had no need of reas- surance. She was curiously and powerfully self-
We climbed the stairs to the first floor. How familiar was that route to me. Miss Shanks opened the dark- varnished door. “Father?”
Mr Shanks was lying in his old viridian dressing- possessed.
gown on the double-bed, asleep. He lay flat on his
back, on the right side of the bed, as formally as if
he had been positioned there. His breast was ris-
ing and falling, and he was snoring. His arms were
straight and symmetrically at his sides. His eyes
were partly open; he appeared to be gazing at the
plaster moldings on the ceiling. The room, filled
with old-fashioned walnut-veneered furniture, was
echoically attentive about him. The curtains were “That is impossible to say.” drawn fully back and sunlight streamed in on the
waxed floorboards.
“I suppose it is.”
“Father: Dr Lawless to see you,” she said. “He does sleep a lot, now.” She turned to me, standing very close to me; I suddenly felt the pressure of her hip against mine as she moved. She is a tall woman, as I say, my height in fact.
We stood and watched him, Jane’s hand on my shoulder.
Her father’s breathing was even and mechanical. His chest moved like that of an automaton.
As I looked down it was clear to me that only the most primitive areas of Mr Shanks’ brain were still living, uninterruptedly giving rise to his laboured and mechanical breathing. Apoplexy: åποπληξία. A
“It’s not if, but when,” she said, her words loud and measured.
“I’m afraid you’re right. I’m certain the end is very close.”
“How long?”
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