Oneiron

bare hands without any fear. They rolled the body, now unreasonably heavy, just enough to get the sheets, pillows, and bedding out from under. They placed a new single-use polypropylene-coated lifting sheet just for this purpose under the deceased, and put on a clean diaper. They removed the dead person’s clothing and jewelry, if there was any jewelry, and placed the dentures, if there were any, in the mouth to give it shape. Because dead faces collapse. Even an ample nose becomes a little bird beak. The eyes begin to droop, the cheeks disappear, and depressions, hollows, and a waxwork-like lack of luster develop. The nurses continued their work against time. They removed catheters and cannulas, intubation lines, and feeding tubes, if there were any, and they placed new bandages over any possible wounds. They washed the body, if necessary, and dressed it in a white disposable shirt that was open in the back. They bound the jaw shut with gauze (the jaw joint and neck stiffen at room temperature within two to four hours) and placed damp pads on the eyes so they would stay closed—never cotton wool, though, which would catch between the upper and lower lids leaving fluff that the mortuary staff would have to remove with tweezers (extra work, but if the casket is open at the funeral, there simply can’t be any cotton wool left in the eyes because it looks bad). Christians’ hands were raised to the chest and placed in an attitude of prayer, Muslims’ hands were extended to the sides of the body, and others were placed over the breast but left free (fingers and toes stiffen next). The legs of the deceased were bound at the ankles with gauze so they would stay in place, without spreading, and then the corpse was given a visual once-over to make sure that everything was straight and well situated (the elbow, knee, and hip joints stiffen last). Once an identification tag with name, identity number, date of death, and the hospital and ward name was attached with a safety pin to the gauze around the ankles—the tag was not tied to the corpse’s toe like in films—the body was ready for temporary concealment beneath a white sheet (rigor mortis was complete within six to eight hours). And finally a flower on the sheet: in the spring Siberian squill (Scilla siberica) or spring crocus (Crocus vernus) from the hospital garden; in the winter calla lily (Zantedeschia aethiopica) from the cantina.

Now the family could come.

Wlibgis had lain perfectly still in the bed, but despite the rather large amount of morphine, she snapped awake during her last moments. She opened her eyes and mouth as if to say something, but only her eyes spoke, screamed, gasped wide open for the oxygen that the mouth could no longer get inside. Her heart continued beating for a moment. Her wheezing breath turned urgent, panicked, and her eyes howled, agape, an awareness flashing in them that was horrible to watch. The younger nurse, Ineke, happened to look. Ineke turned when she heard Wlibgis suddenly gasp, when she heard the heavy, wheezing breathing stop and then restart haltingly, as if anticipating a cough. Ineke rushed to the bed and instinctively took Wlibgis by the hand. Xaliimo came to the other side of the bed, but Wlibgis stared at Ineke, no one but Ineke.

Ineke would remember those eyes for the rest of her life, the eyes of her first patient to die.

When Melinda and Melinda’s mother arrived, Wlibgis looked devout, nearly beatific. Hands clasped over the sheet, calla lily between the hands, eyes closed, mouth closed; Ineke and Xaliimo had arranged her as the dead should be arranged.

Melinda was first to peer cautiously through the door. “Grandma will be lying down. She won’t be moving or breathing,” her mother had explained on the bus. “It will just be grandma’s shell. Her spirit is already somewhere else.” But Melinda was still shy about entering the room. She would have preferred to hover at the door, to peek between her fingers, to wave goodbye from a short distance. But that wouldn’t do. They had to say their goodbyes properly. They had to face death. That’s what Mommy said. Death is a part of life. Death is a perfectly natural thing. Flowers die, flies die, pets die, Bebbo died. “Cheese molds. You remember that, right, Melinda? Mold makes cheese inedible. But we need mold, because it breaks things down: living things can’t exist forever.” “Why not, Mommy?” “Well, think about what would happen if every creature that had lived for thousands and hundreds of thousands of years, all the people and animals and plants, still existed. Even the huge dinosaurs. Where would we all fit? We wouldn’t!” “We could send the dinosauws to the moon on wockets! And we could build buildings on the moon that weached to the sun!” “I don’t think that would work. The moon doesn’t have any oxygen. And the sun is too hot.” “Is there mold on Gwandma now?” “No, Melinda, there isn’t any mold. The cancer cells won the battle, and the healthy cells lost despite the treatment. Do you remember the picture the doctor drew for you? The picture of the healthy and the sick cells, how they were fighting?” “But you were tawking about cheese.” “It was a metaphor. Let’s put it this way: the bacteria that do the decomposition start their work after death. When a cell dies, chemicals are released that start destroying the body.” “Gwandma has been destwoyed!” “No, dear child. The bacteria and chemicals don’t start their work until Grandma is in the grave. Gradually. With time. It’s just part of what happens.” “What is a chemicawl?” “It’s a sort of . . . substance . . . ” “Where does it come fwom? “They’re in all of us already. People are full of all kinds of things, like enzymes and bacteria.” “What’s enzymes?” “Well, they’re sort of a . . . thing.