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PARTISAN REVIEW
couldn't handle him at home, it was killing her, the old man's sister
snapping that
she
had taken care of
her
mother, a wife was
supposed
to
take care of her husband, that was what marriage was
about,
"after
all."
"I want Daddy out," Clara said.
"It's killing Ma," Clara's brother said.
"Why can't he die at home?"
"Are you gonna change his diapers? Ma can't ."
"I'll hire a nurse."
"I love you, Clara, you're my sister, but you never knew any–
thing about money."
"I don't think money is what this fight is about. What does a
nurse cost?"
"Mey. What fight? We're not fighting. The old man's sister
knows how to give orders, but I don't see her coming to the hospital."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Hey, come on, your kids are getting upset."
"Why shouldn't they get upset? Somebody's dying."
"You gotta say dying in front of the kids?"
"They know life's not a candy store ."
"Yeah. They live with you ."
"Don't disturb the doctor," Sadie said; "don't call him up ."
"Why not?" Clara said.
"He's a kind man," Sadie said.
"I notice he doesn't answer my phone calls ."
"He's busy, dear."
"Do you understand that Daddy's dying?"
"Don't say
dying,"
Sadie wailed, amazing how she could wail
and whine at the same time; Clara felt a shudder that seemed to
come straight from the bowels of her childhood.
"Are you going to take care of him?" Sadie said. "I'm an old
woman ."
Clara stiffened her heart against her mother's tears; she looked
up
rubber hygienic goods
and
practical nurses
in the Yellow Pages.
It
was
a wife's business to take care of her husband. After
all.
Clara told
herself she shrunk from that intimate contact-how could she, his
daughter, change her father's diapers? Or is it really the smell I'm
afraid of? she wondered; it is the smell. His flesh, slippery now,
against the bones, was still sweet to her; but she couldn't bear the
