Dead man
+ + +The dead man finds his way into our heartsby opening the door and walking in.
+He pours himself a drink, something likeGerman cognac, from the mini-bar. He starts talking
+aimlessly about hunting or some bats he sawon the way over, wheeling around each other
+like x-rays around bones and soft tissue.The dead man can see x-rays now, he says,
+a perk of his condition.It’s not so bad, he says, though
+he stops short of saying it’s as good asbeing alive, an omission we can, ultimately,
+forgive. There’s a short silence where nothingis said, we’re just looking at him as he looks
+at the ceiling or through it. He looks goodfor being dead. We mention this to him
+but he just looks embarrassed. He mentionseels he saw in the aquarium earlier, how they knot
+while mating. For hours, it’s just a huge massof eel flesh, he says, undulating in the water.
+We nod, waiting for what he’ll say next. He seemsuncomfortable carrying the conversation, but we
+can’t think of anything either. Now it’s his turnto look at us, and ours to stare at the ceiling
+or wherever. Finally, we mention the knots we tiedin Boy Scouts, especially the loop—a noose? he asks—
+but we say no, the one with the rabbit in its holeand the tree it goes around. The dead man
+knows that knot, he says, it’s a good knot. But whathe really likes is the rabbit, coming out of its hole
+in the morning, eating some grass, and a fox creepingout of its hiding place and chasing the rabbit around
+the tree, back into its hole, where it always ends up safe.
+