Reasons for and Advantages of Breathing Read Online Free PDF Page B

Ronnie is working outside the walk-in with a buck head that is hanging upside down on a heavy chain. He is slowly pulling off the cape from the shoulders forward, until it hangs inside out, dangling from the end of the nose like a sock. Exposed is the gleaming naked head, white subcutaneous fat, dark veins, lidless, staring eyes. Jack started the fleshing-out himself but didn’t get past struggling with the winch. Now he’s sitting at his workbench, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He watches Tanya go straight over to Ronnie and lay into him, their voices sharp across the shop. Jack is impressed by how she doesn’t take a second look at the buck—even Jeanne, after all these years, can’t go near them when they’re at this stage. After a few minutes she turns her back on Ronnie and, looking over at Jack, raises her hand to wave. He waves back. To his surprise, she comes over.
    â€œHey,” she says, almost flirtatious. “Want to see my new tattoo?”
    Before he can answer, she yanks the neck of her sweatshirt off her shoulder and turns around. On her shoulder blade, there are four short slash marks and a drop of ruby blood. At first Jack thinks it is a real wound. She lowers her voice and steals a glance at Ronnie, then levels her gaze at Jack.
    â€œRonnie thinks it’s all a load of bull, but that panther ismy totem animal. Want to know how I know? It came to me in a dream and told me so.”
    Jack wishes there was some way to hide his heaving gut. He points to the tattoo. “You’re going to have that the rest of your life.”
    â€œWell, yeah. ”
    He’s got one himself, from his stint in the army—a clover-leaf on his bicep, with his infantry division printed inside; they all got the same one, one night in Texas. All the color is faded out now except the blue. What he really means to say—how can he explain it? The rest of your life, Tanya, is a hell of a lot longer than you think it will be. And you’ll grow tired of everything. Your own face in the mirror. The sound of your own voice. And that’s when you’ll start regretting that tattoo. Not because you see it every day. But because you don’t even notice it anymore. Because you thought it would last forever, and remind you of something forever. And it doesn’t.
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    On December 15, at one-thirty in the afternoon, Jack drives to the medical center in Scottsville to be fitted with his permanent limb. He has rescheduled the appointment once already, dreading it, moaning about it for a week until Jeanne finally said, “Oh, Hud! Grow up and just go!”
    The nurse takes his blood pressure and vital signs as impersonally as if she were trussing a turkey. When she asks how he is feeling, he catches her eye and smiles, trying to flirt a little.
    â€œWell, what can I say? I’ve got one foot in the grave.”
    She gives him a blank look and a feeble, false smile that makes him feel old and ridiculous in his flimsy gown. Then she goes out into the hall and returns with his new limb. It is eerily lifelike, down to the wrinkles on the toes, and the exact same color as his flesh. “You’ll forget it’s not yours,” she says brightly, as she shows him how to put it on. “And it’s flame-resistant.”
    Jack scrolls through the possibilities for a wisecrack, but finds he simply does not have the energy. “Fine,” he finally says. “Good.”
    The doctor is in and out in three minutes, barely raising his eyes from Jack’s chart. “Any questions?” he says as he goes, not leaving room for a yes. He is already tucking his pen in his breast pocket, checking his watch, and groping for the door handle behind him.
    Jack is suddenly alone, left sitting on the table with a pamphlet in his hand: LIFE WITH YOUR NEW LIMB . It is filled with glossy photos of retirees acting like giddy teenagers: walking hand in hand on the beach,