220. Deaf and dying © Bruce Goodman 18 May 2014 |
Padraic had emigrated from Ireland about seventy years ago. He had made an astronomical fortune in his new country. Now he was in his nineties and dying in a hospital bed. He had no direct descendants, but had nieces and nephews. He was visited by a great niece, Peyton. She was in her thirties. “Can he hear?” asked Peyton of the nurse. “He can’t hear a thing,” said the nurse. “He’s not only unconscious; he’s as deaf as a post.” “Let me say one thing,” said Peyton, speaking towards Padraic’s deaf ears. “You are a selfish shitbox. We can’t wait for you to die. We want the money. Ha! Ha! Ha! I’ve already put a deposit on a new house, so hurry up and kick the bucket, you fuckwitted-money-grabbing scumsucker.” Just then the priest arrived. “Can he hear?” asked the priest of Peyton. “Not a damn thing,” said Peyton. The priest gave Padraic a blessing. Padraic made the sign of the cross. Padraic never fully recovered. Just enough to change his will. |