In my dreams again:the cachectic boy amongst menwith his copy of Catch-22His wife had taped an errant flagto his drip-stand, over the TPN baga newspaper photograph of moules marinières“Eat, drink, and make merry…” I said.Then blushed at my stupidity: the nearly dead.He smiled again: “Yes… exactly that.”

Kneeling by her bed, they started to pray.I watched respectfully, and turned to leave,knowing Haldane’s work on the efficacy of prayer:an exercise in futility (but comforting at night).Next morning I met her properly, sat up on pillows,enjoying breakfastfrom a box her children had brought from outside.She smiled, symmetrically.