“Oh!” She looked down at the old man again. “Sick bad, you think?”
“Purty bad, Granma.”
For a moment she hesitated uncertainly.
“Well,” she said quickly, “why ain’t you prayin’?
You’re a preacher, ain’t you?”
Casy’s strong fingers blundered over to Grampa’s wrist and clasped around it.
“I tol’ you, Granma.
I ain’t a preacher no more.”
“Pray anyway,” she ordered. “You know all the stuff by heart.”
“I can’t,” said Casy. “I don’ know what to pray for or who to pray to.”
Granma’s eyes wandered away and came to rest on Sairy.
“He won’t pray,” she said. “D’I ever tell ya how Ruthie prayed when she was a little skinner?
Says, ‘Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
An’ when she got there the cupboard was bare, an’ so the poor dog got none.
Amen.’
That’s jus’ what she done.”
The shadow of someone walking between the tent and the sun crossed the canvas.
Grampa seemed to be struggling; all his muscles twitched.
And suddenly he jarred as though under a heavy blow.
He lay still and his breath was stopped.
Casy looked down at the old man’s face and saw that it was turning a blackish purple.
Sairy touched Casy’s shoulder.
She whispered,
“His tongue, his tongue, his tongue.”
Casy nodded.
“Get in front a Granma.”
He pried the tight jaws apart and reached into the old man’s throat for the tongue.
And as he lifted it clear, a rattling breath came out, and a sobbing breath was indrawn.
Casy found a stick on the ground and held down the tongue with it, and the uneven breath rattled in and out.
Granma hopped about like a chicken.
“Pray,” she said. “Pray, you.
Pray, I tell ya.” Sairy tried to hold her back. “Pray, goddamn you!” Granma cried.
Casy looked up at her for a moment.
The rasping breath came louder and more unevenly.
“Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name——”
“Glory!” shouted Granma.
“Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done—on earth—as it is in Heaven.”
“Amen.”
A long gasping sigh came from the open mouth, and then a crying release of air.
“Give us this day—our daily bread—and forgive us —” The breathing had stopped.
Casy looked down into Grampa’s eyes and they were clear and deep and penetrating, and there was a knowing serene look in them.
“Hallelujah!” said Granma. “Go on.”
“Amen,” said Casy.
Granma was still then.
And outside the tent all the noise had stopped.
A car whished by on the highway.
Casy still knelt on the floor beside the mattress.
The people outside were listening, standing quietly intent on the sounds of dying.
Sairy took Granma by the arm and led her outside, and Granma moved with dignity and held her head high.
She walked for the family and held her head straight for the family.