Gathering his remaining strength, he lifted himself up from
the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom,
and with intense concentration, supported himself down the stairs, gripping the
railing with both hands. In labored breath, he leaned against the door frame,
gazing wide-eyed into the kitchen.
There, spread out on the kitchen table, were literally
hundreds of his favorite asun kebabs in trays. Was he in heaven? Or, was it one
final act of love from his devoted wife, seeing to it that he left this world a
happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself toward
the table, landing on his knees in a rumpled posture, with one hand on the edge
of the table. The aged and withered hand quaveringly made its way to an asun nearest
the edge of the table; feeling the warm asun actually made the pain of his
bones subside for a moment. His parched lips parted; the wondrous taste of the asun
was already in his mouth; seemingly bringing him back to life.
What then, was this sudden stinging that caused his hand to
recoil? He looked to see his wife, still holding the wooden spoon she had just
used to smack his hand.
"Stay out of those!" she said, "They're for
the funeral."
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