Strange Highways

only fifteen minutes every second hour. On that last night, however, they allowed me to come in from the ICU lounge and stay beside his bed for several hours, because they knew that he didn't have long.
     An intravenous drip pierced his left arm. An aspirator was inserted in his nose. He was hooked up to an EKG machine that traced his heart activity in green light on a bedside monitor, and each beat was marked by a soft beep. The lines and the beeps frequently became erratic for as much as three or four minutes at a time.
     I held his hand. I smoothed the sweat-damp hair from his brow. I pulled the covers up to his neck when he was seized by chills and lowered them when the chills gave way to fevers.
     Benny slipped in and out of consciousness. Even when awake he was not always alert or coherent.
     "Daddy?"
     "Yes, Benny?"
     "Is that you?"
     "It's me."
     "Where am I?"
     "In bed. Safe. I'm here, Benny."
     "Is supper ready?"
     "Not yet."
     "I'd like burgers and fries."
     "That's what we're having."
     "Where're my shoes?"
     "You don't need shoes tonight, Benny."
     "Thought we were going for a walk."
     "Not tonight."
     "Oh."
     Then he sighed and slipped away again.
     Rain was falling outside. Drops pattered against the ICU window and streamed down the panes. The storm contributed to the gray mood that had claimed the world.
     Once, near midnight, Benny woke and was lucid. He knew exactly where he was, who I was, and what was happening. He turned his head toward me and smiled. He tried to rise up on one arm, but he was too weak even to lift his head.
     I got out of my chair, stood at the side of his bed, held his hand, and said, "All these wires ... I think they're going to replace a few of your parts with robot stuff."
     "I'll be okay," he said in a faint, tremulous voice that was strangely, movingly confident.
     "You want a chip of ice to suck on?"
     "No. What I want ..."
     "What? Anything you want, Benny."
     "I'm scared, Daddy."
     My throat grew tight, and I was afraid that I was going to lose the composure that I had strived so hard to hold on to during the long weeks of his illness. I swallowed and said, "Don't be scared, Benny. I'm with you. Don't-"
     "No," he said, interrupting me. "I'm not scared ... for me. I'm afraid ... for you."
     I thought that he was delirious again, and I didn't know what to say.
     But he was not delirious, and with his next few words he made himself painfully clear: "I want us all ... to be together again ... like we were before Mommy died ... together again someday. But I'm afraid that you ... won't ... find us."
     The rest is agonizing to recall. I was indeed so obsessed with holding fast to my atheism that I could not bring myself to tell my son a harmless lie that would make his last minutes easier. If only I had promised to believe, had told him that I would seek him in the next world, he would have gone to his rest more happily. Ellen was right when she called it an obsession. I merely held Benny's hand tighter, blinked back tears, and smiled at him.
     He said, "If you don't believe you can find us ... then maybe you won't find us."
     "It's all right, Benny," I said soothingly. I kissed him on the forehead, on his left cheek, and for a moment I put my face against his and held him as best I could, trying to compensate with affection for the promise of faith that I refused to give.
     "Daddy ... if only ... you'd look for us?"
     "You'll be okay, Benny."
     "... just please look for us ..."
     "I love you, Benny. I love you with all my heart."
     "... if you look for us ... you'll find us ..."
     "I love you, I love you, Benny."
     "... don't look ... won't find ..."
     "Benny, Benny ..."
     The gray ICU light fell on the gray sheets and on the gray face of my son.
     The gray rain streamed down the gray window.
     He died while I held him.
     Abruptly color came back into the world. Far too much color, too intense, overwhelming. The light brown of Benny 's staring, sightless eyes was the purest, most penetrating, most beautiful brown that I had ever seen. The ICU walls were a pale blue that made me feel as if they were made not of