The Thanatos Syndrome

best for you and yours, but I’ve got news for you. I want something else. I want you around. I’m a selfish woman and I need—Sh!” She puts a finger to my lips. “All right. You better come on out to Panther- burn tonight.”
    She grabs my arm.
    â€œWhat?” I look at her.
    She’s smiling.
    â€œI think all of you better come on out to Pantherburn tonight.”
    â€œWell—”
    â€œIt seems natural, Tom.”
    â€œWell—”
    â€œLike last night.” She’s smiling but serious.
    â€œAll right.”
    She touches my lips. “Don’t say anything. You’d better get going. Be careful. Just be sure you get back to Pantherburn tonight. Your room is ready. Those guys mean business, Tom—I mean Comeaux and company. They’re vulnerable and they don’t know what you’re going to do. Now get going. It’ll soon be dark.”
    Dark is what I’m waiting for.

14. I TAKE OLD La. 963 through Slaughter, Olive Branch, through St. Helena Parish, past the Fluker fire tower, over I-55 and into the piney woods, to Waldheim and the old fire-tower road to St. Margaret’s. Not a car in sight until the interstate.
    The shed at the foot of the tower is dark. There is a full moon. I cannot make out if there is a light in the tower.
    Milton Guidry has come up behind me. Now he too gazes up companionably.
    â€œWhat’s the matter with him, Milton?” I move around so I can see Milton’s face in the moonlight.
    â€œHe had a spell yesterday and hasn’t moved since.” Milton describes Father Smith’s symptoms in a lively fashion. He is worried, but he is glad to have company and takes pleasure in talking about it. “He is stiff as a board. When I helped him to the commode, his flesh was hard-like. Like that.” He raps the shed. “What is that, Doc?”
    â€œWhat happened? What kind of spell?”
    â€œA spasm-like. He was sitting talking yesterday just as natural as you and me. Then he stopped and his hand went like this.” Milton shows me, flexing his arm and curling his hand inward. “Since then he hasn’t moved or done anything. I mean nothing.” Milton cocks his head and watches me with a pleasant expression.
    â€œWhat do you mean he hasn’t moved?”
    â€œI mean, he hasn’t moved. He doesn’t eat or drink or say a word.”
    â€œDid he fall down?”
    â€œNo, he just sits and looks at the woods.”
    â€œYou mean he sat there at the table all last night and did not lie down in his bedroll?”
    â€œYou got it, Doc.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œI checked him every hour. You know how you can get worried about somebody.”
    â€œHe doesn’t talk to you?”
    â€œHe doesn’t feel like talking.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œHe spots and I report on the phone.”
    â€œI see.” I don’t see.
    Milton looks down. “I see you brought your little bag.”
    â€œYes. I’m going up now. You stick around in case I need you. I’m going to have to take him to the hospital. I’ll need your help to get him down.”
    â€œI be right here, Doc, don’t you worry! You want me to help you with the trapdoor?”
    â€œNo thanks.” I could use some help but don’t want to fool with Milton.
    Father Smith is sitting at the high table, temple propped on three fingers. He seems to be studying the azimuth. On a corner of the table, an old-fashioned kerosene lamp with a glass chimney casts a weak yellow light. Beside the lamp there is an open can of Campbell’s chicken soup and a melted bowl of Jell-O.
    â€œHello, Father.”
    He seems to be looking at me, but his eye sockets are in deep shadow.
    â€œMilton told me you were ill.”
    He is looking at me, I am sure, under his brow.
    I sit on the stool opposite him. We gaze at each other.
    â€œMilton said you had some kind of attack yesterday.”
    The priest says nothing. His head moves. Is it a nod? I try to make out whether his expression is ironic, but I can’t be sure. I move the lamp beside me so I can see his eyes better. I like to see patients’ eyes, unlike Freud, who looked at the back of their heads.
    â€œHe told me you had not eaten or slept.”
    No answer, but he is attentive. His eyes follow me.
    â€œYou’ve been sitting in that chair since yesterday?”
    No answer, but his gaze is