“You had a phone call while you were out,” Sherry said.
“Who was it?”
“It was Ms. Lourdes, Don Julio’s wife.”
“I hope he didn’t pass away,” I said. “He’s been sick a long time now and he’s almost ninety years old.”
“Ms. Lourdes says he is nearly done for,” Sherry said. “She wants you to come see him one more time.”
“Don Julio, how are you?” I asked, when Ms. Lourdes took me into the bedroom.
“Not bad,” he said, “considering that I’m eighty-nine years old and every part of my body is trying to quit on me.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked, when she left the room.
“Yes. You know I’ve always liked your stories. Tell me some good jokes and make me feel better like that.”
For the next forty-five minutes I told jokes while Don Julio cackled like an old hen and drank shots of rum. Ms. Lourdes came back in and said, “Old man, you look tired. Do you need a nap?”
“Hell no,” he said. “I can sleep when I’m dead. Just a few more jokes.”
“Do you want a shot of rum?” he asked me.
“No, thank you.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to drink two shots,” he said. “One for me and one for you.”
He reached for the bottle but Ms. Lourdes grabbed it first and smacked his hand.
“No more for you,” she said. “If you keep drinking like this there won’t be any left for the wake.”
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