i want to tell you a story about a little man if i can.

a little old man came to see the surgeon. his skin was grayish yellow, and he had lost so much weight that it made his ears stick out like sails on either side of his head, tufts of silver hair poking straight out of them. his eyes were big and round, long-lashed and wet with worry, sunk deep into shadowed hollows, with silver eyebrows jutting out above. he had a gentle smile, revealing three lonely, cracked and blackened teeth. imagine a friendly gnome from deep in the forest shades, come out to say hello and ask you his curious questions. now imagine him wearing a red flannel coat and big muddy boots, patiently sitting in a doctor's office.


he wore a scarlet tunic, a blue-green hood. it looked quite good.





obediently he pulls up his t-shirt, revealing a belly as hollow as a bowl. he has lost forty pounds in one year, and he says his friends have been telling him he's "changing color." he's not in any pain, and is comically perplexed when we ask him about his health. he's fit as a fiddle, he says. i tell him to breathe normally so i can listen to his heart. "i think you're making it beat a little faster," he jokes. at last he stands up to tuck his shirt back in. he leans his head toward me, smiling gently, and asks in a quiet voice, "this cancer - will it kill me?"


he had a big adventure, amidst the grass. fresh air at last.





his mother got a lump in her breast. she went to the surgeon, and had a bunch of medicine that made her sicker, and then she died. his wife, she started bleeding, and she went to the surgeon, and he said she only had six weeks to live. she made a fool of that surgeon - she lived fully four months. he's been asking doctors about the way he keeps losing weight since 1991, since he came back from Desert Shield and Desert Storm. they all just kept telling him he was a normal weight. he hitches his belt in until it looks like a drawstring for his pants. then he sits patiently back down. the surgeon is typing on the computer.


and then one day, hooray! another way for gnomes to say hooray.





he folds his hands quietly in his lap. he looks at us with gentle eyes. our plan is to remove his colon. he accepts this. he prepares to drive back to effingham in the rain, and i bow my head and pray.


look at the sky, look at the river. isn't it good?
look at the sky, look at the river. isn't it good?