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The Computer Couldn't Say
| Article
# : |
13280 |
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Section : |
LIFE
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| Issue
Date : |
10 / 1987 |
1,098 Words |
| Author
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Herb Greer
Herb Greer is an American writer and playwright who lives in
Britain and on the Continent. |
"Were you at the funeral?" "No. Couldn't make it. Damned shame. Jack, of all people!"
"Still a young man."
"Did they ever find out what happened? I mean, what did it for him in the end?"
"God knows. They did an autopsy, the whole bit. Couldn't find a bloody thing."
"I heard it was a coronary. Then I heard it wasn't."
"I found him, you know. Went out to Surrey as usual on the weekend. He'd left the front door open for me. I went in and he was sitting in that gloomy corner of the living room. A bit gray, as usual. Seemed to be contemplating the wall. He liked to contemplate the wall. Said it relaxed him."
"Relaxed? With his temper? My God, I remember in the old days -"
"Yes. Well, you haven't see him for years. That temper, it sort of - I don't know, it sort of faded away. He prided himself on that. Said he kept himself even. All the time. That's why he liked to contemplate the wall. To stay even."
"Time was when I thought lung cancer would get him. Never saw a man enjoy the weed so much. Anything - cigars, cigarettes - didn't he try chewing it once?"
"Sure. Snuff too. He was game for anything."
"I remember when he stopped. Boom, just like that. Amazing."
"Yes. He was very impressed by that Observer series on smoking. Those pictures of umber-colored lungs."
"Of course it could have been the cholesterol that got him. Never saw a trencherman like he was in the old days. My God, do you remember those weekends at his place in Cornwall? That lovely blonde beast, what a cook she was!"
"She was good at lots of things."
"I remember. I really envied the beggar, let me tell you. All that and
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