Chapter 23
Darkness, dreaming, darkly dreaming: He was in the water again, Eagles Airline Flight 2095 having gone down over the North Pacific, again. Drowning, sinking deep into the black water, then resurging, fighting for air, being baptized as it were, being born again.
“You’re going to be all right, son,” the flight officer said, offering a hand, a lifeline. “You’re going to make it.”
But he could barely hear him, screaming as he was for Aunt Lena, howling in pain.
We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them.
He was in a dark room, trying to remember the rest of T.S. Eliot’s The Four Quartets, which he once knew by heart—Brit Lit, Stanford. “We die with the dying…”
Was he dead and born again
