1-a. Dr. Lim’s lips are dry and thick, like his words. He’s spoken to me this way for years. I understand his heavy-accented English, and I understand his relative stoicism in dealing with people like me. He is a strong man, and a wise man. He must be. “Any time,” he says. His eyes fix on the tile near my feet. He crosses his arms over his tiny chest, tangling his stethoscope in the wrinkles of his lapel. “A minute, an hour...any moment, really.” “I understand,” I say. “You’ve called the rest of your family?” “There’s no one else who can come. My father’s here.” “Yes, I see him come.” Dr. Lim lingers, but I know he is anxious to leave us here. He says, “any time,” and it is his judgment that I should be by the bedside rather than here in the hall awaiting words that he will never deliver. “Thank you,” I say. He nods and pats my shoulder. He is shorter than I am, and it’s almost as if a child were trying to console his mother. I turn and place my hand on the cold metal doorknob, watching as Dr. Lim shuffles down the corridor toward the elevators. He’ll stop to see another patient or two, to his office to check his schedule or thumb through messages. Then he’ll head for home in his tiny sedan to meet his equally tiny wife. She’ll have a hot meal for him; they’ll eat together and talk in their native tongue, and then they’ll crawl into bed bedside each other, to pray their old prayers and sleep their old sleeps. Dr. Lim is seventy-four years old, and his wife is seventy-five. I suspect they may live to be 100, and they may die together. His white coat disappears around a corner, and I push open the door. She lies in shadow. The lights hurt her head, so even in the middle of the day, the room is dark. Darker now. The sun has already set, and Dad stands in front of the lamp, shielding her from the glare. I sit near her on the edge of the bed and take her hand. Her flesh is thin and light, like soft paper. “Mama?” I say. “Are you sleeping?” Her eyes roll under her eyelids, and she turns her head almost imperceptibly. Even in the grips of disease, she is beautiful.