Sobriety or Sudden Death
JULY, 1948. I was a cringing shattered man with death close to me as I lay on the kitchen floor of my deserted farmhouse. My wife had gone, taking the two boys with her, and even my dog refused to come for a walk with such a shambling figure. Then, hours or maybe days later, I was aware of someone leaning over me, speaking gently. It was my brother. He'd had a tough time as a brigadier in Burma, but he seemed to realize that toughness wasn't needed now.