On a final day the patient, feeling alert and sensing that at any moment he might arise and don his clothes without the advice of doctors and then head home, sat up in bed and called to the high corridors, “Hello! Anyone there?”
A long silence from the quiet hospital rooms. Again he cried, “Anyone there? Hello!” There were only echoes from the halls and all the avenues throughout the entire building stood still.
Very quietly, the patient began to dress in preparation to leave.
Finally, at three in the afternoon, the handsome dog with the blood-red bandana came padding by in the silent corridor and stood by the door.
The patient said, “Come in.”
The dog entered and stood by the bed.
“Sit,” said the patient.
The dog sat and gazed at him with great luminous eyes, a tender expression, a half-smile on his mouth.
Finally the patient said, “What is your name?”
The dog studied him with his great luminous eyes.
His mouth moved just the merest touch and a whisper came forth:
“Jesus,” said the dog. “That is my name. Jesus. What is yours?”