Now, I'm Lazarus, and I'm old. I'm going to be dying a second time. It might next week, or next month, or anytime, though I hope it will be after my great grandkid Ishmael comes here for the summer. My daughter's husband owes me a lot of money, because he's good-for-nothing. Ishmael will work in the vineyards to make up for some of it. The family thinks I'll be a terrible taskmaster for Ishmael, and I pretend it will be a long difficult summer for him. But really he's my favorite great grandson and we sneak off and sit by the river and fish and we take turns telling stories and having a nice time not doing anything.
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