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Falconer 42<br />
of his clothes and was wading into the sea when some stranger, a<br />
fisherman, came running up the beach, shouting: “Stop, stop!<br />
What do you think you’re doing?” “I was going in for a dip,” said<br />
Farragut. “You’re crazy,” the stranger said. “The tide is turning<br />
and even if the rip doesn’t get you the sharks will. You can’t ever<br />
swim here. They ought to put up a sign—but at the rip tide you<br />
wouldn’t last a minute. You can’t ever swim here. They waste all<br />
the taxpayers’ money putting up traffic signs, speeding signs, yield<br />
signs, stop signs, but on a well-known deathtrap like this they<br />
don’t have any sign at all.” Farragut thanked the stranger and got<br />
back into his clothes. His brother had started down the beach.<br />
Eben must have jogged or run because he had put quite a distance<br />
between them. Farragut caught up with him and the first thing he<br />
asked was, “When is Louisa coming back from Denver? I know<br />
you’ve told me, but I’ve forgotten.” “Tuesday,” Eben said. “She’s<br />
staying over for Ruth’s wedding.” So they walked back to the<br />
house, talking about Louisa’s visit. Farragut remembered being<br />
happy at the fact that he was alive. The sky was blue.<br />
At a rehabilitation center in Colorado where Farragut had been<br />
confined to check his addiction, the doctors discovered that heroin<br />
had damaged his heart. His cure lasted thirty-eight days and<br />
before he was discharged he was given his instructions. He was<br />
being discharged as an outpatient. Because of his heart he could<br />
not, for six weeks, climb stairs, drive a car or exert himself in any<br />
way. He must avoid strenuous changes in temperature and above<br />
all excitement. Excitement of any sort would kill him. The doctor<br />
then used the classic illustration of the man who shoveled snow,<br />
entered a hot house and quarreled with his wife. It was as quick as<br />
a bullet through the head. Farragut flew east and his flight was<br />
uneventful. He got a cab to their apartment, where Marcia let him<br />
in. “Hi,” he said and bent to kiss her, but she averted her face. “I’m<br />
an outpatient,” he said. “A salt-free diet—not really salt-free, but<br />
no salt added. I can’t climb stairs or drive a car and I do have to
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