Enough!

26 ENOUGH! And now they are no longer man and father, woman and mother, but 2 workers in old age: heroic and used-up as smoldering rags. Her, she's a tiny cell of light —40 watts, say, against 3 backyards and one small, dirty sidestreet— in an immense night. She dreams no more than the dog, Toro, chained to the back porch. Six days she goes out in the marbled mist of streetlamps, dawn, dripping trees, the sky with its wisp of moon. Sundays she sleeps. Across the city, by the harbor, the cable coiling machines she tends 27 are not what they are, but the oily roar of her horizon. An end. And him? Back from the hospital he sits in the kitchen. His brain scatters wishes and insights, like fireflies through the terrible spring night only to say how dark it is, how 38 years boxing chemicals and beakers, grinding glass, add up to $57.60 a month for life: enough for dog food, cheap stupefying wine, rest beyond belief. It is more than enough. ...