220. Deaf and dying

220deaf

Padraic had emigrated from Ireland about seventy years ago. He had made an astronomical fortune in his new country. Now he was in his nineties and dying in a hospital bed. He had no direct descendants, but had nieces and nephews.

He was visited by a great niece, Peyton. She was in her thirties.

“Can he hear?” asked Peyton of the nurse.

“He can’t hear a thing,” said the nurse. “He’s not only unconscious; he’s as deaf as a post.”

“Let me say one thing,” said Peyton, speaking towards Padraic’s deaf ears. “You are a selfish shitbox. We can’t wait for you to die. We want the money. Ha! Ha! Ha! I’ve already put a deposit on a new house, so hurry up and kick the bucket, you fuckwitted-money-grabbing scumsucker.”

Just then the priest arrived.

“Can he hear?” asked the priest of Peyton.

“Not a damn thing,” said Peyton.

The priest gave Padraic a blessing. Padraic made the sign of the cross.

Padraic never fully recovered. Just enough to change his will.

Gentle thoughts and expressions of astoundedness are both gratefully accepted.

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