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With a louder than a normal voice, we became semi-friends of sorts, exchanged public personas but never knew one another close. In middle age, it was too late to connect intimately. My funeral attendance was a duty without tears except for my sins of omission. I prayed she could hear wherever she landed in the other world.Did she have a secret puppet shadow? Who was she? I never knew her secrets, didn’t even know she was so deaf. Deaf and dumb, true. She was deaf and I, dumb. During funerals for parents and those of their era, my mind dwelt on their life summaries, what they did and didn't do. For those younger, it was their tragedy, of a life story cut short, their uncompleted actions. This funeral was of my generation, now beginning to be sporadically called to the other world, a pace that would accelerate. As the sterile, macabre platitudes of the secular service droned on, my mind wandered afar.Death, it’s final. Tomorrow the world goes on without her. She’ll soon be forgotten,. "At Tulane, in the seventies, we once stimulated a human subject for over seven hours before he died. Don't worry, sweetie, I will not let you die. But by the time I finish my lunch, you'll never want another woman again, of that you can be sure." Paul wanted to scream at his tormentor but as he tried to form his mouth the screen changed again as did his "feelings."***************************************** Dr. Appel's assistant looked worried. "He's unconscious." "Good. You can terminate the sequence now." He will not remember a thing, of course. But the conditioning should be rock stable. Still to be on the safe side, I better have George check the transponder before we close him up. With a chronic limbic stimulator in place, my boy-girl could become a valuable asset. "Oh? George, you did include that reporter's picture in the sequence, didn't you?" When his assistant nodded in the affirmative, the old man allowed himself to relax a notch. After all that was the purpose.