He was angry, stuck inside a hospital run by nuns, the only place in town with what he needed. She was a nurse’s aide, of the legions who care for us when our defenses fail. “I’m Lisa,” she said. “I’m here to give you a bath.” He wasn’t ready to have someone give him a bath. Especially a bed bath. Still, he was too weak to get to the shower. “Take that thing down,” he demanded. “What thing?” she asked. He pointed to the crucifix. A cross, bearing a thin person, arms outstretched, head at a slant, looking toward the ground. Like in every other room of this hospital. She looked at him, hesitated, walked to the wall. Lifting the crucifix from its nail, she set it face down, gently, on the windowsill. Walked back to him, smiled. Soaped up the washcloth. Washed his body.