AT THE TIME of his death, Eddie was a squat, white-haired old man,
with a short neck, a barrel chest, thick forearms, and a faded army
tattoo on his right shoulder. His legs were thin and veined now, and his
left knee, wounded in the war, was ruined by arthritis. He used a cane to
get around. His face was broad and craggy from the sun, with salty
whiskers and a lower jaw that protruded slightly, making him look
prouder than he felt. He kept a cigarette behind his left ear and a ring of
keys hooked to his belt. He wore rubber-soled shoes. He wore an old
linen cap. His pale brown uniform suggested a workingman, and a
workingman he was.