"Death," said a very tired and contemplative King Kong," is all a matter of language. You tell someone that their friend is dead, and they go into shock. They can't believe that So-And-So is gone. So-And-So of all people! They never thought it would happen to him! Why do they believe you? You tell someone that they are dead, and they don't believe you for a second. Why?"
Here Kong put out his cigarette on the white plaster cast encasing his arm. A few moments earlier, I had added my own signature to the multitude of names and quotes and smiley faces covering his various broken limbs. "Get well, Kong! Don't let them get you down! Signed, You Know Who."
"Death," Kong said again. He didn't follow this up, but just held it there in the antiseptic air like a parasol.