he could put her hand back in bed , stuff a tea bag up her nose , put on earphones playing chuck berry full blast , etc. , etc. , and none of it would put a buzz under gramma , because that was what being dead was about , nobody could put a buzz under a dead person , a dead person was the ultimate laid-back cool , and the rest of it was just dreams , ineluctable and apocalyptic and feverish dreams about closet doors swinging open in the dead mouth of midnight , just dreams about moonlight skating a delirious blue on the bones of disinterred skeletons , just -- he whispered , `` stop it , ca n't you ?