17
I
T WAS LATE AFTERNOON WHEN THE NURSE BROUGHT THE
old man into the hospital room occupied by Raymond McPheron. She rolled his wheelchair in next to the vacant bed near the door and set the hand brakes and told the old man to get undressed and to put on the hospital gown that was laid out for him at the foot of the bed. It opens in the back, she said. Then I’ll come back and get you settled in. She yanked the curtain partway closed around his bed and left. The boy had followed them into the room and stood now beside his grandfather, accompanying him as he had all the long afternoon.
Across the room Raymond lay in bed under the window, his leg in the cast and raised onto two pillows on top of the thin hospital blankets. Beside him sat Victoria Roubideaux with the little girl in her lap. They could see the old white-haired man and the boy beyond the end of the curtain, but they hadn’t yet said anything to them. The old man had begun to complain in a high whining voice.
I can’t change out of my clothes right here, he said. Do they expect me to take my pants off behind this goddamn curtain like I was in some kind of circus sideshow?
You have to, Grandpa. The nurse will be coming back any minute.
I ain’t about to.
Raymond leaned up in his bed and spoke across the room: Mister, they put a bathroom in yonder through that door there. You can step in there if you’d care to. I don’t guess they put it there just for me.
The old man pulled the curtain back. In there, you say?
That’s right.
I guess I could do that. But look here, don’t I know you? Aren’t you one of the McPheron brothers?
What’s left of them.
I read about you in the paper. I’m sorry to hear about your brother.
The woman that wrote that didn’t even know the half of what she was saying, Raymond said.
My name’s Kephart, the old man said. Walter Kephart. They tell me I got pneumonia.
Is that right.
That’s what they’re telling me.
You look like you got some good help there with you anyway.
Too good, the old man said. This boy here keeps telling me what to do all the time.
Well, it’s nice having a young person around, Raymond said. I got awful fine help myself. This here is Victoria Roubideaux. And her little girl, Katie.
Hello, Mr. Kephart, Victoria said.
How do you do, young lady.
Grandpa, the boy said, you have to get changed.
You see there? the old man said. Right there’s what I’m talking about.
You go ahead and use that bathroom, Raymond said.
The old man stood out of the wheelchair and shuffled slowly around the bed into the bathroom and shut the door. He was inside for ten minutes and beyond the door they could hear him coughing and spitting. When he came out he was wearing the striped hospital gown and carrying his clothes over one arm. The skirts of the cotton gown flapped about his old flanks. He had left the strings at the rear untied and all of his scrawny gray backside was exposed to view. He handed the clothes to the boy and sat down at the edge of the bed and settled the skirts of the hospital gown over his legs like an old lady. Go get that goddamn nurse that was in here, he said. Tell that woman I’m waiting on her.
The boy went out into the hall and they could hear the sound of his rapid steps going away on the tiled floor. The old man looked across at Raymond. It ain’t even decent what they make you wear in this place.
No sir, Raymond said. I’ll have to agree with you on that.
It’s goddamn indecent is what it is.
The boy came back with the nurse. She was carrying a sterile tray that she set on the bedside table and then she looked at the old man. Are you ready, Mr. Kephart?
For what?
To get into bed.
I ain’t planning on just setting here, he said.
No, I didn’t think you’d want to do that.
She helped him swing his legs onto the bed and drew the sheet up and arranged the pillow under his head. Then she opened the sterile tray and wiped the back of his hand with a swab. This may sting, she said.
What’s that you’re doing?
I’m going to start the antibiotics now.
Is that what the doctor said?
Yes.
She poked the needle into the loose skin at the back of his hand and he lay in bed and looked up at the ceiling without moving. The boy watched from the foot of the bed, biting his lip when the needle went in. The nurse taped the needle to his hand, then hung the bags of fluid on a metal stand and connected the tubes and adjusted the steadily dripping fluid in the drip chamber and stood watching for a moment, and then inserted the thin oxygen prongs into the old man’s nose. Now breathe in, she said. Take some deep breaths. I’ll come back to check on you in a little while.
What good’s this thing suppose to do me?
It’ll help fill your lungs. Until you can breathe normally again on your own.
It don’t feel right. His voice sounded high-pitched and unnatural, on account of the nose prongs. It tickles my nose.
Breathe, the nurse said. You’ll get used to it. And when you need to spit, here’s a box of Kleenex. Don’t be spitting in that dirty handkerchief.
After she was gone the boy came forward and stood beside the bed. Did she hurt you, Grandpa? The old man looked at him and shook his head. He went on breathing and lifted his hand to adjust the oxygen tubes.
From across the room Victoria Roubideaux asked the boy if he didn’t want to sit down. There’s a chair over there, she said. You could bring it up next to the bed. But he told her he was all right, he said he wasn’t tired. An hour and a half later when the orderly brought in the dinner trays, he was still standing beside the bed and the old man was asleep.
I
N THE EVENING GUTHRIE AND MAGGIE JONES CAME INTO
the room together with Guthrie’s two boys, Ike and Bobby. They all stood around the bed and talked quietly with Raymond. Victoria was still in her chair, with Katie sleeping in her lap. Guthrie explained what he and the boys had done out at the ranch that afternoon. The cattle in the pastures out south all seemed fine, and they had checked on the bulls and horses. The water levels were what they should be in the stock tanks.
I thank you, Raymond said. I don’t like to have to bother you.
It’s no bother.
Well I know it is. But I thank you anyway. He looked at Ike and Bobby. Now what about you two boys? How you doing these days?
Pretty good, Ike said.
I’m sorry you got your leg hurt, Bobby said.
I appreciate that, Raymond said. It’s kind of a ugly thing, ain’t it. But it was a bad thing that happened. You boys remember you got to be careful around animals. You won’t never forget that, will you?
No, sir, Ike said.
I’m sorry about your brother, Bobby said softly.
Raymond looked at him and looked at Ike and nodded to them both, then he shook his head once very slowly, and didn’t say anything. Ike gave Bobby a hard poke in the side when no one was looking, but in the awkward silence Bobby was feeling bad enough already and wished he had never said any word at all about the old man’s brother.
Finally Maggie said: But how are you feeling this evening, Raymond? Are you feeling any better? You look a little more like yourself, I think.
I’m all right. He turned slightly under the bedsheet, adjusting his leg.
No he’s not, Victoria said. He won’t tell anybody the truth, not even the nurses. He’s in a lot of pain. He just doesn’t talk about it.
I’m all right, honey, he said. This ain’t the worst of it.
I know it isn’t. But you’re in a lot of physical pain too. I know you are.
Maybe a little, he said.
Across the room DJ stood beside his grandfather’s bed, listening to them all talking. He knew the Guthrie boys and didn’t like them seeing him like this in the hospital room. His grandfather was dozing and he kept making noises in his throat and coughing and mumbling strangely. DJ had said nothing to Ike and Bobby when they came in but stood silently beside the bed, with his back turned to them, and his grandfather kept going in and out of his fitful sleep, with the nose prongs in his nose, the needle still taped to his hand, and then the old man would wake and look around in confusion until he remembered where he was, that he was still in the hospital, and the boy would lean over and ask quietly if he wanted something and the old man would shake his head and look away and drift off to sleep again, then DJ would stand and wait, listening to them talk across the room, waiting for them to leave.
A
T EIGHT-THIRTY THE NURSE CAME IN TO ANNOUNCE THAT
visiting hours were over. Guthrie and Maggie and the two boys told Raymond good night and went out. Victoria leaned over the bed, holding her thick black hair out of the way, and kissed Raymond on the cheek and gave him a hug, then he patted her hand and she carried the little girl out of the room.
DJ’s grandfather was awake now. You better go too, he said to the boy. You’ll do all right by yourself, won’t you?
Yes sir.
You can come back tomorrow after school.
The boy looked at him and nodded and went out. Victoria was waiting in the hall, with Katie asleep in her arms. Is somebody expecting you at home? she said.
No.
Aren’t you afraid to be by yourself?
No. I’m used to it.
Let me give you a ride anyhow. Will you do that?
I don’t want to take you out of your way.
It’ll only take five minutes. You don’t want to walk home in the dark.
I’ve done it before.
But you don’t want to do it tonight.
They went down the hall and out the front door onto the sidewalk. It was cold outside but there was no wind. The streetlights had come on and overhead the stars winked clean and hard. Victoria strapped the sleeping child into her car seat in the back and they drove off up Main Street. You’ll have to tell me where to go, she said.
It’s across the tracks. Then you turn left.
She looked across at him where he was sitting close to the door with his hand on the handle. I would’ve thought you knew the two Guthrie boys. They’re your age, aren’t they?
I know them a little. I know Bobby anyway. He’s in the same class with me. Fifth grade.
Aren’t you two friends? You didn’t say anything to each other.
I just know him from school.
He seems like a nice boy. Maybe you could get to be friends.
We might. I don’t know.
I hope so. You shouldn’t be alone too much. I know what that’s like, from when I was your age and later on in high school. This can be a hard place to be alone in. Well, I suppose any place is.
I guess, he said.
In the backseat Katie had begun to fuss, reaching her hands out, trying to touch her mother. Just a minute, sweetheart, Victoria said. She watched her daughter in the rearview mirror. It’ll just be a few minutes. The little girl drew her hands back and began to whimper.
The boy turned to look at her. Does she cry all the time?
No, she almost never cries. She’s not really crying now. She’s just tired. There’s nothing for her to do at the hospital. We’ve been there for three days.
Main Street was almost vacant as they drove along past the small individual houses and on north into the brief business district under the bright lights. Only two or three cars were out on the street. All the stores were closed and darkened for the night except the tavern. To the east when they crossed the railroad tracks the whitewashed concrete cylinders of the grain elevator rose up massively out of the ground, shadowy and silent. They drove on north.
Here, the boy said. This is where you turn.
They came into the quiet street and he pointed out the little house.
Is this where you live?
Yes, ma’am.
Really? I used to live near here. Before I had Katie. This was my old neighborhood. Do you like it here?
He looked at her. It’s just where I live, he said. He opened the car door and started to get out.
Just a minute, she said. I don’t know what you’d think of it, but maybe you could come out and stay with us tonight. So you wouldn’t have to be here alone.
Out with you?
Yes. Out in the country. You’d like it out there.
He shrugged. I don’t know.
All right, she said. She smiled at him. I’ll just wait until you’re inside and get the light on.
Thanks for the ride, he said.
He shut the car door and started up the narrow sidewalk. He looked very small and much alone, approaching the dark house with only the streetlamp shining from the corner illuminating the front of the house. He opened the door and went inside and then a light came on. She thought he would come to one of the windows and wave to her, but he didn’t.
A
T THE HOSPITAL THE NURSE ON NIGHTSHIFT CAME INTO
the room and Raymond was still awake. She was a good-looking woman in her late forties, with short brown hair and very blue eyes. She bent over the old man in the bed next to the door, who was asleep on his side and still breathing the oxygen through the prongs in his nose, his face red and damp. She checked the level of the fluid in the plastic bags hanging from the stand, then came over to Raymond’s bed and looked at him with his head raised up on the pillow, watching her. Can’t you sleep? she said.
No.
Is your leg hurting you?
Not now. I reckon it’ll start again directly.
How about your chest?
It’s all right. He looked up at her. What’s your name? he said. I thought I knew all these nurses in here by now.
I just came back on duty, she said. I’m Linda.
What’s your last name?
May.
Linda May.
That’s right. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McPheron. Is there anything I can get for you right now?
I could take some of that water there.
Let me get you a fresh pitcher. This isn’t very cold. She left the room and came back with a pitcher filled with ice, and poured water in the glass and held it out to him. He drew on the straw and swallowed, then drew again and nodded and she set the glass on the bedside table.