story
James J Rovira (jrovira@juno.com)
Mon, 12 Jul 1999 18:48:36 -0400 (EDT)
I had fun -- lots -- writing this, so I hope you have fun reading it. :)
First one to guess which album I was listening to while I wrote it wins
a dollar. HINT -- Late 1960s. VERY late.
The Infirmity of Victor Timothy Dodge
Jim Rovira
“Doctor, it’s his heart, it’s. . .”
“Yes?”
“Well sir, it’s shredded, tattered. It looks like rags run
through a
lawnmower.”
“That’s not possible. He couldn’t be alive. Let me see the
x-rays.”
Dr. Mustard concealed his shock well as he examined the x-rays, allowing
himself only a slight stiffening of the neck and back, a slight tension
in
the hands, a deepening of the voice. “He didn’t move during the x-rays?”
“Not at all. The first set came out the same way, and I thought
that
myself. So I took the second set myself.”
“Interesting. Thank you, that’ll be all.”
“But doctor. . .”
“Thank you, that’ll . . .”
“But how can he still be alive?”
“Maxwell, get the hell out of here.” The Doctor didn’t hear the
radiologist mutter “What an asshole” under his breath, because after the
radiologist left the room the doctor virtually collapsed in a chair,
shoving
aside a small silver hammer then setting the x-rays down on the table
next to
him. He ran his hands over his face, taking a deep breath through his
nostrils as his hands passed over them. He looked again at the x-rays
then
tossed them aside. No.
The doctor began to understand the meaning behind the blank stare
of
the patient he had just seen. . .alive. He began to understand the
patient’s
total indifference in the face of his own death. He was used to
confronting
denial, fear, panic, anger, any number of a host of emotions, a wave of
them,
but not indifference. Not an indifference so total and uncompromising.
The
doctor began to understand, but didn’t let himself. Instead, he stood
up,
put the x-rays back in their envelope, tucked the envelope neatly and
firmly
under his arm, then went to see the patient again.
The hospital seemed changed somehow. This time of night activity
was
fairly low, none of the sounds seemed unfamiliar. The shutting of the
door
behind him. A cart being pushed by a nurse down the hall. The nurses’
quiet
gossip and jokes, their same hair pulled back into the same nets. The
tap of
his shoes on the pale green tile floor. The light looked the same but
had a
cleaner, brighter quality, somehow a purer white, he thought, but no.
The
same clean white walls, antiseptic chrome railings and door handles, the
brown paneled elevators. The same perfect straightness of the ceiling’s
lines above him, the smoothness of his coat, the firmness of his step.
All
the same, yet all utterly alien in the new world into which he had just
walked. The doctor moved down the hall carefully, slowly pushed open the
patient’s door then quietly stepped into the room, relieved to see the
patient sleeping.
Dr. Mustard sat near the bed and simply stared at his patient.
It
took him about three and one half minutes to stare his patient awake, who
began to slowly open his empty eyes. “Doctor?”
“Mr. Dodge, I happened to be coming by and just stepped in to
check
on you. How are you feeling tonight?”
Victor Timothy Dodge read panic behind the Doctor’s tight smile
and
cordial voice. He saw the x-ray envelope and understood. “It’s not
physical
damage, Doctor, it’s a disease. Don’t worry, you can’t catch it, not
really,
but if you get close enough you can feel it.”
“What?”
“You’ve taken chest x-rays and you’ve seen my heart. It’s a
mess, I
know. Don’t worry and don’t try to understand. It doesn’t matter.
Please,
I’d like to go to sleep now.”
The doctor was as unused to not being in control as he was to the
new
universe he’d just entered. “Try to get some sleep, Mr. Dodge. I’ll be
leaving now. I’ve heard your. . .girlfriend?. . .will be visiting
tomorrow.
Pam, is it?”
“Pam? You’ve met her?”
“Yes, she stopped by yesterday. You have a big day coming, get
some
rest.”
“Thank you doctor, I will.”
The doctor left the room.
***
The young woman who sat herself next to Victor’s beside promptly
at
11:52 AM (for visiting hours began at 9:00 AM) was said to look like,
according to the nurses, not quite enough of a near fatal accident
involving
Saran Wrap and vinyl. And that her hair (blonde) was, well, something
like a
mannequin’s. For that matter, so was her face. And her nails (PINK!).
But
her white go-go boots were more Barbie than mannequin, that much was
undisputed. She tried to hold a worried expression on her face as long
as
she could, but soon got annoyed and poked Victor’s arm. “Hey good
looking.
Boy have you been hard to see lately.” The patient rolled his eyes and
smiled weakly. “Vic, honey, how are you? The doctors said you almost
died.
Good Lord, what did they do to your hair?”
“What?”
“It’s all cut off.”
“I didn’t even notice.”
“Well, you look cute with that flattop.” She giggled slightly,
then
asked, “So how are you?”
“I’m fine, Pam,” Victor glanced at the clock, “Boy, this is early
for
you.”
“I hardly slept at all last night because of you, jerk. Are
there
rings under my eyes? You should see what’s left of your car! Ohmigod.
At
least you can finally get rid of that piece of junk. Danny said it was a
collector’s item, you should get a pretty penny for it. Hey! Maybe you
can
buy one of the new GTOs coming out this year? They look hot. So do you
know
how long you’re gonna be in here, darling? By the way, is everything
still
there?” She started walking her fingers down his right leg, “Hmmm, lemme
see, thighs, then knees, then feet. . .ewww, what’s that with your toes?”
“It’s from playing football. Pam, the only thing I can feel
right
now is pain, so I’d just as soon not feel anything at all. I know last
night
must have been rough for you. . .Danny? When did you see him?”
“Why, yesterday, I had to ask someone about your car. He is in
insurance, you know.”
“I’m glad he was there for you.”
“Well, whaddya expect? You’re in here all laid up and I couldn’t
even see you while you were in ICU. And I had to take care of
everything,
all the paperwork, gawd what a pain. You need to drive more careful, you
know that? At least they didn’t give you a ticket.”
“Jesus!”
“You’re not getting religious on me now, are you? I mean, I know
you
almost died, but. . .”
“Pam. Pam. You look beautiful in that, Pam. Really. I can see
your face reflected on almost every surface. Get me some shades, would
you
dear?”
“Victor, you beast! That’s awful. Look, if you don’t want me
here.
. .”
“Nono, honey, no, I didn’t mean anything. I’m still really tired
and
I think it’s putting me in a bad mood. Maybe I should go back to sleep
now,
ok?”
“It’s ok baby. I understand. Look, I’m gonna get going, you get
some rest. I’ll be back.”
“Thanks sweetie. Thank you for everything.”
“Is there anything I can get for you?”
“Maybe a couple books.”
“Ugh. You and your books. Ok, you left the ones you were
reading on
your dresser?” Victor nodded.
“Get the Baudrillard. Simulacra and Simulation.”
“Uh, ok then. See you sweets.” Pam kissed Victor lightly on the
lips then turned and walked out the room. He watched her as she strutted
down the hall, starting with the line of her thighs against her tight
white
boots and working his way up from there, thinking how much he was going
to
miss the cool smoothness of her skin, that body he’d memorized by sight,
smell, and touch, amazed at the relief he felt when she left him, as if
she
carried a heavy weight about her, wondering just what the hell else he
ever
saw in her to begin with. . .
Mental note: Tell the nurses not to let her back in.
***
Victor’s phone rang almost as soon as Pam had walked out of
sight.
“God, just kill me now. Please.” He picked up the beige phone and
placed it
gingerly next to his ear. “Hellllloooo? Is there anything I can do for
you?
Anything, really, I mean it. Need your car waxed, ears buffed, your
corn
starched? I may even oil your olive. Just ask. I have alll the tiiiime
in
the worrrllld, believe you me . .”
“Victor, quit jerking me around and start telling me what you’re
doing in there?”
“Oh, hey boss. Yesterday after work I thought to myself, ‘You
know,
just once, I’d like to stay someplace where the service was first rate.’
Then I thought, ‘Why, shoot, a hospital, now, that’d be perfect. They
not
only bring you your food but if there’s anything wrong, and I mean
anything,
they take care of it pronto.’ And you should just see who gives me my
baths!
I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner. So I wrapped my car
around
a semi. Sorry I forgot to call in.”
“Nice move. Hope you got a ticket. Do you know how much of a
pain
in the ass this is? Bill called in sick today too. Now what am I
supposed
to do, hmmm? How much longer are you going to be in there?”
“The doctor said just five more years, and I’m right outta here.
You
may want to get someone to replace me.”
“You’d better believe I . . .” but Victor had slowly hung up the
phone. He carefully drew in a deep breath, let it out, then tried to
relax
himself into his bed, closing his eyes.
Just as sleep set in, his parents showed up.
***
Maxwell the radiologist, tired after a long and particularly
unpleasant day at work, was grateful to slip off his shoes as soon as he
walked in his front door, take off his smock, then remove his belt.
Before
he undressed any further, a worried look began to cross his face.
“Pretty?
My pretty? Where are you my pretty?” His hands started running through
his
pockets. Not finding what he was looking for, he rifled through his
smock,
then threw it down. In a panic, he grabbed his keys and ran back
outside. A
careful though harried inspection of the car didn’t produce any better
results. “MY PRETTTY!” he screamed, beating on the car’s hood and roof.
Had Maxwell been in a frame of mind to notice, he would have seen
his
neighbor peering through his window with a cordless phone in his hand.
When the police arrived, they found him sitting on the ground
next to
his car, his knees drawn tightly to his chest and his hands pressed hard
into
his eyes, rocking back and forth and mumbling over and over again,
“prettymyprettyprettymyprettyprettymypretty...”
“This one’s for the hospital, John.”
“Ya think?”
***
“OOOOH MY POOOOR BAY-BEE!” Victor’s mother screamed as soon as
she
stepped into the room. His eyes snapped wide open.
“Oh for chrissakes Queenie he’s alive just shut yer yap for just
a
god-forsaken minute willya?” Victor desperately wanted to slap his
forehead,
but didn’t think it worth the effort.
Queenie’s breasts descended like a pair of white cashmere
footballs
and hit Victor squarely in the head in her rather motherly cuddle. He
prayed
for unconsciousness, but since God appeared to be enjoying Victor’s
suffering
entirely too much to do anything about it, he did the next best thing:
get
sarcastic.
“Mmrph mm mrmphr mmrr mrr.”
“What honey?”
“Never mind. Nice to see you Mom. You too Dad. So, what’s up?”
“What’s up? Honey, you’re in the hospital. What are you doing
here?”
“I needed a haircut.”
“You bet yer smart ass you needed a haircut. You looked like
Cousin
It. And don't sass your mother.”
“You were speeding again weren’t you honey? I told you and I
told
you this was going to happen. But do you listen? Oh no. You just drive
and
drive and drive like a maniac and here you are, half dead, laying in some
hospital. Were you wearing clean underwear? OH! They didn’t give you a
ticket, did they?” Victor laughed a bit too hard. It hurt him, he
doubled
over in pain, but that hurt him more. So he just lay there stricken. A
single tear descended from Jacob’s left eye and ran down his cheek.
Victor’s
mother started to cry.
“Oh forgawdsakes now look you’ve gone and upset your mother.”
Through clenched teeth, Victior said, “Uh, sorry Dad. But, what
do
you think of my new haircut?”
“Forgetaboutthehaircutforjustagodawfulminutewillya?” Victor’s
father
had his hands full in just about every sense of the word comforting his
wife.
Queenie suddenly reminded Victor somehow of Pam, and for just a second
his
heart nearly stopped beating.
***
Unfortunately for everyone involved, Maxwell the radiologist was
returned to the psychiatric ward of the hospital in which he worked.
After
being checked in by a visiting nurse he was put in a room. By the time
the
floor nurse came by he’d calmed down. Of course she recognized him, and
he
told her it was all just a mistake and that he’d forgotten to take his
medication, would she please let him return to his workstation so he
could
take it? “Why, of course, just let me walk you down there. . .” but as
soon
as she turned her back he bolted out the door and out of the ward.
He remembered where he left his pretty.
***
Dr. Mustard pulled his white BMW into the driveway with a certain
abandon. It would be very difficult for anyone else to park next to him
without parking at least a little bit on the grass. He didn’t so much
walk
to his house as slouched in a somewhat directed manner. Elizabeth, his
wife,
happened to be coming down the steps as the Doctor walked in the front
door,
“Well now, you look like something hit you hard. What happened at work
today?” Her height, her leanness, her proud demeanor, and a pair of
large
green eyes so rare in black women gave her an imposing beauty.
“What the hell do you want?”
“Woah, forget it.” Hands up, fingers out. “Talk to me when
you’re
human again.”
Dr. Mustard dropped his briefcase and overcoat on the couch then
slouched over to the wet bar. Pouring himself a scotch and soda
(emphasize
Scotch), he proceeded to slouch toward his study. His four year old
daughter
Victoria sat on his left foot and squealed, “Daaaddddeeee!”
“Please baby, not now.” He gently picked her up and sat her down
on
the couch next to his briefcase and overcoat, then continued to slouch
toward
his study. Once there, he simply sat in his favorite large leather
armchair,
stared at his books, and sulked. He sulked about his ignorance. He
sulked
over the impotence he felt. He resented the hell out of the universe,
normally so orderly, for pulling this on him. He felt something like
he’d
just discovered a terrible secret about his wife, or like he was going to
feel the day his middle son declared his homosexuality.
He went from sulking to being angry, and moved from anger into
denial. No, this is nonsense, there is no such disease and there is a
sane,
medical explanation. And by God I’m going to find it.
Dr. Mustard grabbed his coat and strode out the door, starting to
feel more in control already.
No one stopped him to ask where he was going.
***
“HEY VIC, just what the hell is going on here?” Pam entered the
room, but not through the front door. Victor and his parents exchanged
puzzled looks. “The nurses wouldn’t let me in to see you, so I had to
crawl
in through the bathroom window. I brought you your book. Oooh, are
these
your parents, Vic?”
“Mom. Dad. Meet Pam. My non-stick girlfriend.” Pam shuffled
around to the front of the room and shook hands with Victor’s parents.
“It’s nice to see my Timmy’s dating such a nice girl,” patting
Pam on
the cheek.
“I knew you’d like her, Mom.”
Victor’s father leaned over and hoarsely whispered, “Nice ass.”
“I know.”
“Oh, here’s your book, honey.”
“Thank you, I knew you’d. . .” but Dr. Maxwell strode into the
room.
“Mr. Dodge, we need to talk.”
***
Maxwell bounced lightly off walls and was a general nuisance to
everyone wanting to walk a simple line from Point A to Point B straight
back
to the room in which he’d last left his pretty, the room in which he’d
last
spoken to Dr. Mustard. He remembered leaving it on the table, and when
he
burst into the room and didn’t immediately see it he nearly went into
shock.
He scrambled down to the floor, and saw it laying between the chair legs.
His silver hammer. Surgical steel, really, about six inches long and
with a
four ounce ball peen head. He called it his “silver” hammer because he
carried it with him everywhere, being the single most important object in
his
life. It once belonged to his father, who left the family when Maxwell
was
six. Since that day he hoped his father would come back to get it. If
he
had it, his father would have to see him.
But the head was bent back. Daddy wouldn’t want it now.
“RUUUUIIIINNNNNNEEEED! You ASSSSSSHOOOOOLLLLLLE!!!”
Maxwell, eyes filled with blood lust, went looking for Dr.
Mustard.
***
“Doctor. My good Doctor. I’m so grateful to see you. Please,
come
in. Sit. Perhaps now’s a good time for everyone to leave?”
“That might be a good idea. We have to have a talk about your
heart.”
Pam shrieked, “Vic!”
Queenie squealed, “Tim!”
Then, almost in unison, like a choral dedicated to pain, “Your
heart?”
“Doc, really, not now.”
“I want an explan. . .” Dr. Mustard didn’t finish his sentence
because, well, everyone in the room turned their heads toward Victor’s
open
door at the sound of a strange disturbance in the hallway. Before anyone
knew what was happening, Maxwell burst into the room in a frenzy, silver
hammer above his head. Dr. Mustard ducked, but Pam was standing behind
him
and BANG, BANG, Maxwell’s silver hammer came down upon her head. Pam
collapsed. Maxwell jumped back in shock, dropping the hammer. Two
security
guards, having followed a train of upset people in the hallway, came into
the
room and dragged Maxwell out, one on each arm. Dr. Mustard yelled out
the
room for a nurse then knelt down to check Pam.
“How is she?” Jacob was the only one able to speak.
“Ok, I think, but we’ll see.” A stream of nurses and two
orderlies
with a bed came into the room and carted Pam out. Dr. Mustard followed
them.
Victor and his parents stared at each other, bewildered, then Queenie
fainted against her husband’s side.
“I think I better take yer mudder home,” patting her on the cheek
and
saying, “C’mon, honey, wake up.”
“Good idea.”
Victor was finally alone.
***
Early the next morning Victor was still alone. He was starting
to
get over it. He’d heard Pam would be alright, but. . .Pam.
GodwhatajerkiamPam. That knock on the head didn’t hurt her nearly as bad
as
knowing I told the nurses not to let her see me. She crawled in through
the
bathroom window to give me my book, for Christ’s sake. Why couldn’t I
just
talk to her about how I felt? I’m the one that’s full of shit. What a
loser. God, why was she interested in me anyhow? I gotta talk to her.
I
gotta end it, but I can’t play games and I can’t hurt her pointlessly.
Jesus.
But, uh, no one gives a damn about anyone but themselves.
Me either.
God my head hurts.
Dr. Mustard, near the end of his shift, had to stop in to speak
with
Victor. “Mr. Dodge, now we’re going to talk.”
“No, now I am going to continue sleeping.”
“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Dodge. This very minute, you
have
no business being alive with a heart like that.”
“Doctor Mustard, you have no idea how much I agree with you from
the
very bottom of my heart.”
“Tell me what you know.”
“I know my heart hurts most of the time. I know it’s a mess.
That’s
all I feel like talking about right now. Tell ya what, if you leave me
alone, I’ll give you the name of a hospital that studied it a good bit.
But
you have to leave me alone. And I do not ever, ever, want to discuss
this
with you again.” Jacob picked up a small notepad off the nightstand near
his
bed and wrote the name of a hospital down on it. “They should be able to
tell you everything you need to know.”
“Thank you. Mr. Dodge, you need to learn how to talk to people.”
“Thank you. Now fuck off.” Dr. Mustard stiffened slightly, then
started to walk out the room. Victor thought he’d gone a bit overboard
even
for himself.
“Sorry, doc. I’ve spent my life around people who’ve either made
me
feel like shit or fed it to me every chance they could.”
Looking over his left shoulder, Dr. Mustard said, “Hm. Try being
black for, oh, just 36 hours” then walked out the room.
6:15 AM. This is gonna be a looooong day.
Victor heard his door open and saw a figure move slowly and
gracefully through the darkness. A woman. She crossed the room and slid
open the curtains, then faced Victor.
“Good morning, Mr. Dodge. I know it’s early but I saw you were
awake.”
“Can you answer me a question?”
“Yes, Mr. Dodge?”
“Why can’t everyone. . .I’m sorry, anyone. . .leave me the hell
alone? Now, tell me, what do you want me to do for you, hmmm?”
“You’re laying there half dead and want to know what you can do
for
me?” Victor couldn’t make out the expression on her face because the sun
had
started to rise, pouring light through the window. It framed her long
brown
hair but darkened her face. “Mr. Dodge, there’s nothing you can do for
me.
I’m here to do for you. And I’m going to be a very important person in
your
life, Mr. Dodge, so you better get that in your head. Now, you’ve
screwed up
with me right off the bat, but tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going
to
give you another chance. I get off at 2:30 this afternoon. I’ll come
back
shortly after that so that you know I’m here on my own time. Nothing in
it
for me, ok? I’m not even getting paid. Now, you can tell me anything
you
want. Be honest with me. Please, God, it’d be a breath of fresh air.
But
don’t waste one minute of my time with that sarcastic shit or I won’t be
back. Got it, buster?” Victor could barely make out a finger pointed at
him
resembling something like a small foil aimed at his heart.
“Eh, got it. Hey, no wedding ring on your finger?”
“Don’t even try flirting until we’ve had five minutes of civil
conversation. After that, I’ll think about it.”
“Could you shut the curtains?”
“No, I think you could use some sunshine. ‘Till later, Mr.
Dodge.”
The woman with the long brown hair stalked out the room, gracefully as
before. Victor watched her walk down the hallway, noticing her uniform.
. .a
doctor of some kind?. . .thinking there was something about the way she
moved, and here came the sun, the rich warm sunlight washing over his
chest
and arms. . .
--------- End forwarded message ----------
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