She was in her room dressing when Billy came in to tell her how Dorothy was screaming about the earrings.
“Daddy went down and up the stairs twice. She’s still wrapped in a towel. I was in the hall watching.”
“If she asks you anything, you act like you don’t know what they look like. You ask her to describe them.”
“She pulled a drawer out and everything fell on the floor. I heard it.”
“Don’t worry about it. Go play with something.”
“Should I give them back?”
“Of course not. How can you do that without showing her you took them?” Reinforcement, she thought, reinforcement. “What you did was good, because we’re helping her learn a lesson. You didn’t steal them, because you’re going to give them back someday.”
“Daddy’s mad. He’s yelling.”
“That’s OK. He’s not yelling at you; he’s yelling at her. He’s trying to teach her a lesson, too. We all have to teach each other lessons all the time.” She could see her brother considering the ideas.
“She could never find them in my room.”
“Good,” Lois said, making her voice as nonchalant as possible. Diminish the intensity, she thought. She made a mental note to take the earrings out of his room when he wasn’t around so he couldn’t return them on his own. That way she would have an even firmer control over the experiment. She heard her mother on the stairs, calling her. “Don’t say anything,” she said, walking past Billy. “Just listen.”
“Lois!”
“Yes, mother.”
“I can’t find my new earrings. Did you take them?”
“Hardly. Adorning my body with jewelry has never appealed to me.”
“Damn it. I can’t believe this.”
“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for it,” Lois said. Her calm tone of voice infuriated Dorothy more, and she rushed back up the stairs. When Lois turned around, Billy was standing right behind her, his hands in his little pockets. “It’s working,” she whispered. They heard the slamming of doors. Gregory raised his voice again. Then there was silence. “She’s gone into the bathroom to finish her hair. Going out has always been a Broadway opening for Mother,” Lois said dryly. “Come on, I’ll play you a game of checkers while we wait.”
At least fifteen minutes passed; Lois was quite sure of that. She was on her fourth game of checkers with Billy when the scream began. This time it was a long, shrill sound that evolved into a series of hysterical pleadings: “Greg, Greg, Greg …”
They both stood up and went to the living-room door. By then Dorothy was shouting for Lois. She moved quickly up the stairs, with Billy stumbling behind her. Dorothy, in a slip and bra, her hair blow-dried and wavy, stood outside her bedroom door, her arms up, her hands opening and closing as she clutched the air.
“He’s out … your father’s passed out. …” She closed her eyes and shivered with each word. Lois thought she was about to foam at the mouth. She turned away from her in disgust and looked into the bedroom. Her father was sprawled out on the floor by the side of the bed. He was on his back, but leaning toward his right, his right arm caught under his body, the right hand sticking out just below his waist. His left arm dangled behind him, the fingers of his left hand just touching the floor. His face was pressed against the carpet, his eyes shut.
She knelt down beside him and took his right arm into her hands, feeling for his pulse. Billy stood in the doorway, holding on to the frame and gaping, wide-eyed. Dorothy had pressed her right fist into her mouth. She bit down on her knuckles. Lois handled her father with a confidence characteristic of clinically experienced personnel. The pulse she finally found was weak and indistinct.
“What’s wrong with him?” Billy asked. He looked up at his mother, but that frightened him more. He decided to step farther into the room and be closer to Lois.
“I’d say it’s another stroke. Call for an ambulance,” Lois ordered without turning from her father. Dorothy didn’t move. She seemed to be gagging on her own hand. “Mother, get hold of yourself! Call an ambulance! Call the police! Do something!”
“Oh, God,” Dorothy moaned. “Oh, God, oh, God.” She moved to the phone, but when she lifted the receiver, she dropped it to the table. She fumbled with the dial. Finally, Lois got up and took the phone from her.
After the phone call, Lois put a pillow under her father’s head, loosened his shirt buttons, and went for a cold washrag. She told Billy to wait downstairs and holler as soon as the ambulance arrived. Dorothy sat on the bed by Gregory and sobbed.
“That’s going to really help him,” Lois said. “At least get dressed. We’re going to have to go to the hospital behind the ambulance.”
“Oh, God, yes.” She got up and groped in the closet for her pants suit. As she dressed she tried to avoid looking down at Gregory. Her chatter took on the rhythms of a chant. It was as though she were using idle talk as a prayer. “I didn’t hear him fall. He didn’t shout or say a word. There wasn’t a warning, no warning. Of course, with the hair drier … you can’t even hear the phone ringing … . I have no idea how long he was lying there. I didn’t hear him fall. If he would have banged on the door …”
“From the looks of things, I don’t think he had a lot of time to think about what he would do.”
Dorothy hopped about the bedroom to get her shoes on. When she was dressed, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “I told him he was working too hard, I told him.”
“They’re here!” Billy shouted from the bottom of the stairs. “They’re here, Lois!”
Dorothy stayed out in the hall as Lois went downstairs to let the attendants in. Sandburg had a volunteer ambulance squad of ordinary citizens who had taken the necessary first-aid courses. They were well organized and dedicated, keeping their duty roster with a military efficiency. Patty Morganstein, the hamlet’s policeman, accompanied Bert Herman and Charlie Davinport up the stairs. They moved quickly, all business.
“Now, take it easy, Dorothy,” Patty said, moving right to her. “We’ve contacted Dr. Bloom. He’ll meet us at the hospital.” The moment Patty spoke to her, she burst into tears. When they carried Gregory out of the room, she wailed louder. “Are you going to be able to drive?” he asked her.
“She’ll drive,” Lois said. He looked at her for the first time since he had arrived with the squad.
“Well, someone should go along with her.” Patty started down the stairs after the attendants and stretcher.
“Get yourself together,” Lois said in a loud whisper, her teeth clenched. Dorothy stopped sniveling and went for her coat. Lois got Billy, and the three of them were in the car and going only a minute after the ambulance. They sat in silence, following the sound of the siren, hypnotized by its rhythmic screech in the otherwise quiet country night.
At the hospital, the attendants worked quickly to get Gregory rolled into the emergency room. Dorothy and Lois caught a brief glimpse of Dr. Bloom heading in after it. One of the emergency-room personnel showed them to the waiting lounge. Dorothy sat stone-eyed, her body rigid. She’s going into a form of shock, Lois thought, as a mental defense mechanism. Billy thumbed through a stack of magazines, looking around periodically with the eyes of a frightened deer. He was intrigued and curious about everything going on around him. He wanted to ask questions but sensed that it was wiser to remain unobtrusive.
It was nearly an hour before the doctor joined them. Dorothy looked up expectantly, her cheeks quivering. Bloom pulled a chair closer to her and sat down.
“It’s what we feared the most,” he began. Lois appreciated his directness, but Dorothy’s body began to tremble, her face quickly collapsing into the Greek mask of sadness. “I don’t know the full extent of damage, but it’s severe. He’s regained consciousness.” Bloom paused, his gaze automatically moving from Dorothy to Lois, who looked attentive and calm. He sensed her strength and stoic demeanor. “At this time the entire right side of his body is incapacitated. I can only find a
small motor capability on the left: a little finger movement, almost imperceptible movement in the left leg and foot.”
“Oh, God,” Dorothy said.
“Unfortunately, that’s not all. He’s … he’s lost speech and can only utter a monotone guttural sound.”
Dorothy broke down completely, sobbing uncontrollably, her face in her hands. Dr. Bloom looked to Lois. Seeing she was not moving to offer her mother any comfort, he got up and slid next to Dorothy on the couch. He embraced her and she leaned into him.
“What’s the prognosis?” Lois asked. Bloom, surprised at the cool, calm tone, merely stared at her a moment. Then he shook his head.
“We’ll see,” he said, but Lois didn’t need any more information. She nodded knowingly. Too knowingly for the doctor, who was annoyed by the arrogant ease with which this girl could accept the sentence her father’s body had passed on him.
“There’s no point in our staying here any longer, Mother,” she said. “We’ve got to get ourselves together and go home.”
Dorothy wiped her face quickly.
“I want to see him,” she said.
“He’s still in the emergency room.”
Dorothy stood up with the doctor. Lois got up reluctantly. Billy slowly joined them and they all proceeded to the room. The nurse who had set up an IV stepped back as they approached. Gregory Wilson, his eyes closed, lay there looking almost as white as the sheet.
“Greg,” Dr. Bloom began, “it’s your wife and children. Greg. C’mon, Greg.”
From the amount of effort it seemed to take, it appeared as though moving his eyelids were a nearly insurmountable task. He did not move his head. Dorothy leaned over the bed. He began to blink rapidly.
“Oh, Greg, Greg. Please, get better, please.” She pressed her face against his.
Billy tugged on Lois’s jacket.
“Why can’t Daddy talk? Huh, Lois? Why can’t he?”
“Just be quiet.”
Dr. Bloom knelt down beside him.
“Talking is a motor skill controlled in your brain. That part of your father’s brain has been shut down.”
“When will it start again?”
“We’re not sure, Billy. In the meantime you’ve got to help your mother out, OK?” Billy looked to Lois for confirmation. She smirked and turned away. “I don’t like being in here,” he said.
Bloom stood up. “Why don’t you take him out and I’ll finish talking to your mother.”
Lois took Billy’s hand and started out of the room. The doctor caught up with her at the door and spoke in a loud whisper.
“You might just be the strong one now, Lois. Your mother’s going to need all the help she can get.”
“She always has,” Lois said.
“I don’t expect this will be easy on any of you,” he said in a much harsher tone of voice.
“We’ll adjust. It’s a matter of adapting ourselves to new conditions. That’s what living is all about,” she added, her voice drifting. For a moment she looked melancholy and philosophical to the doctor. This is probably the closest she can come to showing emotion in front of others, he thought and nodded. He turned back to Dorothy.
Dorothy didn’t speak until they drove out of the hospital parking lot.
“What are we going to do now? We’re lost, lost.”
“Don’t be silly, Mother.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. Well, you tell me what I’m supposed to do with two children, a house, and a drugstore without a pharmacist. And here it is only seven weeks to July fourth and the season.” Dorothy stopped sniffling, her voice growing harder as she outlined her difficulties. She nodded to assure herself that she was right in her view of the world as it now stood.
“Number one,” Lois said, sitting up stiffly, “you’ll advertise to sell the store. It’s the best possible time for it, since the season isn’t that far off. Number two, you’ll activate Daddy’s disability insurance policy immediately. You can also apply for social security disability. Number three, you’ll check into that mortgage insurance policy Daddy bought when he took the mortgage with the United National. I believe there was a rider for disability. The house could be paid for.”
Dorothy slowed down and turned in amazement.
“How do you remember all this?”
“I pay attention when people talk. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the store and make an inventory of things we can use, things we should take home.”
“But maybe we should hold the store until your father … in case your father …”
“We couldn’t maintain the overhead without any income coming in. There’s no sense living in delusion anyway.”
“But in time …” Dorothy smiled, tilting her head, drawing up a fantasy for herself.
Lois signed. “So he can work for someone else. He’d rather do that anyway,” she said.
“Yes,” Dorothy said. “Yes. That’s very sensible, Lois. Very sensible.” She looked at her daughter and nodded. “I can see I’m … we’re going to be very dependent upon you, Lois. You’ve got the mind for times of crisis.”
“It’s merely a matter of reacting intelligently to the changes in one’s environment, adapting and adjusting. It’s characteristic of any species that’s survived. There are some insects and underwater creatures that have lived hundreds of thousands of years.”
“Insects?” Dorothy began to sniffle again. “Insects and creatures?” She released a short laugh. “You think of that now? Your father is paralyzed, possibly for the rest of his life, and you compare us to insects?” Her laugh turned into a sob. “Help me, O God.”
“Don’t you know that God helps those who help themselves, Mother?” Lois looked back at her brother, who was sprawled over the back seat. His eyes were closed and he was clutching his own body as though to protect himself. “What God has done, if there is indeed a God, is given us the ability to be like him, to be godlike.”
Dorothy didn’t seem to hear her. She had withdrawn to deeper thoughts.
“I knew,” she said a few minutes later, “that when I couldn’t find those earrings something terrible was going to happen. It was a bad omen.”
Lois didn’t respond: she didn’t smile or change expression; she looked out at the night, watching the hood of the car wash through the glow of streetlights as they moved into Sandburg. Life really was a series of mazes, she thought, and just when you feel you’ve got it figured, God, her mother’s concept of some powerful force, changed things. This whole thing, creation, was one big experiment. She saw it as a challenge. So, rather than feeling any great sorrow after having deposited her father in the emergency room of a hospital and learning that the world as they had known it had crumbled, she felt a new excitement. She was to face a new test, and she was eager, she was actually eager.
“What got you so interested in the psychological effects of color?” McShane asked. He was having what could be his next-to-last private conference with Lois Wilson. She had presented him with yet another paper, this one just as well researched and well written as the others.
“Something that was done up at the hospital.”
“The hospital?”
“You remember I told you they had my father up on that floor with the terminally ill and the senile who are waiting for placement in the county infirmary?”
“Yes.”
“Well, obviously such a section is inherently depressing for most people, especially the patients who can think about it. The old antiseptic white would reinforce a view of the hospital as a place of sterility and death. What they did, however, was paper the rooms with bright, lively colors. The windows have attractive curtains instead of shades. Some of the rooms have fairly nice pieces of furniture in them. It all helps maintain an illusion and makes it less depressing for visitors.”
“Well, there’s a lot of validity to color therapy and influence. We all have our favorite colors and colors we dislike.”
“My mother hates anything green. Fortunately for her, my father wasn’t
put in the room just down the hall from him. It’s a bright lime.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s made absolutely no progress,” she said and then looked up quickly. “But I’m not disappointed, because I’m not expecting him to. Of course, it’s different for my mother. She insists on seeing progress.”
McShane was taken by her extraordinary detachment. He nearly smiled, thinking about Sherry and the way she kidded him during their lovemaking for being a detached scientist. Of course, she did it just to get him more riled up and he played along, but if she witnessed this …
“Can’t blame your mother.”
“It’s unrealistic. I finally got her to advertise the sale of the store. We’ve placed it with a real-estate agent.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We’ll manage. Adversity often makes an animal stronger, more determined.” She leaned toward him, her eyes small and penetrating. “When I was a little girl, I was amazed by the energy of a laboring ant dragging a dead fly or something across the sidewalk. I’d let it get more than halfway and then lift it gently and put it back where it started. It never gave up. It worked harder, faster.”
“But, with little intelligence, it didn’t ponder its plight; it couldn’t get depressed and discouraged. It worked on instinct. You can’t compare man to—”
“Who really has the advantage, then?” She smiled, but he felt it was a very mechanical smile.
“It depends. If you’re only goal-oriented, then the ant.”
“Precisely. It has no sentiment; it has no emotion. Success will satisfy some instinctive need.”
“Urn. But without sentiment and emotion, you can’t have art and beauty; and without art and beauty, you have a very mechanical world. Is that what you want?”
“To paraphrase you, I don’t think we have a choice. We think we do.”
Brain Child Page 14