Click Here to Start

by Denis Markell

  I note with satisfaction that the monitors for all the rooms have gone blank.

  I put my ear up to the door and listen.

  “This has to be fixed now. It cannot wait until morning.” Pearl is lecturing Gabriel, who is fiddling with the knobs on one of the monitors.

  “I dunno, Pearl. I been telling them ever since they put in this system that these monitors were putting too great a load on the circuits.”

  “It hasn’t been a problem for months. Isn’t there just some…switch that has to be reset or something? I need these monitors.”

  Gabriel looks down at the desk and indicates all the alarm buttons. “You got all that, right? I mean, if anything goes wrong, you’ll know it.”

  Pearl isn’t having it. “This is not just about their vitals. I need to see what’s going on in those rooms.”

  Gabriel holds up his hands. “Okay, got it.”

  I duck down as the doors open.

  Gabriel strides right past me and heads toward the closet where the breakers are.

  I hear him muttering, “Before those monitors were put in, you’d just go from room to room instead of sittin’ there on your lazy—”

  “What was that?” Pearl calls after him, her voice rising. “When did you come in? I’ve been here since nine this morning! You watch yourself about who’s calling who lazy!”

  “Simmer down!” Gabriel yells back, smiling to himself. Clearly he enjoys getting a rise out of Pearl.

  There’s a pause, and I hear a low whistle and “I’ll be—”

  Gabriel’s head sticks out of the closet. “You should come and see this.”

  Pearl’s lips are squeezed tight. “You know I can’t leave my station.”

  “The breaker looks like it burned up. Never seen anything like it. I told them it wouldn’t hold that load.”

  “So what do we do now?” Pearl is sounding more and more annoyed.

  “I got replacements downstairs in the supply closet. I gotta take the whole thing off and put a new one in. That’s a job.”

  Pearl smiles. And it isn’t pretty. “Then you’d better get started. I want these monitors back, and I want them back tonight.”

  Grumbling, Gabriel heads off to the elevators.

  As soon as he’s out of sight, I let out my breath and walk slowly back to where Gabriel left the cart he was pushing when the monitors went down.

  Another reason this had to be done at night, I realize. During the night there’s only one nurse at this station. If there were two, one would go from room to room checking the patients while Gabriel made the repairs. With one, Pearl couldn’t risk being away from the desk, where she could monitor the machines for all her patients. With the video off, all she has are the ones monitoring their vital signs, which will show her if something’s wrong.

  I take Gabriel’s cart and push it slowly in front of me and make a U-turn. There’s a back entrance to the hallway with the rooms. I turn the corner and come to the double doors marked NO ENTRY—VISITORS MUST SIGN IN AT DESK and push.

  The hallway is empty. There are never any visitors at this time of night.

  Steadying myself, I walk slowly, counting the numbers…1411…1409…

  I know that with the repair I probably have about fifteen minutes, max, to check out the room. Unless Mrs. Krausz is awake.

  I have to trust she won’t ring the call bell, summon Pearl, and end the game once and for all.

  I reach room 1405. I knock quietly. No answer. Slowly, I open the door, and—

  “Time for my medicine already?”

  A chunky woman is sitting up in the bed, reading. Love’s Savage Kiss, of all things.

  She looks at me with saucerlike eyes above a bulbous nose and wide mouth permanently set in a resigned smile.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Krausz, I didn’t know you were awake.”

  “Please. I can’t sleep in these places. Do I know you? I don’t remember seeing you before, darling.” Mrs. Krausz speaks with the rich, round tones I associate with my father’s relatives back east in Brooklyn.

  “I’m…new…,” I say, glad for once that my voice hasn’t changed yet. “How are you feeling?” I ask, trying to sound as nurselike as I can.

  “You’re not a nurse, are you, dear?” asks Mrs. Krausz, smiling again.

  “No, I’m…an orderly…”

  Mrs. Krausz laughs. “You look a little young, darling. What’s the real story?”

  I decide that honesty is the best policy.

  I’m about to remove my mask and then hesitate. “Would it be all right for me to take this off? I know you’re afraid of germs, and—”

  Mrs. Krausz puts her hands to her forehead and laughs again. “Is that what they told you?”

  “Yes, that you wouldn’t see visitors because of your fear of germs. Not even your immediate family was allowed in.”

  Another burst of laughter. “That’s hilarious. That must have been my son Nathan, telling the nurse something to make himself feel better. The truth is, I can’t stand all those sad faces. Who needs them? I’d rather be alone. Make yourself comfortable, darling.”

  I take off the mask and the cap.

  Mrs. Krausz stares at me. “So how old are you, sweetheart, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I’m twelve,” I confess. Normally, having a complete stranger call me “sweetheart” and “darling” would be weird, but somehow when old Jewish ladies do it, it seems perfectly natural. I begin to scan the room, looking for anything black and rectangular.

  Mrs. Krausz looks at me with worried eyes. “At this hour, he’s at the hospital?”

  Funny, she reminds me of some of the old Jewish ladies on my dad’s side of the family: they also talk about you in the third person even though you’re standing right there. And they talk like Yoda, too.

  I tell you, I get this every Thanksgiving.

  “And you have a name?”

  “Um…Ted. My mom’s a nurse here at the hospital.”

  “So, Ted, you’re looking for your mother? Are you lost?”

  I glance at the empty bed next to Mrs. Krausz. Clearly no one has been here since my great-uncle was moved.

  “Actually, I was trying to find something my great-uncle might have left here. Ted Wakabayashi?”

  Mrs. Krausz made a face. “The Japanese gentleman? I’m sorry to say, I know he was your uncle, he should rest in peace, but he wasn’t a very friendly man.”

  “It’s all right. I didn’t know him very well.”

  I reach confidently under his old bed, where the railings are.

  No magnetic box. I feel all the way around. Nothing.

  As Mrs. Krausz goes on and on about her family, which ones she likes and which ones should drop dead, I search the windowsills, the drapes, the closet, the bathroom. It doesn’t seem to faze her in the slightest that she’s having a conversation with a strange twelve-year-old close to midnight while he does a top-to-bottom search of her room.

  “You find what you’re looking for, sweetheart?”

  “No,” I say glumly, and sit on the bed near her.

  Mrs. Krausz pats my hand. “That’s too bad.”

  She peers at my name tag. “Oh, your father’s not—”

  “No, I’m half.”

  “So the other half, if I may ask?”

  “My dad’s Jewish,” I admit. Uh-oh. I know what’s coming.

  Her face lights up like a Christmas tree, or more accurately, like a menorah.

  “I knew it! Did your mother convert?”

  “No…we’re not really—”

  “You should come to services at our temple. We have so many Asian Jewish families.”

  I smile weakly. “I’ll let my parents know.”

  “Temple Beth Shalom in Tarzana.”

  I get up to go. It won’t be long before the monitors are back on. “It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Krausz. I hope you’re feeling better soon.”

  Just as I’m about to open the door, Mrs. Krausz calls after me.


  “Listen, before you go…maybe you can get this to work. When your uncle was here, he always insisted on choosing the channels. Then he left, and nobody seems to be able to get this to work right. Could you look at it?”

  She is holding up a remote control. A rectangular black remote control.

  I take the remote from Mrs. Krausz’s proffering hand.

  I try to sound casual, but I can hear the shake of excitement in my voice.

  “M-maybe the batteries need replacing.”

  Mrs. Krausz makes a face. “That’s funny. I remember your uncle changing them when he got here. He said he always did that. So thoughtful, he was.”

  So he opened the back.

  It’s in here.

  I notice my hands shaking as I fumble for the latch that holds the battery compartment.

  Slowly, I open it and peer inside.

  Nothing.

  No key.

  I pry the batteries out. He must have put it behind them.

  The only thing there is a small folded piece of paper. I take it and stuff it into my pocket. I reassemble the remote and throw it down on the bed in frustration.

  No key.

  Has someone else gotten here first and taken it?

  Mrs. Krausz peers over with a worried look. “Don’t be so concerned, darling. It’s only a remote. If you can’t fix it, you can’t fix it. They’re bringing me a new one in the morning anyway.”

  A whirring noise from down the corridor snaps me out of my daze. That would be Gabriel, putting in the new breaker with his electric screwdriver.

  The monitors will be up and running in less than a minute.

  “I’m afraid I have to go now, Mrs. Krausz. My mother…It was very nice meeting you.”

  On impulse, I pick up the remote.

  “You wouldn’t mind my taking this with me, would you? As kind of a keepsake of my great-uncle.”

  She laughs. “Of course not, darling. Take it and be well. As I said, for me, it never works.” Mrs. Yoda grabs my face and kisses me roughly on the cheek. Definitely like one of Dad’s aunts back in Brooklyn.

  “Go safely, sweetheart. And promise you’ll come visit again!”

  “I’ll try,” I say. “As soon as I can.”

  “Such a nice boy,” Mrs. Krausz murmurs as I leave.

  I slip out the door and see the shadowy figure of Gabriel kneeling down by the closet, putting his tools away.

  “How’s it look now?” he yells to Pearl at the desk.

  “They’re back!” she crows. Even from where I am, I can see through the double doors the glow of the room monitors lighting up Pearl’s angular face.

  Not a moment too soon.

  I turn and see that I am directly by the staircase leading down to the ER. At least the game hasn’t failed me in this.

  I snap on the surgical mask and cap and sprint the thirteen flights down the now-silent stairs. I push open the door and stride purposefully through the emergency room.

  As I walk by the aides and doctors, no one gives me a second glance. Those who look up just see another small Asian nurse in scrubs. Nothing new in this hospital.

  And I’m out!

  Panting with relief, I peel off the scrubs and stow them and the ID in my backpack.

  I strap on my helmet and head out the driveway. The tires wobble as I fight to get control of my bike and my emotions. I steady myself, hit a downward slope, and begin to coast as the cool, breezy California night clears my mind.

  I pull into the driveway and park my bike in the garage, leaning against the back door. Once more, I check my watch. Twelve-thirty. No chance my parents will be up.

  I carefully open the door and push through the small entry leading to the kitchen. It’s still and dark. Not a sound can be heard through the house. The adrenaline that has been carrying me through the last hour drains out with each step up the stairs. I lie down on my bed, too tired to do anything but sleep.

  All of a sudden, I sit straight up and take the folded paper out of my pocket. I turn on my desk light. Carefully, I unfold it and see only this, neatly printed out:

  Japanese? It looks like something I’ve seen before, but fatigue catches up with me, and before I know it, my eyes close and my head drops.

  “Ted!” someone is yelling from downstairs.

  I groggily sit up and focus. I stumble downstairs and join Mom, who’s standing with a tall, narrow-faced man with short gray hair.

  “Ted, there’s someone here to see us. Mr.—”

  “Clark Kent, with the Honolulu Star-Advertiser.” He hands me his card.

  “I thought you worked for the Daily Planet,” I crack.

  Mr. Kent smiles a thin smile. “I get that a lot.”

  Mom sits down on the couch and folds her arms. “I’m afraid you can’t stay too long. I have to go grocery shopping before I go to the hospital.”

  “That’s all right!” Mr. Kent says. “This shouldn’t take long. May I?” He indicates a chair at the dining room table and sits down. As he takes out a pad and pencil, I study Clark Kent for a moment.

  He has deep-set eyes, and graying eyebrows that slope down as well, making him look weary and older than he probably is. His narrow features and neat haircut remind me of an anchorman from one of those cable news network shows my dad watches.

  “Do you want to talk to Mom first? She knew Great-Uncle Ted the best. This is about him, isn’t it?” I say.

  Mr. Kent turns to Mom and smiles.

  “This article isn’t just about your uncle. I’m trying to get as much information as I can about all the brave men who fought so valiantly in the Nisei brigade.”

  Mr. Kent looks back at me and taps his pad with his pencil. “What I am most interested in—um…what our readers would be most interested in, I should say—are your uncle’s…er, your great-uncle’s last words.”

  “I only really talked to him once, and that was a day before he died.”

  A worried look comes over his face. “Oh, I see…so you don’t know?”

  “Don’t know what?” I ask.

  Mr. Kent coughs and reads from his notebook. “Shortly after seeing you, he fell into a coma from which he never awoke.” Mr. Kent looks up and regards me with an easy smile. “Which means, I guess, that you would have heard his last words.”

  I stand up. “I really don’t feel like talking about this.”

  My mom comes over and puts her arm around me. “That’s fine, Ted. I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Kent, but I do have to get going anyway, so—”

  “I’m really sorry. I’m not used to talking to young people. Please accept my apologies.”

  Now I don’t know what to think. He seems like a nice enough guy.

  I feel myself softening. “All I can tell you about my great-uncle is that he didn’t really say anything. He couldn’t speak, so he wrote everything down on a pad of paper.”

  Mr. Kent starts writing furiously. He tries to sound casual. “And this pad of paper—do you still have it, by any chance?”

  I don’t think Mr. Kent needs to know what’s on that pad.

  “Uh, no…I’m not sure where it is…,” I say quickly.

  Mr. Kent looks up with surprise. “Are you saying you lost it?”

  My mom steps in. “He didn’t think it was all that important. He’s twelve, Mr. Kent. I think he’s been through enough, don’t you?”

  “I mean, I didn’t know he was going to die, you know?” I can hear the edge creeping into my voice.

  “I see,” says Mr. Kent, fumbling to gather his things. He stuffs the notebook and pencil into his bag, gets to his feet, and smiles at me. “Of course. But if you do happen to remember his last words, or whatever he wrote on that pad, it might be a great way to end my article. If you could call me, I’d really appreciate it. My number’s on that card.”

  I nod. Mr. Kent heads for the door. My mom goes to let him out.

  At the doorway, Mr. Kent turns. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Gerson. I’m so sorry I up
set you, Ted. I’m trying to honor these men, and your great-uncle was one of them. That’s all I want.”

  “Who do you think he really is?”

  Caleb is in our living room, looking at the card. I called him as soon as Mr. Kent left, and he biked right over.

  After Caleb was a wuss and wouldn’t call Isabel (even though I called her last time), I got her on the phone and she had her dad drive her over.

  “I called the Honolulu Star-Advertiser, and of course they’ve never heard of anyone named Clark Kent,” Isabel says importantly.

  “You called the newspaper? That’s pretty— Wow.” I cannot imagine doing that in a million years.

  Caleb snorts. “I could have told you that. I knew he was a phony from the beginning.”

  “Then why didn’t you say so?” Isabel responds, sitting on the couch. She folds her arms and glares at Caleb.

  I decide now is the time to give them the news. “Guys, there’s more. You aren’t gonna believe this. I got into room 1405.”

  “Whaaat?” Caleb’s eyes widen and, in spite of himself, he sits down on the couch next to Isabel.

  “But you said that was impossible!” Isabel exclaims.

  “Well, maybe not impossible,” I reply, trying not to sound too smug.

  “Details, details!” Caleb demands.

  “I just started thinking of how I would manage this if it were a computer game, you know?” I begin.

  I tell them everything, from “borrowing” my mom’s stuff all the way until I came back home.

  “So all I ended up with was this note,” I finish, showing them the small folded piece of paper in my hand.

  “You’re amazing!” marvels Caleb.

  Isabel is gazing at me with a dazed expression. I can’t believe how impressed she looks.

  “You really did this,” Isabel says. “That’s…that’s…”

  Oh, what a feeling. When Miss Know-It-All is so awestruck she’s at a loss for words.

  “That’s the stupidest, most irresponsible thing I’ve ever heard!”

  I have to admit I wasn’t expecting this.

  “But—” I try.

  “But nothing. What if you’d been caught? Impersonating your mother, stealing her ID, damaging hospital property? Not only could you have gotten arrested, but your mother could have been fired as well!” Isabel is pacing now, shaking her head.