Requiem for the Bone Man

by R. A. Comunale

  When Dave and I weren’t there, usually two of the others would cover, keeping our free clinic running, and we really did some good. Kids were no longer being carried into the medical school clinic dying from preventable stuff. Moreover, we got to know our neighbors. We were the only white people living there, and from what I’ve told you before, you can understand that we were watched from a distance.

  One evening, the neighbor living in the apartment next door came to the door with her little boy who, it turned out, had a simple viral cold. We gave her some of the cold prep stuff we had and she started to talk. Turns out she is a lady of the night, if you catch my drift, who runs her business out of her apartment. She wanted to know if we could treat haircuts. Dr. B., “haircut” is slang here for syphilis. We had some injectable penicillin, and that took care of her little problem.

  The next night the neighbor from the other side of us came over with his wife, who was complaining of chest pain. We don’t have an electrocardiogram machine—that’s only for rich docs already in practice—but from what we could tell, her condition fit more with an inflammation of the cartilage in her breastbone called costochondritis, which is handled easily with aspirin. That seemed to make both of them happy.

  Her husband told me that he had been to Korea, like you. He said that at one point they thought he was dead, missing in action, and shipped his trunk and kit home. Then they found him alive! The funny part was, in his trunk was a fully equipped machine gun with lots of ammo. When he gets drunk or it’s a holiday, he goes out and shoots it off. Scared the hell out of us the first time it happened.

  So, you ask, what’s all this leading up to?

  Since you asked, I’ll tell you. Our particular housing area became friendly with us. But like in other parts of the country, some residents living a little farther away didn’t take to our being in “their neighborhood.” Luckily, it was just Dave and me, or rather I, who were there that night when the crowd came to get us and string us up.

  They would have done it, too, except our lady of the night neighbor stepped outside and started calling out men’s names, telling them to leave or they wouldn’t get any more poontang. I’ll let you guess what that means.

  Then our other neighbor walked out with his machine gun, fired off a burst, and that was it. The crowd lit out, we haven’t been bothered since, and we’re now getting kids from those other areas.

  It’s hard to believe how close I am to graduating. There won’t be anyone there to see me except Dave’s parents, but that’s all right. They’ve become surrogate family for me. So wish me luck with the ring.

  More later,

  Bob Galen

  “Ruby, who’s covering tonight?”

  The round-faced African-American woman who worked as unit secretary on the fifth floor, general medical wing, looked up and grinned at the gray-haired floor nurse.

  “We got us a six-pack of the good stuff tonight, Gina. Five West is The Teacher, The Model, and The Southern Belle. Five east is Baby Face, Scarecrow, and The Bear.” She started to giggle. “Good thing they’re workin’ on separate wings. Lawd only knows what those six would be up to if they were all on one side!”

  Gina started to laugh, too. “I’ll bet that ol’ farm boy knows how to handle the chickens! And if he doesn’t, I’ll bet The Teacher learns him real fast!”

  Both ladies started to cackle. Ruby, in between the laughs, added, “And Southern Belle has got Baby Face all diapered up. Wonder if he’s bottle-fed or…”

  The older nurse cut her off by clucking disapproval then changed the subject. “Somebody needs to take The Bear aside and give him some advice on how to deal with the ladies. He works all the time when he should be spending more time with The Model. I got a feeling about those two.”

  June, will you marry me?

  He had worked night shifts as a clerk in the detox unit to earn the ring money. Night after night, 11 p.m. to 7 a.m., and then on to his own senior clerk rotation at the hospital. It had taken over seven months, and he hadn’t told her why he was working so hard.

  In his mind he had outlined the way he wanted it to go: Graduation, the wedding, and then both would head to their residency programs in New Jersey. He had been accepted both in Virginia and there, but June wanted that OB-GYN spot up north. And her friend Peggy was headed there, too.

  Unless he had missed his guess, he expected Bill would propose to Peggy soon. And Dave, that old beanpole, had latched on to Connie like an octopus! Maybe it could be a three-way wedding, each of them acting as best man and groom at the same time!

  He actually felt happy. That didn’t happen too often for him. He would pick June up at her place. That’s when he’d propose. If it went as planned, he would head back with her to his and Dave’s apartment.

  He still had the bookcase he had rescued from a dumpster in the back seat of his beat-up old car. The car was a gift to himself from the remainder of the money he had earned—he would need it for his residency. The bookcase would be a good surprise for Bill, who had stacks of books piled up on the floor of his own place. The three guys would meet their dates on Church Hill. Peggy and Connie were going to meet them for burgers and fries. He would be alone with June, and who knew what the free afternoon would bring?

  He headed down Franklin Street toward the Fan District. The old Civil War-era houses stood like aged doyennes, quietly watching each new generation come and go in Richmond. As he parked in front of her apartment house, he touched the ring box in his pocket one more time, just to reassure himself. It was a talisman for his new life to be.

  “June, will you marry me?”

  He knew immediately what her answer was—he didn’t need to hear it spoken. His crooked smile poorly masked his feelings. He tried to make a joke to let her know that he understood.

  “Hey, City Boy. Is June in the car?”

  Bill saw it first. “Bob, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, fine. Tell you what, guys, why don’t you check the back seat of my car. There’s a surprise there for you, Bill. I’ve had a long week. I think maybe I should just catch up on some rest today.”

  Dave looked at Bill, nodded, then the two headed outside.

  Galen headed upstairs to his bedroom and closed the door.

  “She turned him down, Dave. I knew he was building up to proposing. You know how close Peggy and June are. Peggy told me June didn’t know how to tell him when it happened. If I had only known I might have buffered it. I didn’t realize it would be today.”

  “That’s why he was busting his ass with the extra work. I’ll bet he even bought a ring. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe he’ll latch on to someone later. But it sure sucks now. Come on, Bill, let’s call the girls and put this off for today.”

  Bill nodded agreement, but deep down he knew it would be years before Galen would share his soul with another woman.

  The sounds of Elgar’s “Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1” echoed through the auditorium as the graduating class of the School of Medicine walked double file to the front and split into right and left lines as they found their seats. They remained standing until the completion of the music, then sat down and waited.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, honored professors, members of the School of Medicine, Class of 1965, we welcome you to this most joyful ceremony. Let me state that, according to your program, we will begin announcing the names of this year’s Doctors of Medicine. Each in turn will come up to the stage to receive his or her diploma. Then, when all are seated again, these doctors of the future will recite the Oath of Hippocrates, that pledge of service taken by new doctors for centuries.

  “There are now two versions, the ancient and the modern. As many of you may know, the ancient version evokes the names of the Greek pantheon of gods who represented health and well-being.

  “Today, however, we are honored to present to you the modern version, just written by Dr. Louis Lasagna, Dean of Tufts University Medical School. We are honored to be among the first institutions to atte
mpt to bring modern-day relevance to this sacred oath. For the purists in the audience, though, I will take the liberty of reciting the first part of the ancient version before the actual recitation.

  “We will now begin the awarding of the degree of Doctor of Medicine. Dr. John Adams …”

  He heard the names being called off alphabetically. As each name was announced and family and friends in the audience applauded, whistled, and yelled out, Galen knew his name would be met with silence.

  “Dr. William Crowley.”

  He clapped loudly, knowing that Bill only had his mother there.

  “Dr. Robert Galen.”

  Nothing, but then he heard clapping, faint at first, then increasing.

  Must be Dave’s folks. Thanks for that!

  He crossed the stage and accepted his diploma from the dean. He shook the man’s hand, then the chancellor of the university’s, and walked offstage to his seat.

  After the full roster had been called, the dean again approached the microphone stand.

  “I will now read to you the first part of the ancient Oath of Hippocrates. It is truly a work of poetry: ‘I swear by Apollo physician …’”

  He listened as the dean named the ancient gods.

  Are they still around watching us from Mount Olympus?

  The dean stopped and looked out at his audience.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I now ask the Class of 1965 to stand and recite after me the modern-day version of this historic oath.”

  The entire class stood, recited their oath in unison with the dean, then let out a cheer and as tradition dictated moved the green tassels on their mortar-board caps from right to left. It was now official. They had made it. The lights brightened in the large auditorium as the new doctors and their families moved out.

  Galen stayed where he was. His friends would best be left with their families for the moment. He turned to put his diploma on one of the folding seats and it fell forward onto the floor.

  “Dr. Galen, I believe you dropped this.”

  He turned around to see a man bent over picking up his diploma. When he straightened up, he recognized his old professor.

  “Dr. Basily! What are you doing here?”

  Before the man could answer, he heard another voice.

  “Young Dr. Galen, it would be more correct to ask what we are doing here.”

  He turned again to see a second familiar face.

  “Dr. Freiling!”

  “We couldn’t let you go through this alone, Bob. And this prune-faced old weasel told me what you did for his granddaughter. By the way, do you notice anything different?”

  “Your range of motion is normal, Dr. Basily. You’ve had the surgery.”

  “Score one for the medical profession,” Freiling replied. “And I think now is the time when you should be calling us Harry and Jack, Dr. Galen. You are now one of us, with all the curses and disadvantages accrued.”

  “Yeah, prune face gave me a C back in 1946 when I deserved at least a B in his class, so take what you can get from him, Bob.”

  Freiling shot Basily a mocking glare, then said dryly, “You got exactly what you deserved and earned. In any event, Dr. Galen, our families are here, including a young girl who wants to thank you for being able to breathe. And we’d like to take you out for dinner, assuming that you understand our teaching salaries are still minuscule compared to what you are going to earn someday.”

  Basily laughed. “What cheapskate is saying is, don’t order anything expensive.”

  “By the way, Bob, where is that young lady you were telling me about?”

  The two older men saw the response in his eyes and said no more.

  CHAPTER 8

  Pavane

  He was covered with her blood.

  He sat in the middle of their living room crying.

  He couldn’t stop.

  Ten minutes ago she got up from the table.

  She said she had a surprise for him but had left it in the car.

  He followed her to the door, but she told him to wait, it wouldn’t take long.

  He watched her cross the street and open the driver’s side door.

  The car came careening down the street, weaving from side to side.

  He saw the impact before the sound hit his ears.

  The car door screamed as it was torn off its hinges.

  She made no sound.

  He knew before he reached her.

  He held her.

  He heard her last words: I love you, Tony.

  The stuffed toy dog lay in the road.

  The little card tied around its neck lay open.

  The words written on it would pierce his heart forever.

  Tony, guess who’s going to be a daddy?

  He couldn’t stop ruminating, twisting and turning his soul with memories. He was an attending physician, one of the big boys now. He had completed his residency and had started working in the Real World. The buck stopped with him. He was now the guy the students, interns, and residents came to when the fit hit the shan, and he loved it! This was what he had worked, groveled, and sweated to achieve for so long. But he also knew something was missing.

  He had gotten burned once. He was a fast learner. After June had left for her residency in obstetrics, he had taken himself out of the ritual dating/mating game. In all other things, he hadn’t hesitated to put his hand back in the fire, but personal relationships hit too close to home. He hadn’t even managed to understand his parents, and now they were dead and gone, so he had left the fun-and-games stuff to his friends.

  Dave and Connie and Bill and Peggy had tied the knot, and he had served as best man for both his friends. But, as Bill had surmised, The Bear wasn’t going to let his toes get burned again.

  Not for a long time. Maybe never.

  Once in a while, even from a distance, his friends would try to set him up. Dave would call from Florida, mentioning an eligible lady doctor who would be in his neighborhood for a conference. Bill, ever more subtle, had talked to him about his own life with Peggy, how she had filled a large void in it and how he now felt at peace with himself.

  But Galen had become gun-shy. He had horrified the girl whose life he had saved back in college and then killed himself physically to buy a suitable ring for June, only to get shot down.

  Nope, not now. Maybe not ever.

  ...

  He had been run off his feet that long-ago day, what with patients in the office, patients in the clinic and nursing home, and finally hospital rounds. Thank God he was just about finished, except for the inescapable paperwork of writing on the patient charts.

  He entered the nursing station and was about to sit down when one of the nurses approached him with a clipboard.

  “Dr. Galen, would you do us a favor? One of the medical students had to certify a patient as dead, but we need an attending’s signature on the chart.”

  “Okay,” he replied, “but I need to check for myself. Where’s the morgue cart?”

  “It’s over by the wall, Dr. G.”

  He picked up his scope, hooked it around his neck, and started toward the special domed cart used to transport the newly dead without upsetting other patients. He was about to open the upper end when he heard giggling coming from the nursing lounge.

  Oh crap! I smell a rat.

  He braced himself for another practical joke. He knew the staff thought he was a bit uptight and enjoyed seeing him startled. He wasn’t nasty or disrespectful, far from it, but they considered him aloof, never joining in the gossip and scandal mongering that goes on in any organization.

  He opened the cart lid and looked in.

  She was petite, a Dresden doll with a Jackie Kennedy hairdo. Her skin lacked the mottled ivory, blue-gray, and red coloration of the recently deceased.

  Suddenly her eyes opened and looked directly at him.

  They were lavender eyes. He’d heard that Elizabeth Taylor had lavender eyes, but he had never seen eyes like this. They seemed to twist
his insides and bring on that flutter that only June had ignited in him.

  He stared at her, steeling himself against the unwanted vibrations within, then turned to the crowd of nurses and attendants who were peering at him from behind the corridor wall.

  “Yep, she’s a deader, no question about it! Must have died of terminal ugliness. Was it a man or a woman?”

  “Help me up, you big idiot!”

  “So, the dead can talk, can they?” he laughed as he easily picked her up out of the cart and set her upright on the floor. As he did so he felt the electricity, a tingling of self-awareness shoot through him. He watched closely as she smoothed out her nursing uniform, the pressure of her hands revealing her well-proportioned chest and hips, and read her name tag: LENNY.

  He pointed at it, still fixed on those amazing eyes.

  “Lenny is a boy’s name and you sure don’t look like a boy. What’s your real name?”

  “Elena. Elena Jensen.”

  “May I have your name tag for a second?”

  She stared at the husky young man with the wavy brown hair and fair skin, who stood at least a head taller than her five feet four inches. He had sparkling eyes, not the muddy shade of most brown-eyed people she had known. There was something of the feral in his face, with a bit of pathos. Someone must have dealt him a blow in the past, she mused. And yet she felt gentleness in the way he had carefully picked her up out of the cart.

  He was strong, too.

  She detached the badge and handed it to him. He took it over to the unit secretary’s desk and grabbed a heavy black marker pen. He crossed out LENNY and printed LENI in big letters then handed it back to her.

  She looked at him and slowly pinned the tag back on her uniform. She felt the rising flush in her face and was surprised to see the deepening blush in his.