Set the Night on Fire

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  Alix knew she wasn’t supposed to be over-protective. Dar had told her a kid like Billy needs to feel independent. That, in a strange way, he’d earned it by running away and forging his own path. But Alix felt responsible. “Well, if it keeps up, we’ll have to do something about it.”

  He shot her an impatient look. “How many necklaces?”

  “Seven.” She finished laying out the jewelry. “So, what do you want to eat? A Polish? They have these kielbasas on a stick. Or a burrito?”

  Billy shrugged, which meant he didn’t care. She settled on the Polish, but when she brought back two hot dogs, loaded with fixings, he only took a bite of his. “You don’t like it?”

  “I ate breakfast late.”

  That was a lie—Billy always ate when she or Dar fed him, which made her think he ate poorly—or not at all—when they weren’t around. In fact, now that Alix was studying him, he looked pale under his olive skin. And thin. Part of that was his clothing. It was June—he wasn’t bundled up in bulky sweats or sweaters. Still, she insisted he come home with her.

  The apartment was empty when they got there. The SDS convention was due to start in a few days, and Dar, making good on his promise to Payton, was meeting with the leaders to discuss an appearance by the Panthers. Teddy was with them, and Rain and Casey were at their jobs.

  Alix told Billy to hole up on the sofa while she heated soup. Maybe the food on Maxwell Street was too spicy. He only took a few spoonfuls of soup but drank the 7-Up she poured. He fell asleep on the sofa almost immediately.

  Over the next two days Billy didn’t get better. He was still coughing, sometimes bringing up specks of blood. Alix made him stay at the apartment and dosed him with aspirin and cough medicine. He didn’t complain but was lethargic and slow. He wasn’t even interested in comic books.

  “We need to take you to a doctor,” Alix said the next day.

  “No!” His answer was emphatic.

  “Billy, there’s something wrong. A doctor can fix it.”

  “I don’t like doctors. I’ll get better. I promise. I’ll take all my medicine.”

  Billy’s mother had died after a long illness. Although he’d never admit it, Alix figured he associated doctors and hospitals with death. Dar told her later that distrust of “white man’s” medicine was embedded in Indian culture. She sighed and gave him more cough medicine.

  By Wednesday, though, he still wasn’t better. Alix knew he had to be seen, but she wasn’t sure where to take him. Back in Indiana, Dr. Dougherty made house calls, usually bringing medicine with him, or writing a prescription her mother promptly filled. Alix had only been in a hospital once, when her tonsils were removed. She didn’t remember much about it except for ice cream and Jello.

  Here in Chicago, though, there was no Dr. Dougherty. And no money if he had been. In fact, being young, healthy, and full of energy, the idea of getting sick had never occurred to her. She wanted to talk it over with the others, but, except for Casey, they were all at the SDS convention. Even Rain was covering it for The Seed and crowing about her press pass—the establishment media had been banned.

  The Moon Palace, where Casey worked, was only three blocks from the apartment. She told Billy she’d be right back and hurried over. It was a hot, sticky night, and by the time she got there, sweat clung to her neck and shoulders.

  Casey was in the kitchen, washing dishes. When Alix pushed through the door, the clatter of dishes and machines was overlaid by Jimi Hendrix’s guitar, making it impossible to talk. Casey’s face brightened when he spotted her, and he shouted, “Alix! What’s doing?”

  It was hotter here than outside. She blew a breath upwards to fan her face. “I’m worried about Billy.”

  He turned off the spray of water and turned down the radio. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think he should see a doctor, but I don’t know where to go.”

  Casey loaded the dishwasher with the blue and white plates every Chinese restaurant seemed to use. “How about the emergency room?”

  “Yes, but which one? I … I don’t have any experience with hospitals … at least in Chicago.”

  Casey shrugged. “Northwestern would be good. Or maybe Children’s Memorial.”

  “Billy’s almost sixteen.”

  “Then take him to Northwestern.” He stopped. “Wait. Fullerton Hospital is only a few blocks away. That’s the place to go.”

  “He’s not going to be happy. He hates doctors.”

  “Have Dar go with you.”

  “He’s at the convention.”

  “Can’t it wait till he gets back?”

  “Casey, he’s coughing up blood.”

  He turned on the dishwasher and wiped his hands on his apron. Then he reached up and snapped off the radio. The quiet was unnerving. “Why don’t I come with you?”

  “Really? Will you?”

  “I’m off at eleven.”

  She let out a relieved breath.

  Fullerton Hospital’s emergency room was all white walls, fluorescent lights, and color-coded stripes on the floors. A stout nurse with a peaked cap, sat behind a high counter doing a crossword puzzle. She wiped sweat off her face with a tissue. “Can I help you?”

  “He needs to be seen.” Casey motioned to Billy.

  “Name?” She put down her paper and slid a clipboard toward Alix.

  “Billy.”

  “Billy what?”

  “Billy Two Feathers,” Alix answered.

  The nurse frowned imperceptibly as she wrote down his name. “What is his problem?”

  “He’s coughing. It won’t stop, and there’s blood in it.”

  “How much blood?”

  “Enough to turn a Kleenex pink,” Alix answered.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “About four days. Although … ” Alix stopped short.

  “Yes?”

  “He was coughing a couple of months ago. But it went away.”

  “I see.” The nurse tapped the pencil against the counter. “And what is your relation to him?”

  “Relation?” Alix asked.

  “That was the question.”

  “He’s … ”

  “Nephew,” Casey cut in. “He’s our nephew.”

  “Your nephew.” Her gaze swept over them. Alix’s throat tightened. They were only a few years older than Billy. Casey’s hair was down to his shoulders. She was wearing a “Stop the War” t-shirt. Not to mention they were white, and Billy was an Indian.

  The nurse narrowed her eyes. “Does your … ‘nephew’ … have insurance?”

  “No.”

  “Who is going to be responsible for the charges?”

  Casey’s jaw worked. “We will.”

  “You.”

  Alix and Casey exchanged a glance. Casey nodded.

  The nurse looked at Billy, then back at them again. Alix waited for her to kick them out. To tell them she knew they were lying. But all she did was let out a long-suffering breath. Then she passed them a form. “Fill this out.”

  Relief washed over Alix. She took the form and led Billy over to a chair in the reception area. When Casey joined them, she whispered, “Why’d you say he was our nephew?”

  “I didn’t think they’d see him otherwise.”

  Alix bit her lip. The threadbare carpet, institutional chairs, and dingy walls didn’t speak to the hospital’s prosperity. Still, the room was filled with people: black, white, even some Orientals. Some were doubled over in obvious pain, others had the vacant expressions that come with long waits and hopelessness. She’d never seen suffering like this back in Indiana. She’d always dealt with it from a distance: school-sponsored canned goods drives, wrapped presents for the “unfortunate” at Christmas. The despair and misery made her heart ache.

  “I want to go home,” Billy said.

  Alix brushed her hand across his forehead. He was sweating. She got up, got him a tissue, then started filling out the form. “When’s your birthday?”

  “I d
on’t like this place,” he said.

  “Neither do I. When’s your birthday?”

  “Why?”

  “We have to write it down for the doctor.”

  He shrugged.

  “Billy … please.”

  “October 20th,” he finally spit out.

  “You’ll be sixteen, right?”

  He nodded.

  Alix checked the form, then tugged on Casey’s arm. “What do I put here?”

  Casey looked. “Address?” He paused. “Use ours.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I feel better.” Fear tightened Billy’s features. “Let’s go home. Please.”

  That’s when it dawned on her why Casey was lying. And why Billy didn’t want to be here. He was a runaway. If they found out, they could take him away. She let out a breath. Sometimes she was as dumb as a box of rocks. She grabbed Billy’s hand and gave it a squeeze. She wouldn’t let that happen.

  It was three hours later before another nurse in a white uniform came out, clipboard in hand. She cleared her throat. “Billy Two Feathers?”

  Casey and Billy had been napping, but Billy woke with a start and dug his fingers into Alix’s arm. She patted his hand to calm him, ignoring the indentations on her skin.

  The nurse led them through a set of doors into the main ER. Several desks, pushed together, took up most of the room. They were surrounded by about eight curtained areas. The smell of disinfectant was strong. A closet off to the side was open. Inside was a crush of equipment: oxygen masks, metal instruments, bandages, and bowls.

  The nurse showed them into one of the curtained areas. “Are you family? If not, you can’t stay here.”

  “We’re his aunt and uncle,” Casey said, with more bravado than Alix felt.

  “Really.” The nurse let her gaze linger on them just long enough to let them know she knew they were lying. Then she turned to Billy. “Take your jeans off. And your shirt.” She handed him a gown. “Put this on.” Billy shrank back, as if the gown was contaminated. The nurse looked at Billy, dropped the gown on the gurney, and left.

  Fifteen minutes later there was a commotion on the other side of the curtain. Alix pushed it aside. Across the room several nurses and two men crowded around two curtained-off areas. One of the nurse’s uniforms was streaked with red. Everyone was shouting. Above the voices, Alix heard groans.

  “Casey, what’s going on?”

  Casey got up to look. “I don’t know.”

  They waited another thirty minutes before a young doctor in surgical scrubs hurried in, carrying a clipboard. His name tag said Schindler. He looked from the clipboard to Billy, who was dozing on the gurney. “What’s the problem?” he asked brusquely.

  Billy woke up. His brows drew together, eyes wary.

  Alix explained.

  Schindler asked the same questions as the intake nurse. As Alix answered them, the noise in the main room grew louder, more frantic.

  “What is it?” Casey asked.

  Schindler turned around. “Someone got shot. Bullet’s lodged in his spine. We’re taking him up to the OR.”

  Alix recoiled. “Someone was shot?”

  The doctor looked at Alix as if he wasn’t sure what planet she was from. He turned back to Billy with an expression that said he’d rather be dealing with the gunshot wound than a young boy’s cough. “Fever?”

  “Off and on,” Alix said.

  The doctor took out his stethoscope, bent over, and placed it on Billy’s back. “Breathe.” The doctor moved the stethoscope. “Again.” After more repetitions, he straightened up. “We’re going to need an X-ray. I’ll let them know.” He nodded. “And I’ll get you some antibiotics. That should take care of it.”

  They waited another hour. Nothing happened. No X-ray, no antibiotics. The noise and commotion in the ER subsided, and they could hear static from a police radio. Casey went out to check the time. “It’s practically dawn,” he said when he came back. “We’ve been here for five hours.”

  Alix pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the ER room. No one was there. She walked back into the reception area. Only a few people were waiting, and someone had turned on a radio. Easy listening. A new nurse sat behind the counter.

  “Excuse me, but we’ve been waiting all night for antibiotics. We’re in curtain area five. Dr. Schindler said he would bring them to us.”

  The nurse consulted a sheet of paper. “Schindler went up to the OR. But he’s off now.” She must have seen Alix’s distress, because her next words were surprisingly kind. “Let me see what I can do.”

  Ten minutes later, yet another doctor walked into the curtained cubicle. Alix didn’t bother to check his name tag. “Sorry for the wait. It’s been pretty busy around here.” He looked at Billy’s chart and frowned. “Looks like he’s been diagnosed with bronchitis.”

  Alix ran her hand through her hair. She was losing it. “He was coughing up blood.”

  “But not that much.”

  “How much is too much?”

  The doctor shot her a patronizing look. “Let’s start with antibiotics. If it doesn’t go away in another week, he should be seen again.”

  She tried once more, “You were supposed to give him an X-ray.”

  Billy piped up. “I want to go home.”

  The doctor looked at his watch. “The technician’s off. If you want an X-ray, you’ll have to wait at least two hours for the next shift.”

  Alix covered her eyes for a moment, then dropped her hand. “Okay, I give up.”

  Billy smiled for the first time that night.

  THIRTY–TWO

  By the time Alix woke up, late afternoon sun was sneaking in around the edges of the shades. She and Billy were alone. She woke him, then scrambled some eggs. After making sure he ate and took his pills, she fell asleep again.

  She didn’t see the others until that night when Rain and Dar came back from the SDS convention and Casey got home from work.

  “Where are Payton and Teddy?” Alix asked.

  “Don’t know,” Rain said. Her ashy hair shimmered in the light, and her eyes were shining. “You should have been there, Alix.”

  “What happened?”

  Rain made herself comfortable on the sofa. “Well, you remember how huge it was, right?”

  “The Coliseum.”

  “Right. Well, picture a ring of tables around the perimeter for groups like the Young Socialists, Marxists, even Maoists. All of them piled with flyers and literature and other crap. People milling around, connecting, making plans.” Rain chuckled. “It reminded me of Maxwell Street in a way. Then they called the meeting to order. Which was when the fireworks started.”

  “What fireworks?” Casey asked.

  “You haven’t heard?” Rain looked incredulous. She wriggled further down on the couch. “Well, they passed out this essay that originally was printed in New Left Notes, the SDS newsletter. It was written by the ‘action faction,’ and it was a call for direct action.”

  “Isn’t that what Payton keeps yammering about?” Alix said.

  “Right. So it ends with this quote from Dylan. ‘You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind is blowing.’”

  “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” Casey offered.

  Rain nodded. “Turns out the people behind it are Mark Rudd and Bernadine Dohrn, among others—they’re leaders of one of the factions.”

  “The RYM … you know—the Revolutionary Youth Movement,” Casey said, sounding impatient, “the one Payton’s involved with. So?”

  Rain was taking her time. “I’m getting there.” She glanced at Dar. “See, there’s this other faction … the Progressive Labor Party. Basically, they’re Marxists who see the revolution as class war. They want blue-collar workers to get involved.”

  “You predicted that, didn’t you?” Alix asked Dar.

  Dar shrugged.

  “Well,” Rain said tartly, “then the Panthers came into the convention and trashed the PLP.”

&nb
sp; The door to the apartment opened, and Teddy came in.

  “Hey, man,” Casey said. “What’s happening?”

  Teddy looked at each of them in turn. For some reason, Alix thought he looked nervous. Then he took a breath and shook his head. “Not much.”

  “I was just telling them what happened at the convention,” Rain said.

  “Oh … right.”

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  “Took a while to get out of there.”

  “Where’s Payton?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Sit down, Teddy.” Alix waved a hand. “Rain was just telling us what happened when the Panthers came in.”

  Teddy sat. Rain picked up her story, “So, the Panthers start lecturing. Telling everyone they don’t know what they’re doing. One of them called the PLP counter-revolutionaries. Then he started calling women cunts. He even started threatening the PLP members.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “It got heavy.” She glanced at Teddy, then Dar. “The Panther leader started in and said they were black, we were white, and they would never authorize us to speak for them. Meanwhile, there were all these huge, armed guards everywhere.” Rain paused dramatically. “Everything went up for grabs after that. People started shouting at the Panthers and each other. No one was listening to anyone. Some people were yelling: ‘Power to the People!’; others ‘Fight Male Chauvinism’; still others ‘Ho Ho Ho Chi Minh/NLF is Going to Win!’ She looked at Casey. “Someone even shouted ‘Let’s Go Mets!’”

  Casey laughed. Teddy didn’t crack a smile.

  “It was crazy. Then Bernadine Dohrn walked out with a bunch of people, including Payton.” Rain looked around. “She said the convention was over. That the RYM was withdrawing from SDS and starting a new movement. They’re calling themselves the Weathermen—you know, for the Dylan song—and they’re taking over the Chicago SDS office. The other faction—the student workers—are going back to Boston.”

  “That is heavy,” Casey said. He turned to Dar. “What about you, Dar? Where are you with all this?”

  “Nowhere.” He raised his hands, palms out. “Things have changed. New leaders, new strategies, new tactics. We’ve created a Hydra, and each of the heads wants what they want. But I’m done. A lot of people I know are out too.”