Look Away Silence

by Edward C. Patterson

  The paramedics were here, so I dialed the Kielers. They were shocked, but somehow, not. Odd? Thank God you’re with him, Martin, Louise said, which surprised me. There was no admonition. Just thanks.

  “Meet me at the hospital,” I squawked.

  The paramedics were already working on Matt — oxygen mask, blood pressure and a heart monitor. The police were there also, a tall dude who surveyed the place, and then me.

  “You are?” he asked.

  “I’m his room mate.”

  The cop raised an eyebrow, and then made a note.

  “How long’s he been like this?”

  “We just came in from Colorado. A vacation.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, and he caught a cold there.”

  “Didn’t he see a doctor there? Before he traveled back here?”

  “No,” I said.

  The tone was so accusative that I thought I’d be arrested for malfeasance. I was ready for fingerprinting, for taking a suspicious vacation to a secret hideaway and returning under curious and criminal conditions.

  “Is this his first episode?” asked a paramedic.

  She was softer in her interrogation as if she was actually concerned.

  “As far as I know.”

  “As far as you know?” the cop asked. He wrote a note.

  The gurney was loaded and in full flight now.

  “Pumpkin,” Matt uttered beneath the mask.

  “I’m coming.”

  “He’s in good hands,” the cop said.

  “I’m riding with him,” I declared.

  “Not allowed.”

  Suddenly, I was alone. No Matt, no paramedics, no Sergeant Friday giving me the third degree. Thoroughly and utterly alone.

  3

  The East Shore General Hospital was easy to find. Viv had been there a few times for various ailments. However, my patience was wearing thin as I sped there, managing to honk at every slow cretin on the road. I garnered several well-deserved finger flips, but I didn’t give a shit. I just wanted to get to the emergency room and take my place beside my cowboy.

  As it turned out, Matt bypassed the emergency room. Not bypassed, but just a fly through. Nevertheless, when I made inquiries at the front desk, I was told that he was admitted and on the fourth floor, but I couldn’t go up yet.

  “But he needs me,” I said.

  This was received with skeptical eyes that said If you’re not his doctor, he doesn’t need you. On some level I understood that, so I paced, waiting for the Kielers, who I expected at any time. However, they didn’t come. Not fast enough. I paced and paced, and finally I asked.

  “What’s Matthew Kieler’s room number?”

  I took advantage of the shift change, so there was no suspicion from the new receptionist that I had every intention of sneaking upstairs and defy their little maintenance rules.

  “423,” she said, and then went about her busy work.

  Busy work. I thanked her, paced some more, and then, when the busy work consumed her attention to her dereliction, I darted into the open elevator, where I paced some more until the bell rang and the door slid open on the fourth floor. The place was like a fortress, the nurse’s station looming over the traffic. No busy working nurse here. Instead there was a hulk — a woman who certainly wasn’t the dietician, dressed in blue. I caught her attention immediately.

  “Yes,” she said. “Can I help you?”

  She said this before I lost sight of the elevator bank. I regained my dignity and marched to the fore.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m here to see Matthew Kieler.”

  She huffed, and then perused a monitor, muttering Kieler, Kieler, Kieler.

  “Room 423, but it’s marked immediate family only. Who are you?”

  “Martin Powers.”

  “I mean, what relationship are too Mr. Kieler?”

  “I’m his . . . I’m his partner.”

  “Business partner?”

  “No. We . . . live together.”

  “Sorry. Immediate family only.”

  Suddenly, my heart sank. The floor shook and I was at sea.

  “I am his immediate family.”

  “I can’t see that you are. I suggest you come again when he can see friends and acquaintances. Call first.”

  I was stunned — stunned and angry. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t. I turned back to the elevator, pressed the down button, and then waited. However, when the car came, I couldn’t move forward. I spun about and charged at the woman, who now was buffered by two other wardens.

  “I told you, sir,” she said, firmly. “Immediate family only.”

  “But I’m his partner,” I shouted. “I’m his . . . lover.”

  This didn’t help my case. In fact, it girdled her resolve and probably evoked other rules — unwritten ones from the spleen of clean Christian living.

  “I’m sorry, the rules are the rules,” she proclaimed, her words like daggers. “Immediate family only.”

  She stood triumphant.

  “Can’t you even tell me his condition?” I pleaded.

  I felt the tears rising. I trembled and thought perhaps to get on my knees and beg. She wasn’t relenting. In fact, she seemed to relish her position as the great divider.

  “He’s critical,” she snapped.

  “Critical,” I muttered. I was falling. I slouched on the desktop. Perhaps my genuine tears would move her to pity.

  “I can’t tell you more. Immediate family only. You can discuss it with his doctor, but the doctor won’t tell you any more.”

  “But you don’t understand,” I moaned.

  I was pathetic; a poor creature brought to these portals beseeching a simple kindness only to be treated like a cur. Matt was my love. He was my husband. I had a ring. I vainly displayed the ring before this snarling beast, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. She would have probably laughed — dance a jig maybe.

  “Uncaring bitch,” I said.

  “Sir, if you become abusive, I’ll have you removed from the premises.”

  “No, no,” I said. “I’m sorry. You must know that Mr. Kieler is my . . . well, we are . . .”

  “Sir, that’s no concern of mine,” she said. She made it to Torquemada at last. “If you are not an immediate family member, you must wait until the family arrives. Perhaps they will tell you . . .”

  As if on cue, the elevator doors slid open and Mr. and Mrs. Kieler, with Mary, emerged.

  “Martin, Martin,” Mrs. Kieler said, embracing him. “How is he?”

  “We were caught in traffic,” Sam said. “Martin, you look terrible.”

  “He’s not . . .” Mary whimpered.

  “I don’t know,” I said, weeping full force now. I pointed to the keeper of the gate. “She won’t tell me anything. She won’t let me in to see him. She says I’m not his family. There are rules. I’m not anyone important . . . important according to them. I’m not his . . . She won’t let me see him. They don’t understand. They don’t understand.”

  Louise Kieler opened her eyes wider than she possibly could, her teeth bared. She gazed at the nurse.

  “Oh, she understands perfectly,” she said. She marched to the counter.

  “Now, Louise,” Sammy said. “Let’s not make a scene.”

  “What do you mean he’s not his family? You should be ashamed of yourself. This man is my son’s primary family.”

  “And who are you?” the nurse said, still probably imagining she had the upper hand.

  “I’m his mother.” Louise slammed her fist on the counter. This brought all three nurses center court as if they were the fates that cut the string in some Greek play. Louise cuffed me about the shoulders drawing me into her arms. “And this is my son-in-law, Matthew Kieler’s life-partner. How dare you! How dare you!”

  “I’m doing my job.”

  The nurse quickly paged the doctor.

  “The doctor will see you in a minute,” she said, no remorse in her voice. “As for this youn
g man, whatever the relationship, he cannot see the patient unless he is immediate family as . . . as defined by the laws of the State of New Jersey.”

  “Look at him, you bitch!” Louise shouted.

  “Louise, not so loud,” Sammy said.

  I trembled. I was proud of her, but was also afraid we would all be kicked out. Louise rapped on the desk, the papers and pens rattling with each pound.

  “This is suppose to be a place of healing. Of caring. What right have you to judge? What right have you to inflict pain in a place of healing? He is closer to my son and more important to me than I am sure you are to anyone so unfortunate to call you a relative. Now, take us to my son!”

  “Mrs. Kieler,” the nurse said, finally with some alarm. “Please calm down. Doctor.”

  The doctor had arrived, and just in time. I thought Louise was going to seize a pen and stab Nurse Bitch and a Half in the jugular.

  “What’s the problem?” the doctor asked, looking up from his clipboard. “This a hospital, not a wrestling match.”

  “I was explaining Hospital policy about immediately family only . . .”

  The doctor raised his hands.

  “I’m here now. I’ll handle this. You are Mr. and Mrs. Kieler?”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Sammy said.

  “Doctor Farrell.”

  “How is my brother?” Mary asked.

  “My son?” Louise said.

  “Your son is resting,” Doctor said. “But we had to put him in an oxygen tent.”

  “Oxygen tent?” I cried. “Doctor, is he . . .will he . . .”

  “He has pneumonia — pneumosistis carinii.”

  “Just like Luis,” Louise stammered, her lips trembling.

  “Then,” the Doctor continued. “You realize that he is in a great deal of danger with this episode.”

  “AIDS?” I said, for the first time. The word hung in the air before me. All the air was driven from the room and I felt faint. No, I thought. It’s mountain sickness. He’s been in the Rockies and the blood thins up there. It does. You can’t catch AIDS from thin mountain air.

  “He never told you?” Mary asked, and then covered her mouth. It was a poor Martin move. Was I the only one who didn’t know this shit?

  “I’m afraid,” Doctor Farrell continued. “I’m afraid your son has serum converted. I’d say about a week ago.”

  A week ago. In the mountains. He . . . he did what? I shrugged a hopeless shrug.

  “It means, his blood converted in response to the HIV infection. Are you his significant other?”

  I shook my head slowly. A sudden recognition loomed. I was the significant other and Matt had serum converted — whatever the fuck that meant, and I might be the next morsel on the virus’ menu.

  “You need to be tested immediately. Have you been safe?”

  Safe? I didn’t believe this. I heard Louise crying and Sammy comforting, but still this attention on my sexual activities in such a clinical manner in an open corridor before Mary was just too much for me.

  “What are you saying?” I snapped. “Am I . . .”

  “I just asked you a simple question, Mr. . . .”

  “Powers,” I snapped.

  “Have you and your partner used protection when . . .”

  “Yes, yes. I don’t believe this.”

  I was in a tailspin.

  “May we see him now?” Louise asked.

  “Yes, come now,” the Doctor said.

  “Can Martin come?”

  The nurse lurched forward — her moment of vindication.

  “Why, of course. Come now. All of you.”

  I should have danced a victory dance on that bitch’s face, but I was too devastated and confused to think of much else now. In fact, thoughts of Matt were churning to deeper and more brooding thoughts . . . thoughts of me.

  Chapter Eight

  Dawning Dusk

  1

  I clung to Mary as we entered the room like mourners, only we weren’t mourners or watchers. We were the immediate family. The doctor interrupted a nurse, who had reached beneath the oxygen tent to prick Matt’s arm. My cowboy was pale in his quarantine and surrounded by a mass of tubes and dripping bags and flashing monitors. I trembled, especially when Mary wept.

  “He’s awake,” the nurse said to Doctor Farrell.

  “Visit for a little while,” he said to Louise and Sammy. “Let’s not tax him. Don’t let him talk.”

  That was hard, because when Matt spied Louise, his eyes lit up.

  “Mama,” he croaked. “Dad.”

  “Shhh, Lamb,” Louise said. “The doctor says you’re not supposed to talk.”

  “Sis.”

  Mary spluttered out at a Newt, but it was a half effort. I didn’t know how I’d survive it. I suddenly felt misplaced. I wasn’t his immediate family. I was an outlaw. How could I have presumed to be more?

  “Pumpkin.”

  “Hush,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, Pumpkin.”

  “Hush now,” I said.

  Louise pushed me forward. The plastic wall between us annoyed me. I felt like ripping it down and taking him in my arms, but as I observed his face — his ashen cheeks and those sky-blue eyes swimming without reference now, I couldn’t imagine that I had come so far with this man only to slam into this wall of plastic. The monitors were beeping, while the bags of crap that were attached to him were a sure reference that my cowboy was sick — very sick. He was in danger, but I knew nothing about this plague. Nothing other than what I read in the papers or heard on TV. There, everyone was in a panic mode. The TV reported how men with AIDS were shunned. Schools tossed classmates out the door. Mass hysteria broke loose in quiet suburban towns when the local queer was reported ill. I realized that I knew nothing about the disease except that the villagers ran the ill out of town with pitchforks.

  Shouldn’t we be masked and enclosed in protective clothing, I suddenly thought. Then a voice — a medical voice pecked on my brain. You need to be tested immediately. Have you been safe? What kind of test? Probably a big needle in the stomach. And who could say what was safe? Matt was always clean, or so I thought, which always fit into my thoughts of him as a gentleman. He certainly wasn’t trying to prevent pregnancy. Safe?

  “Pumpkin,” he wheezed.

  “Shhh. You’re going to be just fine, now that you’re under a doctor’s care.”

  He blinked. I realized then that he no more believed me than I believed me. Still, I remember praying a silent prayer. Please God, let me survive this moment. It was all about me. I couldn’t lose this man, and yet, I was hurting so bad that I just wanted this to pass.

  “Lamb,” Louise said. “Well get through this together.”

  I suddenly realized that she was speaking to me. I smiled, and then buried my head on her shoulder. I didn’t deserve any of this. Matt began to cough.

  “Easy now, son,” Sammy said.

  “Dad.”

  “Listen to us. Don’t speak. Whatever it takes to get you out of here, we shall do it.”

  “Just like Luis,” Mary muttered.

  “None of that,” Louise said.

  Louise had held her composure better than any, especially me. She turned to the doctor.

  “There are new treatments. I heard Tom Brokow say there are drugs now.”

  “AZT and other treatments. Herbals and diet.”

  “We’ll take them,” Sammy said.

  Doctor Farrell shrugged. He pulled Louise aside. Sammy followed. I came as baggage.

  “Trouble is,” the doctor whispered. “We can try to brace the immune system, but when the contaminates take advantage, our battle is with each invader. Some infections are just uncomfortable, while others, like carinii, are downright dangerous. Any pneumonia is dangerous, but this one is usually reserved for cats. Today I’m your son’s veterinarian.”

  “Get him well.”

  “We’ll try our best.”

  “When will you know?” Sammy asked.

 
“Hard to tell. His lungs need to sustain a proper oxygen level, but he’s basically strong. But . . .”

  “But what?” Louise said.

  “I don’t want to instill false hope. Youth has many advantages with most diseases, but with HIV that advantage is sapped in many cases with each passing episode.”

  “So you are not giving him good odds?” Sammy croaked. I thought he’d burst.

  “Not so loud,” Doctor Farrell said. “I’m saying I can treat him and he could last for years. Or I could battle each . . . each monster that invades him and do my best.”

  Sammy spit, but Louise touched his arm staying him.

  “I appreciate your candor, Doctor,” she said. “Our family are fighters, so you will have an army behind you.”

  She glanced at me, and in that glance, I felt the weight of battle — a call to arms. I was suddenly mustered and I hadn’t a clue to what. Matt began coughing again.

  “It’s best you go now,” the doctor said.

  Louise went to the plastic wall, Sammy behind her and Mary tagging by the window. I knew she was fearful of her own feelings and perhaps she found the distance better for everyone.

  “Lamb,” Louise said. “We’ll be just outside. I’ll let Martin stay a bit longer, so you two can . . . well, be together.”

  She touched her fingers to her lips, and then pressed her hand to the plastic.

  “I love you, Mama.”

  She smiled. Sammy sniffed, frowned and then sighed.

  “Son.”

  Mary mouthed a Newt. And then I was alone with him. Just me, Matt, the doctor and the tent. Matt smiled. I knew that as long as I was there, he was content.

  Please God, let me survive this moment.

  I came close to him, the tubes infesting my reach. I wanted to take him into my arms, but it was impossible. The logistics precluded it. I’d probably disconnect him from something that kept him alive. At that thought, I quaked. I began to tremble, my shoulders bouncing as I gasped for air that I somehow couldn’t find.

  “Pumpkin,” he whispered. “It’ll be okay. Well be just fine . . . fine and . . . dandy.”

  “Don’t talk,” I said.

  I reached beneath the tent. I had seen the nurse do it to draw blood, so I knew it could be done. I didn’t give a fuck if the doctor thrashed me with his stethoscope. I needed to touch my man. My hand ran along his arm to his hands. There our rings touched. It was electric. This is what I needed — an assurance that as long as we were wedded by some conscious and continuous act that nothing could part us — no tent, no doctor, nor a fucking media frenzy about a lousy plague.