"I am so glad to see you, Herc," I said.
"I was hoping I might see Susie here."
"You would, except for her knee. She's supposed to be careful and this snow is ... well, it's impressively deep."
"Well, that explains a mystery," he said, and with not the slightest interruption of movement, Hercules powerfully—but ever so gently—hoisted Abelardo onto his feet and then leaned over and put Waldo's boots on him. Why couldn't I have done that?
Within minutes—or was it a lifetime?—Abelardo was dressed and inside a warm ambulance, while Hercules, his younger brother Hector, and Teddy Gribbon valiantly wielded their snow shovels and worked to free the wheels from the driveway's deep snow.
Because of some arcane town ordinance, I was not allowed to ride in the ambulance. (Not so arcane; fairly universal, I later learned.) So Herc had Teddy shovel me out of my personal snowdrift at the end of the driveway, and as soon as I could get some traction, I skidded and slid to the hospital behind the ambulance, confident that surely, now, nothing more could go wrong.
Things were very quiet at the ER because, Nurse Gish said, no one could get there, no one in his right mind was driving. Except you, Mrs. Fairweather, she implied, at your peril and ours. Since I was not a relative of Abelardo's and did not even know his birthday (I later learned it was February 29. I might have guessed), I was not allowed in the examining room with him. I didn't want to go into the examining room. I wanted to explain to Nurse Gish and her underlings and Dr. Genet, wherever he was, that Abelardo had gone outdoors of his own accord, that I had done my best to look after him, and that he had arrived with a preconceived prejudice against snow and any kind of winter weather.
Hercules was mollifying. "Just let them do their business, Al. Shall I follow you home?"
"Does anyone here speak Spanish?" I asked. "His English is good; better than good, excellent. But Spanish is his mother tongue."
Herc said, "Have you ever wondered about that?"
"What?"
"Mother tongue and fatherland?"
"No, I haven't."
"I'll just drop in and make sure that Susie has everything she needs," he said.
"I check up on her pretty regularly," I said.
"Yes, but I might be able to help with things you can't do. Blow down her furnace, for instance. I know she often forgets to blow down the furnace when George is away."
I had no idea what he was talking about.
"But I can't just leave him here," I said. "Even if I'm useless, I'm all he's got."
"They can call you. Take my word for it."
So I left Abelardo at the Virginia O'Connor Memorial Hospital in hands that Hercules declared were "more than competent."
On the way out I ran into Gunnar Sigerson, who was on his way in. That is to say, we collided. Gunnar's son, Toby, played Little League with Ezra, or had before Deb got Lyme disease and wouldn't let Toby play on any field that hadn't been sprayed for deer ticks. Which in VerGroot meant all the playing fields. One could only assume that this was a source of dissension in the Sigerson household, because Gunnar was happiest when outdoors. He was a hiker, a bird watcher, and a mushroom collector. Last fall we had feasted on his prize find, a thirty-pound Grifola frondosa, a hen of the woods. There was a picture in the Sentinel of proud Gunnar and the large brownish lump resembling dried fallen oak leaves. He was a whiz at tree identification, as well as a fount of knowledge about the medicinal uses of weeds. His parents were originally Norwegian or Finnish, one of those pale northern peoples, and Gunnar was always pink with exertion and sunburn, his nose generally peeling.
"Ouch!" I exclaimed, though I was startled rather than hurt.
"Alice! What are you doing here?" he said.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me," he said.
"Later. It's a long story. What about you? I was told only an idiot would be on the road today."
Gunnar said, "You're looking at one of those idiots."
"You didn't drive off the road, did you?"
"No," he said. "But I think I broke my thumb cross-country skiing." He raised a purplish swollen thumb—it was quite hideous—and grinned shamefacedly.
"That looks nasty."
"It was my own fault. There's far too much snow for decent skiing. Maybe in a day or two, but I'll be having a little trouble zipping up my jacket."
And not only your jacket, I thought. Your jacket is the least of it.
"How did you get here?" I said.
"I drove. I never drive with more than one hand."
"How did I guess?" I said. Then I wished him good luck and went on my way.
Herc followed me home, red light flashing. He did not follow me up my driveway but continued on and immediately turned into Susie's. She would surely call later and berate me for not having warned her of his imminent arrival.
It seemed a thousand years ago that I'd last spoken with Waldo. In what cave were they now?
The phone rang and my heart leaped. Would they consider coming home early? Could I stop myself from asking? I was desperate to hear his voice, desperate to lose control.
It was Donald Eco. "Al, where are you? Dandy's been ready for ages."
"Oh my God. Oh, shit, shit, shit," I said. "I can't believe I forgot all about him."
"Neither can I," said Don testily. "I thought you were worried sick."
"I was," I said. "I mean I am. It's just that Abelardo went a little nutty with the snow and they just took him away. It was way too white for him."
"You're not making all that much sense."
"I know. I'll tell you when I come get Dandy," I said. "It may take me a while, though. I think I parked in a snowdrift when I got back from the hospital."
"Not too long, I hope," Donald said. "Thelma's decided she wants to go snowshoeing."
"She does? I thought she was so happy about the storm forcing everyone to stay inside."
"She was. Hell, this could be a breakthrough."
"Of course there won't be many other people out snowshoeing today," I said. Picturing the two of them in their matching Mediterranean blue snowsuits taking giant steps across the pristine snowfield, I saw a definite problem. "Won't you sink in? I don't think the snow is packed enough for shoeing." What did I know? I had never worn snowshoes in my life. I had strapped them onto Ezra and Henry and gone back inside to hot cocoa and Lawrence of Arabia. "Aren't you worried about the cold? There's a danger of hypothermia. Ask Teddy G if you don't believe me."
"Al, don't you get it? Thelma wants to go out!"
"Sorry. I didn't mean to be negative. I'm on my way."
8
They Called It Hypothermia
FINALLY, FINALLY, I WAS opening a tin of smoked oysters. I had waited so long to ingest these strange oily mollusks, these mysterious pearl-making nacreous creatures, and now that I was, now that it was possible, I naturally started thinking about botulism. I slid the appropriate slot of the key over the protruding piece of metal and started rolling back the lid, slowly winding the metal over itself. If not done carefully, if done sloppily, the rolled-up lid quickly becomes askew, concave at one end, attenuated at the other. The art is to keep all the edges aligned, all the time. This allows the slimy dark oysters, laid down neatly next to one another, like sleeping children in an orphanage, to be revealed in equal measure.
The phone rang. Take a deep breath. It was either Waldo or the Ginny O Memorial, and either way, I didn't want to sound hysterical.
"Alice, dear, it's Posey."
"Oh. Hello."
"What are you up to?"
"Well, I just shoveled the driveway and now I'm folding the laundry."
"You know I don't want to interrupt. But I am concerned about Waldo and the boys."
"Why are you concerned about them?"
"I was just reading about these deadly viruses we contract from animal—you know—waste, and I was thinking about all those bats in the caves. And how whenever there is one bat there are
a thousand—they're very social creatures, and very useful too, but that's not the point. There is bound to be masses of bat guano in those caves."
"I wouldn't worry too much," I said. "It's a national park. I'm sure someone there is up to speed on the dangers of bat poop."
"Oh, I don't agree," Posey said.
"You're thinking of mice. Bat poop makes fertilizer."
"I think you should get them tested when they return. Doesn't Ezra stick his fingers into his mouth all the time?"
"When he was two or three," I said. "I'll mention it to Waldo when they get back."
"Waldo refused to get the Lyme vaccine."
"He doesn't like shots," I said.
"Don't you think he's a little old for that excuse?"
"Posey! I need to let the dogs in—they've been out in the snow for ages. Can we talk later?"
"Tell Waldo he should start wearing more red. His father looked very good in red."
"Thanks, Posey. I will."
I replaced the receiver gently, with trepidation, lest it ring again and again not be Waldo.
I stood at the kitchen counter and forked oysters onto stoned wheat thins and ate with pleasure.
Night had fallen when Waldo finally called. His voice was music to my ears, the only music I'd heard in days. I needed to hear some music.
"This has been a rather trying day," I said. "Darling."
"How are Abelardo's spirits?"
"Abelardo's spirits are in the emergency room. Abelardo thought there was altogether too much snow and had a bit of a break down."
"He did what?"
"You heard me. Teddy Gribbon and the others called it hypothermia, and maybe he had that secondarily, but I think first he was driven nuts by the snow. That's my diagnosis. An overdose of white and the absence of a miracle."
"Slow down, Al. Are you saying he's at the hospital?"
"Yes."
"Shit. Shit."
"My words exactly," I said. "So now what do we do?"
"Let me think." We exchanged lots more information, and in the end it was decided that Waldo would call Abelardo's family in Nicaragua while I called the hospital to check on his condition. I never told him about Dandy's transfusion or my discovery about the greyhounds' blood. Nor did I tell him that Thelma Eco had wanted to get out of the house and go snowshoeing. He told me that Ezra and Henry were blissfully happy, that they loved the caves, loved the stalactites and the stalagmites and everything in between. Their only distress, the only fly in their ointment, was that a snowstorm had occurred in their absence. I wanted to talk with them but they had fallen asleep watching The Simpsons again.
"But do they miss me?" I asked.
The phone rang again in the early morning. I was awake but not upright. My eyelids were still partially glued shut.
Ezra was on the phone first. "What did you tell Dad about Dandy?"
"I didn't tell him anything, but he's fine," I said. "He's going to be fine. Doc Eco gave him another transfusion. He's chipper, and his color looks good."
"Are you checking his gums, Mom?"
"Of course I'm checking his gums, sweetie. How are you? I miss you both so much."
"We miss you too. Are you giving them those special treats I left?"
"I will today. He wasn't very hungry before. Did Dad tell you about his friend Abelardo?"
"That he didn't like the snowstorm. Yeah."
"And something else. I let him sleep in your room. I hope you don't mind," I said.
"As long as he didn't touch anything."
"Well, obviously he had to touch some things, just in order to get into bed."
"Oh, Mom. Fingers are full of natural oils, you know."
"I know that, sweetie. Not to worry. Can I talk to Henry now?"
I had to hold the receiver away from my ear while Ezra hollered for his brother. "Henry! Get off the pot. Mom wants to talk."
"Hi, Mom. I wasn't on the pot," Henry said.
"How are you, pumpkin? I miss you."
"The caves are splendid, Mom. You should be here. Flirt and Dandy should be here, but I think it might freak them out when we lose track of daylight. I think they might be slightly nyctophobic. What do you think?"
"I'll have to think about that one," I said. "Are you warm enough?"
"Mom! My down parka is good to minus forty. Of course I am."
"I'd forgotten about that. Can I talk to your dad now?"
Henry said, "He's still asleep. Mom, get real. Do you know what time it is here?"
Of course he was right. If I thought it was early, then how much earlier was it for them? Not that Ezra and Henry followed any clocks but their own. I said, "Yikes. Let him sleep, guys. He needs his sleep."
"He made up a limerick—do you want to hear it?"
"You know I do. Please."
Henry began,
"Henry and Ezra were subterranean boys
They wore parkas, headlamps, and corduroys
They went on a mission
It wasn't golf and it wasn't fishin
No, it was a cave they approached with such joy."
I asked him, "Did your dad really write that?"
"We helped," Henry said.
"I kind of guessed." More than guessed. In its awkward rhythms I heard the random humor of the boys, and then I loved it even more.
I felt lumpy and almost perverse saying goodbye to them, knowing that it was still dark where they were, that everyone slumbered where they were, everyone except weirdoes and my two eager spelunkers. Even Waldo slept. Somewhere in that motel room, my Waldo slept and dreamed the dreams he would never remember for me, dreams he denied dreaming. Was it asking too much to hear his dreams? He obviously thought so, but I couldn't help myself. I could no more stop craving to see the images that decorated his subconscious than I could stop spooning him at night.
Coursing through Dandy's veins was fresh blood drawn from otherwise doomed greyhounds. Thelma Eco was snowshoeing in the great outdoors.
And chez Fairweather? Was I losing my taste for smoked oysters?
I called Susie, who asked me, "When are you going to visit your tropical friend at the hospital?"
I told her I didn't have any plans to return there just yet.
"What do you mean you're not going to see him? You have to go. He's a stranger in a strange land."
"He went to Harvard, for God's sake. He's not that strange. Just foreign."
"Don't be so literal."
"The truth is," I said, "I doubt he wants to see me. Susie, he was totally unhinged yesterday. I was a terrible hostess."
"All the more reason to go. It's unconscionable not to go. There's nothing more depressing than being in the hospital and having no visitors."
"How would you know?"
"I know these things," she said.
"Maybe you'd like to come," I said. I started to visualize Susie with me, and then realized I could not, not with her repaired knee and in her semi-ambulatory condition. Given that our houses were about two hundred yards apart, and given that we could see the lights twinkling on each other's Christmas trees, it was ludicrous that we ever telephoned at all. When you consider the immensity of the telecommunications industry, the vast resources expended to hook us all up to one another, and compare that to the ease and ancient simplicity of walking across a patch of grass and over some pine needles to talk with a neighbor, you can only shake your head, as does Waldo.
"No, thanks. Even when I am completely mobile I am not a good hospital visitor. Ask George. Ask my late, lamented mother. Hospitals do not bring out the best in me."
"I had no idea, Susie. How many years have I known you? What is it you do in hospitals? Pull out tubes? Fiddle with the monitors? Complain about the food?"
"No, I just start weeping and I don't stop. I have no idea why, and I can't seem to help it. It's like I enter an onion-chopping factory, and you know how I am with onions."
It's true. I knew how she was with onions. Pathetic.
I s
aid, "But how about as a patient?"
"I've never been a patient. Other than getting the new knee. That was just engineering."
"Fine distinctions," I muttered.
"Are you chewing something?" Susie demanded.
"So it's unconscionable not to go to the hospital. But you won't come with me."
"Correct," Susie said, seated somewhere in her house, perhaps with her left leg elevated, presumably with her crutches within reach. But which chair, which room?
"Besides," she said. "Don't you feel responsible for what happened? I would." She was not at all subtle.
"Not so much responsible as guilty," I said.
"Call it whatever you like."
"I will. It's an important distinction."
"A lot of distinctions today, if you ask me."
Responsibility was a weight, a heaviness, but guilt I knew. I fucked up, people went mad, dogs died: I was guilty. But not because I had meant any of those things to happen.
The roads were plowed, or mostly plowed. Plowed far more than they'd been yesterday. The Ginny O was awash in activity. The lobby was filled with teenage boys hopping on their adjustable aluminum crutches, mothers with their swaddled babies, and then the Huge Ones. There were no fewer than a dozen enormous people in the lobby (I counted), vast obese persons, persons in need of doublewide wheelchairs. Two of them were attached to rolling oxygen tanks, but all were breathing with difficulty, walking slowly, if at all. Whenever I saw people that large—and I had never seen so many in one place—I had the unfortunate habit of wondering how they managed to perform the most intimate functions (reproduction, evacuation, lavation). Both made me nervous: my imagination and the Huge Ones.
Abelardo was on the third floor. He had a double room, and his was the far bed closest to the window. I couldn't see his roommate because all the curtains were pulled shut, pale blue curtains with a pattern of dark blue lozenges. Abelardo was propped up on pillows. A pile of thin blankets was pulled up to his chin; one lone arm was outside the covers and was switching channels on the muted television that extended from a retractable arm attached to the wall. When he saw me, he sat up, and as the blankets fell away I saw that he was wearing at least three cotton johnnies, one on top of another.
Absent a Miracle Page 9