Read Online A Widow's Story by Joyce Carol Oates - Free Book Online Page B

twilit and deserted—how eerie it seems, no one is around—the foyer is empty, the information desk darkened—the coffee shop darkened—my panicked heart is beating like a frantic fist as I run to the elevator—ascend to the fifth floor—now stepping out of the elevator I am terribly frightened, turning left for Telemetry as usual I taste cold at the back of my mouth This is not happening , this is not real—of course , Ray will be all right. In Telemetry there is no one around—except at the nurses’ station—lights, white-clad figures—in my distraction I don’t see any nurses I know—by the way they regard me, with impassive faces, they know—must know—why I am here, at this time of night when no visitors are allowed in the hospital; and now—at the farther end of the corridor outside my husband’s room I see a sight that terrifies me—five or six figures—medical workers–standing quietly outside the opened door—as if they have been awaiting me—as I approach one of them steps forward—a young woman doctor—a very young-looking woman, a stranger to me—silently she points into the room and in that instant, I know—I know that, for all my frantic hurrying, I have come too late—for all my scrupulosity in driving at the speed limit, waiting for the light to change like a programmed robot, I have come too late—in a trance I enter the room—this room I’d left only a few hours before in utter naivete, ignorance—kissing my smooth-cheeked husband Good night! —our plans were for me to arrive early tomorrow morning—that is, this morning—I was to bring page proofs for the upcoming Ontario Review —but now Ray is not sitting up in his bed awaiting me—he is not awaiting me at all but lying on his back motionless in the hospital bed, which has been lowered—I am shocked to see that there is something not-right here—Ray’s eyes are closed, his ashen face is slack, the IV tube has been removed from the crook of his bruised right arm, there is no oxygen monitor, there is no cardiac monitor, the room is utterly still—Ray’s eyelids don’t flutter as I enter, his lips don’t twitch in a smile—I don’t hear his words Hi honey! —numbly I come to the bed, I am speaking his name, I am pleading with him as a child might—“Oh honey what has happened to you!—what has happened to you!—Honey? Honey ?” For Ray seems so very lifelike, there is no anguish or even strain in his face; his face is relaxed, unlined; his hair is not disheveled; it is true that he has lost weight this past week, his cheeks are thinner, there are hollows beneath his eyes which are beautiful eyes, gray-blue, slate-blue, I am leaning over him as he lies motionless beneath a sheet, I hold him, I am frantic holding him, kissing him, I am crying for him—urging him to wake up, this is me—this is Joyce—this is your wife I am pleading with him for Ray is one to be coaxed, persuaded—he is not a stubborn man—he is not an inflexible man—if he could he would open his eyes and greet me, I know; he would murmur something amusing and ironic, I know; I hold him for as long as I can, I am crying, his skin is still warm but beginning to cool; I am thinking This is not possible. This is a mistake ; I am tempted to shake Ray, to laugh at him— This is not possible! Wake up! Stop this!— for never in our lives together has anything so extraordinary happened, between us; never has anything in our lives together so divided us; I am telling him that I love him, I love him so much, I have always loved him; now the young woman doctor has entered the room, quietly; the others remain in the hall, looking in; in a lowered voice in which each word is enunciated with precision the young woman doctor whose name has flown past me, whose name I will never know, explains to me that everything possible had been done to save my husband, who had died just minutes ago—he’d gone into unexpected cardiac arrest —his blood pressure