Read Online For Love of Audrey Rose by Frank De Felitta - Free Book Online
Authors: Frank De Felitta
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and endless over the Eilenberg clinic. The low, cream-colored walls of the institution were dappled by the moving shadows of low-bending oak trees.
Janice was long familiar with the grounds. She nodded briefly to a nurse as she made her way to the clinic gardens. Bees still hovered around the faded flowers but there was a sensation of aridity, even sterility, and the dust rose upward, chalk white, as she walked into the garden.
Bill sat on an iron bench, a book on his lap. He had lost weight. His white shirt fluttered in the breeze. He was still very pale, and his red bedroom slippers looked like symbols of illness against the white dusty path. He looked up as he sensed her coming. As always, the direct contact of his eyes made her uneasy. He had become someone else, a broken-hearted, altered image of the man she had known and loved.
He smiled. The lips quivered.
“Hello, Bill,” Janice said gently, and kissed him on the forehead.
She sat down next to him and looked at the book in his lap. The type was small and she could not make out the words. It looked like stanzas of poetry. Bill fidgeted with the pages, as though he were very nervous.
“I feel much better,” he said, his voice husky. “But sometimes I get dizzy.”
Janice put her hand on his and smiled. She was gratified that he did not withdraw it.
“Oh, Bill,” she whispered. “It’s so wonderful to hear your voice!”
Bill’s hands trembled, like an old man’s. Janice wondered what powerful emotions surged through the thin frame. He looked up at the oak trees beyond the pink gravel driveway.
“Birds,” he said gruffly. “Like music.”
“Yes, Bill, I can hear them; oh, my, but it’s good to hear you speak.”
Suddenly embarrassed, he stood awkwardly, grasping his book. He looked as though he did not know whether to sit down or to walk down the garden path. Janice looked at the cover.
“John Keats,” she marveled. “Why, Bill, you never read poetry.”
Bill smiled. He had lost so much weight that his cheekbones were unnaturally prominent.
“Dr. Geddes makes me read,” he said hesitantly. “It feels good to read about some things.”
“Yes. Read to me, Bill. Let me hear your voice some more.”
Awkward, Bill licked his lips, and read:
“We are such forest trees that our fair boughs Have bred forth, not pale solitary doves But eagles golden-feathered, who do tower Above us in their beauty….”
Overcome, Bill closed the book, but kept his finger in it to mark the place.
“We did give birth to an eagle,” he said slowly. “You and I. Ivy was the most beautiful, the most courageous…”
He stopped. She tried to brush away the moisture from his eyes, but he pushed her hand aside. They rose, walked in silence, into the bright heat of the afternoon.
Janice felt his gait grow confused, like an old man’s. She led him as quickly as she could toward the entrance to the garden and signaled to a passing nurse. The nurse came quickly, put Bill’s left arm over her own shoulder, and assisted him to a bench in the shade of the clinic roof.
“I don’t know what happened,” Janice said, suddenly frightened. “All of a sudden, his knees began buckling.”
“He’s still in a kind of postshock syndrome,” the nurse said matter-of-factly. “Conversation actually takes a lot out of him.”
They set Bill down in front of the window to the lobby. He apologized weakly, coughed once, then blew his nose into a clean handkerchief. Janice suddenly realized that he looked like an old man, too.
“It’s quite normal,” the nurse assured her. “Every day he gains a bit more strength.”
“Right now I couldn’t lift a finger,” Bill whispered hoarsely. “Christ, I feel all sucked out.”
Janice sat down next to him. “Don’t speak, darling,” she said gently. “Would you like me to read to you?”
He nodded, then closed his eyes, settling his head against the window behind him. The nurse, who had picked up the book from the
Janice was long familiar with the grounds. She nodded briefly to a nurse as she made her way to the clinic gardens. Bees still hovered around the faded flowers but there was a sensation of aridity, even sterility, and the dust rose upward, chalk white, as she walked into the garden.
Bill sat on an iron bench, a book on his lap. He had lost weight. His white shirt fluttered in the breeze. He was still very pale, and his red bedroom slippers looked like symbols of illness against the white dusty path. He looked up as he sensed her coming. As always, the direct contact of his eyes made her uneasy. He had become someone else, a broken-hearted, altered image of the man she had known and loved.
He smiled. The lips quivered.
“Hello, Bill,” Janice said gently, and kissed him on the forehead.
She sat down next to him and looked at the book in his lap. The type was small and she could not make out the words. It looked like stanzas of poetry. Bill fidgeted with the pages, as though he were very nervous.
“I feel much better,” he said, his voice husky. “But sometimes I get dizzy.”
Janice put her hand on his and smiled. She was gratified that he did not withdraw it.
“Oh, Bill,” she whispered. “It’s so wonderful to hear your voice!”
Bill’s hands trembled, like an old man’s. Janice wondered what powerful emotions surged through the thin frame. He looked up at the oak trees beyond the pink gravel driveway.
“Birds,” he said gruffly. “Like music.”
“Yes, Bill, I can hear them; oh, my, but it’s good to hear you speak.”
Suddenly embarrassed, he stood awkwardly, grasping his book. He looked as though he did not know whether to sit down or to walk down the garden path. Janice looked at the cover.
“John Keats,” she marveled. “Why, Bill, you never read poetry.”
Bill smiled. He had lost so much weight that his cheekbones were unnaturally prominent.
“Dr. Geddes makes me read,” he said hesitantly. “It feels good to read about some things.”
“Yes. Read to me, Bill. Let me hear your voice some more.”
Awkward, Bill licked his lips, and read:
“We are such forest trees that our fair boughs Have bred forth, not pale solitary doves But eagles golden-feathered, who do tower Above us in their beauty….”
Overcome, Bill closed the book, but kept his finger in it to mark the place.
“We did give birth to an eagle,” he said slowly. “You and I. Ivy was the most beautiful, the most courageous…”
He stopped. She tried to brush away the moisture from his eyes, but he pushed her hand aside. They rose, walked in silence, into the bright heat of the afternoon.
Janice felt his gait grow confused, like an old man’s. She led him as quickly as she could toward the entrance to the garden and signaled to a passing nurse. The nurse came quickly, put Bill’s left arm over her own shoulder, and assisted him to a bench in the shade of the clinic roof.
“I don’t know what happened,” Janice said, suddenly frightened. “All of a sudden, his knees began buckling.”
“He’s still in a kind of postshock syndrome,” the nurse said matter-of-factly. “Conversation actually takes a lot out of him.”
They set Bill down in front of the window to the lobby. He apologized weakly, coughed once, then blew his nose into a clean handkerchief. Janice suddenly realized that he looked like an old man, too.
“It’s quite normal,” the nurse assured her. “Every day he gains a bit more strength.”
“Right now I couldn’t lift a finger,” Bill whispered hoarsely. “Christ, I feel all sucked out.”
Janice sat down next to him. “Don’t speak, darling,” she said gently. “Would you like me to read to you?”
He nodded, then closed his eyes, settling his head against the window behind him. The nurse, who had picked up the book from the
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