because there was always only one chair. His mother had worried about it.
Benedict was alone with the old man the right side of whose face might be laughing.
“Name?” the Intake Form prompted Benedict to ask him.
The patient must be saying “Samson Gorewitz.” It was typed in on the form.
“Social Security?”
The patient palpated the chest of the hospital gown,which had no pocket, but the number, his birth information, and a Columbus, Ohio, street address were also typed on the appropriate lines.
“Nearest relative?” asked the Intake Form.
“Mysn Stewrt.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mysn inpairs.”
A son, was it, in pairs! Let that go for the moment.
“Marital status?”
Benedict made out that the patient was widowed.
“Education?”
“Hiostate.”
“Ohio State? Is that right?”
“Ratrat!”
“Occupation?” Benedict was unable, first and last, to make out what the patient had done with, to, or about a “peppermill.”
Next to “Comments,” Benedict noted, One-sided facial paralysis (?) makes patient’s speech difficult/impossible to follow. May be confused/demented (?)
Lucy saw Dr. Haddad approaching and raised her hand, and then lowered it to adjust her hair at the back when the doctor passed without stopping. It’s what we do to keep the world from witnessing that we have been left standing on the sidewalk by an empty cab—the anti-Semite! Well, but hold on now: Haddad might be preserving the fiction that Lucy was like any regular patient, waiting to be attended to.Lucy watched the doctor walk into the cubicle into which Benedict had followed the patient on the gurney, and out of which, in another moment, he emerged calling to the Pleasant Nurse: “The doctor wants you to get him a proper pillow.” Lucy’s eyes followed Benedict, who moved in the direction of the exit, where he passed the two old women hovering in the doorway.
Deborah and Shirley
Joe had praised Lucy’s powers of observation. It had her wondering about the things she thought she knew about those two women. They were sisters; their four black eyes peered in with identical anxiety. They were expecting to learn certain hideous news. This cruel anxiety of theirs, however, was momentarily displaced by the little acute malaise of not knowing if they were allowed to just walk into the ER. Lucy beckoned to them: Come on! You can come on in. They stepped into the foreign space in which they did not know whether they were meant to move forward, to the left or right: They suspected themselves of being the wrong people in the wrong place, about to be found out. Lucy liked the one with the gray hair. The other had home-dyed her hair a black color that does not exist in nature; some sales lady had instructed her to tie the scarf like that. She didn’t look like New York. The two women found the cubicle Benedict had come out of and went in.
Deborah and Shirley came through the curtains, which the young person with the—what do they call the thing they wear over their head?—parted for them. “You have visitors,” she said to Sammy on the gurney.
They had to arrange their faces before they came and kissed the smiling half of his face, the half that looked like Sammy. The other, the left half, had suffered a slippage. Shirley covered her mouth with her hand.
Deb said, “Sammy, sweetheart! I’m furious with you! What made you go down that beach alone at five o’clock in the a.m.!”
“I didn’t go by myself.”
“What, sweetheart?” They did not understand what he said.
“I did not go by myself!”
They understood his shaking his head, “No.”
“You did, too,” Deb said, “because I spoke to the people at the Glenshore hospital and they picked you up all the way down on the beach and you were all alone.”
Samson said, “I know, but that first morning, when I came down to breakfast, I sat in an empty seat. It turned out they were a family. The dad …” Sam had to laugh. “He had on, it must have been
Benedict was alone with the old man the right side of whose face might be laughing.
“Name?” the Intake Form prompted Benedict to ask him.
The patient must be saying “Samson Gorewitz.” It was typed in on the form.
“Social Security?”
The patient palpated the chest of the hospital gown,which had no pocket, but the number, his birth information, and a Columbus, Ohio, street address were also typed on the appropriate lines.
“Nearest relative?” asked the Intake Form.
“Mysn Stewrt.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mysn inpairs.”
A son, was it, in pairs! Let that go for the moment.
“Marital status?”
Benedict made out that the patient was widowed.
“Education?”
“Hiostate.”
“Ohio State? Is that right?”
“Ratrat!”
“Occupation?” Benedict was unable, first and last, to make out what the patient had done with, to, or about a “peppermill.”
Next to “Comments,” Benedict noted, One-sided facial paralysis (?) makes patient’s speech difficult/impossible to follow. May be confused/demented (?)
Lucy saw Dr. Haddad approaching and raised her hand, and then lowered it to adjust her hair at the back when the doctor passed without stopping. It’s what we do to keep the world from witnessing that we have been left standing on the sidewalk by an empty cab—the anti-Semite! Well, but hold on now: Haddad might be preserving the fiction that Lucy was like any regular patient, waiting to be attended to.Lucy watched the doctor walk into the cubicle into which Benedict had followed the patient on the gurney, and out of which, in another moment, he emerged calling to the Pleasant Nurse: “The doctor wants you to get him a proper pillow.” Lucy’s eyes followed Benedict, who moved in the direction of the exit, where he passed the two old women hovering in the doorway.
Deborah and Shirley
Joe had praised Lucy’s powers of observation. It had her wondering about the things she thought she knew about those two women. They were sisters; their four black eyes peered in with identical anxiety. They were expecting to learn certain hideous news. This cruel anxiety of theirs, however, was momentarily displaced by the little acute malaise of not knowing if they were allowed to just walk into the ER. Lucy beckoned to them: Come on! You can come on in. They stepped into the foreign space in which they did not know whether they were meant to move forward, to the left or right: They suspected themselves of being the wrong people in the wrong place, about to be found out. Lucy liked the one with the gray hair. The other had home-dyed her hair a black color that does not exist in nature; some sales lady had instructed her to tie the scarf like that. She didn’t look like New York. The two women found the cubicle Benedict had come out of and went in.
Deborah and Shirley came through the curtains, which the young person with the—what do they call the thing they wear over their head?—parted for them. “You have visitors,” she said to Sammy on the gurney.
They had to arrange their faces before they came and kissed the smiling half of his face, the half that looked like Sammy. The other, the left half, had suffered a slippage. Shirley covered her mouth with her hand.
Deb said, “Sammy, sweetheart! I’m furious with you! What made you go down that beach alone at five o’clock in the a.m.!”
“I didn’t go by myself.”
“What, sweetheart?” They did not understand what he said.
“I did not go by myself!”
They understood his shaking his head, “No.”
“You did, too,” Deb said, “because I spoke to the people at the Glenshore hospital and they picked you up all the way down on the beach and you were all alone.”
Samson said, “I know, but that first morning, when I came down to breakfast, I sat in an empty seat. It turned out they were a family. The dad …” Sam had to laugh. “He had on, it must have been
Similar Books
