Betty Blue

26

They started off by telling me that everything was going fine-that her wound didn’t worry them in the least. Whenever I tried to find out why she spent so much time sleeping, they always found somebody to come put his hand on my shoulder, to explain how they knew what they were doing.

From the moment I passed through the door of that fucking hospital, I felt like a completely different man. I was seized by a dead anguish that all but knocked me down. I had to struggle against it with all my might. Once in a while, a female nurse would take my arm and guide me through the hallways. The male nurses never lifted a finger. They must have known that any relationship with me would end up stormy. My brain ran in slow motion, as if I were watching a slide show-swallowing up the pictures without comment, the meaning escaping me.

In such a state, it was easy for me to pull a chair up next to her bed and just stay there, immobile and silent, without noticing the time pass-not drinking, not smoking, not eating-like someone marooned at sea, with nothing in view, no other choice but to hang onto the plank. The nurse with the flat behind occasion ally poured some honey on my wounds.

“At least when she sleeps, she gets her strength back,” she told me.

I kept telling myself that. Over and over-I was becoming a blithering idiot. When she did open her eyes, it was nothing to jump up and down about. It was like there was a steel bar running through my stomach-I had to be careful not to fall off my chair. I looked deep into her one good eye, but I could never see the spark. I carried on one-sided conversations. Her hand would dissolve in mine like a marshmallow. She’d look right through me, my stomach growling so loud it was embarrassing. Every day at visiting hours I would come, hoping that she’d be waiting for me. But every day no one was there. Nothing but the Great White Desert. I was a silent zombie, walking circles in the wasteland.

“You sec, what has us worried is her mental health,” the good old doctor finally said. But I think he’d have done better to worry about mine; he could have saved wear and tear on his dentures-that’s how obvious things were soon to become. He was a bald guy, with a few tufts of hair on the sides-the kind of guy who slaps you on the back and shows you the door. You and your ignorance, your trembling knees. You and the stupid look on your face.

Yes, it would be only a few days before the bubbles finally popped the cork.

As soon as I got out in the fresh air, I felt better. It didn’t seem like it was Betty I was leaving in the hospital-rather, something I couldn’t get my mind around. As if she’d just left one morning without giving me a forwarding address. I tried to keep the house in order. Luckily, writers aren’t dirty. I just vacuumed a little around the table, emptied the ashtrays, and threw away the beer cans. The heat had already killed two or three people in town, precipitating the end of the already weak.

I stopped opening the store. I quickly realized that the only restful moments I had were those I spent with my notebooks, and that’s how I passed most of my time. It was ninety-three degrees in the house, even with the shades drawn. Still, it was the only place I still felt alive. Otherwise I was numb, as if I’d contracted sleeping sickness. Being inside the coals, I couldn’t feel the fire. All it took was a small breeze to stir the flames, though. A question of time, no more, no less.

One morning in particular things got off to a bad start. I was turning the kitchen upside down, trying to get my hands on some coffee, sighing deeply from the bottom of my soul, when Bob showed up.

“Hey,” he said. “You know that your car is parked right in front of my house?”

“Yeah, I guess it is…” I said.

“Well, there are people who might think there’s a body in the trunk, if you get my drift…”

That’s when I remembered the groceries I’d been bringing home the night I passed Betty on her way to the hospital. I had completely forgotten about them. Given the sun, the temperature inside the trunk must have been a hundred fifty degrees. I thought that I’d already had my share of this sort of thing, but no, there were still a few left-it was enough to make you sick to your stomach. I considered just sitting down and never getting up. Instead, I drank a big glass of water and followed Bob out into the street. As I was closing the door behind me I heard the telephone ring. I let it ring.

I hadn’t been taking the car to go see Betty. I walked every day. The exercise did me good. I came to see that life had not come to a complete halt. The young girls’ dresses were like a rain of flower petals. I forced myself to look at them, avoiding the old and ugly ones. It is ugliness of the soul, however, that really disgusts me. During these walks, I practiced my deep-breathing exercises. The car was the furthest thing from my mind-but things you forget come back to haunt you.

The stink was unbelievable. Bob was curious to see what it looked like, but I told him to forget it. I’d rather not know.

“Just tell me the shortest route to the dump,” I said.

I opened all the windows and crossed town with my hellish cargo. In places, the tar was almost melted-long, shiny, black grooves striping the pavement. Perhaps it was Darkness itself, coming up into the world-nothing surprised me anymore. To keep from getting too spooked by such thoughts, I turned the radio on: OOH BABY, HOLD ME BABY, TIGHTER, TICHTER, IUST ONE MOOORE KISSSS…!

I parked in front of the garbage dump. All you could hear was flies, and all you could smell was something that resembled the atomic bomb. I had just gotten out of the car, when here comes the neighborhood troglodyte, a pickax slung over his shoulder. It took me a while to figure out where his mouth was.

“Lookin’ for somethin’?” he said.

“No,” I said.

The whites of his eyes were almost supernatural-like in detergent commercials.

“Takin’ a walk?”

“No, I’m dropping off two or three things in my trunk.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, then, forget it.”

I leaned in to get the keys out of the ignition.

“If you don’t have anything for me, forget it,” he said. “Copper, for example. Like yesterday I turned around, and what do you know, this guy unloads a washing-machine motor.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t go in for that,” I said.

I opened the trunk. The food seemed to have doubled in volume. The meat was multicolored, the yogurt was swollen, the cheese was running, and all that was left of the butter was the foil. Generally speaking, everything had fermented, exploded, and oozed-it all formed one rather large compact block, more or less soldered to the carpet on the trunk floor.

I grimaced. The bum’s eyes lit up. It’s always the same story.

“You gonna throw all that away?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t have time to explain. I’m not feeling too hot-I’m unhappy.”

He spit on the ground and scratched his head.

“Hey, we all do what we can,” he said. “Look, fella, you mind if we sort of unload it easy-like? I’d like to take a closer look…”

We each took an end of the carpet and lifted the plaster-like wad out of the trunk. We put it down to one side, at the foot of a garbage-bag wall. Like iron shavings to a magnet, the flies-blue and gold ones-dove into it.

The bum looked at me, smiling. He was obviously waiting for me to split. In his shoes, I’d have done the same thing. I got back in the car without a word. Before taking off I glanced in the rearview mirror. He was still there, standing in the sun next to my small hill of food-he hadn’t moved an inch. He was smiling like he was posing for a souvenir snapshot of one helluva picnic. On the way home I stopped at a bar. I ordered a mint cordial. The oil, the coffee, the sugar, and a big box of chocolate powder those he’d be able to salvage. And the razors with the pivoting heads. And the antimosquito strips. And my box of Fab.

It was about noon when I pulled up in front of the house. The sun was like a hissing cat with its claws out. The telephone was ringing.

“Yes, hello?” I said.

There was static on the other end of the line. I could hardly make out one word.

“Listen, hang up and call back,” I said. “I can’t hear a thing!”

I threw my shoes into a corner. I ran my head under the shower. I lit a cigarette, then the phone rang again.

The guy on the other end said some name and asked me if it was mine.

“Yeah,” I said.

Then he said some other name, and that it was his.

“So…?” I said.

“I have your manuscript in my hands. I’ll send you contracts in the next mail.”

I sat my butt down on the table.

“All right…I want twelve percent,” I said.

“Ten percent.”

“Fine.”

“I loved your book. I’ll have it at the typesetter’s soon.”

“Yeah, do it fast,” I said.

“It’s nice to speak with you, hope to see you soon.”

“Yeah, well, I’m afraid I’ll be pretty tied up for the next little while…”

“Don’t worry about it. No hurry. We’ll take care of the travel arrangements. Things are in the works.”

“Fine.”

“Well, I have to let you go now. Are you working on something else at the moment?”

“Yes, it’s coming along…”

“Terrific. Good luck.”

He was about to hang up-I caught him at the last second.

“Hey… wait… excuse me,” I said. “What did you say your name was, again?”

He repeated it. It was a good thing, too. With all that was happening, it had completely gone out of my head.

I took a pack of sausages out of the refrigerator to thaw. I put some water on. I sat down with a beer. While I was waiting, I laughed louder than I ever had in my life-a nervous laugh.

I got to the hospital early, before visiting hours. I couldn’t figure out if I’d left too early or walked too fast. But one thing was sure-I couldn’t wait to see her. I had brought with me what she’d always wished for. Shouldn’t it be enough to make her jump to her feet? To give me a big wink with the one eye she had left? I made a beeline for the men’s room, as if it were an emergency. From there I surveyed the guy at the reception desk. He seemed to be dozing off. The stairway was empty. I slid by.

I entered the room. I stumbled forward and grabbed onto the bed railing-I didn’t want to believe what I saw. I shook my head no, hoping that the nightmare would disappear, but it did no good. Betty was lying immobile in bed, staring at the ceiling. She did not move a millimeter, understandably: they had strapped her to the bed-straps at least three inches wide, with aluminum buckles.

“Betty… what’s this all about…?” I whispered.

I still had my Western S.522 on me, the one that fits in any pocket. The curtains were open. A soft light spilled into the room. There was no sound-I sharpened it regularly. Me and my knife, we were pals.

I grabbed Betty by the shoulders. I shook her a little. I started perspiring again, but by now I was used to it-it practically never had a chance to dry. But this was bad sweat, different from the rest-like glazed, transparent blood. I stacked her pillows and sat her up. I found her as beautiful as ever. I had barely let go of her, when she fell over on her side. I picked her back up. When I saw this, a part of me tumbled over the foot of the bed screaming. With the other part, I took her hand.

“Listen,” I said. “I know that it’s taken a long time, but it’s over now-we’ve made it!”

Jerk, I thought, this is no time for riddles. Sure, you’re scared to death, but you have only one little sentence to say-you don’t even have to take a breath.

“Betty… my book is going to be published,” I said.

I might have added: DON’T YOU SEE THE LITTLE WHITE SAIL ON THE HORIZON? I don’t know how to describe this-she might as well have been sealed in a bell jar… and all I could do was leave my fingerprints on the glass. I did not detect the slightest change on her face. A little wind, I was-trying my best to ripple a pond long since covered with ice. A little wind…

“I’m not kidding! And, I’m pleased to announce that I’m working on a new one…!”

I was playing all my cards. The trouble is, I’d never played alone. Lose all night long, then deal yourself a hand in the morning after everyone’s gone home, only to find yourself with a royal flush-who could stand such a thing? Who wouldn’t want to throw everything out the window-stab the upholstery with a kitchen knife?

God, she didn’t see me. She didn’t understand me-didn’t even hear me. She no longer knew what it was to speak, or cry, or smile, or throw a temper tantrum, or revel in the sheets, running her tongue over her lips. The sheets didn’t move. Nothing moved. She gave me no sign, not even a microscopic one. My book being published affected her about as much as my showing up with a plate of french fries. The wonderful bouquet I’d brought was nothing but a shadow of wilted flowers, an odor of dried grass. For a fraction of a second I sensed the infinite space that separated us, and ever since then I tell whoever cares to listen that I died once… at thirty-five years of age, of a summer’s day in a hospital room-and it’s no bluff: I am among those who have heard the Grim Reaper whistling through the air. It chilled me to my fingertips. I experienced a moment of panic, but just then a nurse walked in. I didn’t budge.

She was carrying a tray, with a glass of water and pills of every conceivable color on it. She wasn’t the one I knew. She was fat, with yellow hair. She looked at me, then glanced severely at her watch.

“Excuse me,” she said. “But I don’t believe it’s visiting hours yet…!”

Her attention drifted to Betty. Her old sagging jaw dropped open:

“Mother Mary, who untied her?”

She frowned at me and started for the door, but I got there first, blocking her way with my arm. She let out a cry-a petty little whine. I scooped up the pills dancing on the tray and shoved them under her nose.

“What is all this shit?” I asked.

I didn’t recognize my own voice-it was an octave lower, and very hoarse. It was all I could do to keep from grabbing her by the throat.

“I’m not the doctor!” she wailed. “Let me go!”

I burned my eyes into hers with all my might. She bit her lip. “No… you’re going to stay with her. I’ll go,” I growled.

Before I walked out, I turned and glanced at Betty. She had fallen over on her side.

I shot across the hall like a rocket and went into his office without knocking. He had his back to me, he was looking at an X ray in the daylight. When he heard the door slam, he spun around in his chair. He raised his eyebrows. I let out a laugh. I walked up to his desk and threw down the handful of drugs.

“What is all this?” I asked. “What are you giving her?”

I couldn’t tell if I was really trembling from head to foot or just imagining it. The doctor tried to be slick. He grabbed a huge pair of scissors that had been lying on his desk and played with them.

“Ah, young man,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to talk with you. Sit down.”

I was strangled by a sort of crazy rage. For me, the guy represented the source of all unhappiness, of all the world’s suffering. I’d unmasked the bastard, cornered him in his hole. He was out to ruin the zest for life. He wasn’t a doctor, he was a hideous mixture of every asshole on earth. Meeting somebody like that made you cry and laugh at the same time. Still, I controlled myself-I wanted to hear what he had to tell me; and anyway, there was no way out. I sat down. I had trouble bending my legs. Looking at the color of my hands, I knew that I must have been white as death. I must not have been too frightening to look at, though. He tried to intimidate me.

“Let’s make one thing clear,” he said. “You are neither her husband nor a member of her family. I therefore have no obligation to explain anything to you. I’m going to anyway, but because I choose to-not because I have to. Is this understood?”

You’re a millimeter from the goal line-don’t flinch, I told myself. Take this one last whipping. I nodded my head.

“Fine,” he said.

He opened one of his desk drawers and dropped the scissors into it, smiling. I swear, the clown thought he was completely invulnerable-either that, or God was on my side. He folded his hands in front of him and nodded his head for a good ten seconds before getting on with it.

“I won’t hide from you that her case is very worrisome,” he started. “Last night we had to strap her down-a horrible attack, really.”

I imagined a gang of them jumping on her, pinning her to the bed while they buckled the straps. It was a grade-Z horror film, and I was the only one in the audience. I lowered my head a little. I shoved my hands under my thighs. He started talking again, but someone had turned off the sound. I noted in the silence that everything was going downhill.

“… and it would be going out on a limb to say that one day she will completely regain her senses. No, we mustn’t hold out too much hope.”

This sentence, however, I heard loud and clear. It had a particular color to it-bronze, I’d say. It writhed like a rattlesnake. It squirmed right under my skin.

“We’ll look after her, though,” he went on. “You know, there have been some remarkable advances in chemistry. We still get fairly good results with electroshock treatment. And don’t listen to what they tell you about it-it’s perfectly safe.”

I bent forward to lean all my weight on my hands. I fixed my eyes between my feet, on a spot on the floor.

“I’m going to go get her,” I said. “I’m going to go get her and take her away with me.”

I heard him laugh.

“Look, young man, don’t be ridiculous. Maybe you haven’t completely understood. I’m telling you that the girl is insane, my friend. Strait-jacket insane.”

At this I coiled like a spring and hopped up onto his desk with both feet. Before he could make a move, I kicked him in the face. That’s when I noticed he wore dentures-they flew out of his mouth like flying fish. Thank you, God, I thought. He fell over backward in his chair, spitting up a small geyser of blood. The sound of breaking glass was his feet going through the windows of his bookcase. He started screaming. I jumped on top of him, pulling like a madman on his tie. I lifted him up. I got him in a figure-four grapevine hold, or something in the same family-rolling him over backward with his one hundred sixty pounds on my legs, then letting him loose just at the moment of takeoff. The wall shook.

I was barely back on my feet when three orderlies came in, single-file. The first one got an elbow in the kisser, the second one tackled me, and the third one sat on top of me-he was the fattest. He squeezed all the breath out of me and grabbed me by the hair. I squealed with rage. I saw the doctor getting back up on his feet, holding onto the wall. The first orderly bent over and drove his fist into my ear. I had a hot flash.

“I’m calling the cops,” he said. “They’ll put him away.”

The doctor sat down in a chair, a handkerchief over his mouth. He was missing one of his shoes, among other things.

“No,” he said. “Not the police. It’s bad for public relations. Throw him outside. And he’d better not try to set foot inside this hospital again!”

They picked me up. The one who wanted to call the cops slapped me across the face.

“You hear that?” he said.

My shoe found his nuts-I actually knocked him off his feet, which surprised everybody. I took advantage of the pause to get loose. I dove again at the doctor-I wanted to strangle him, obliterate him. He fell out of his chair, me on top of him.

The orderlies all came down on me. I heard the nurses screaming. Before I could push my fingers into the doctor’s throat, I felt myself being lifted by an incalculable number of hands and thrown out of the office. They bashed me a little going down the hall, but nothing too serious-they were all pretty embarrassed; in the end I suppose they didn’t really want to kill me.

We went through the lobby at a sprint. One of them had me in a hammerlock, another one had a handful of my hair, and an ear-this hurt most. They opened the doors and threw me down the steps.

“If we see you around here again, you’ve had it!” one of them shouted.

Those fuckers. They almost got me to cry. A tear fell onto the steps. It steamed like a drop of hydrochloric acid.

So I’d struck out. Moreover, I’d gotten myself banished from the hospital forever. The next few days were the worst of my life. I couldn’t go back and see her again, and my memory of what I’d seen was intolerable. All the zen I knew came to no good-I was overcome with despair. I suffered like the most foolish of fools. Without doubt, it was during this period that I did my best writing. Later I would be referred to as an “unsung stylist.” It wasn’t my fault that I wrote well and knew it, though. During this period I filled up half a notebook.

I probably would have written even more, but I couldn’t sit still during the day. I took many a shower, downed quantities of beer, miles of sausage, and paced hundreds of thousands of miles on the carpet. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I’d take a walk outside. I often found myself near the hospital. I knew better than to get too close-they once hit me with a beer can from fifty yards. Yes, they kept their eyes peeled. I stayed on the far side of the street and contented myself with looking at her window. Once in a while I’d see the curtain move.

When night started falling, I’d go have a drink at Bob’s. It was the long slide into sundown at day’s end that was the most abominable, for a guy who’d had his baby taken away from him and isn’t sure he still knows how to swim. I’d spend about an hour with them. Bob acted like nothing had ever happened, and Annie always found some excuse to show me her pussy-it got me through the evening. Once it was dark, I could handle going home. I’d turn on the lights. I did most of my writing at night. Sometimes I even felt good-it made me feel like she was still there with me. Betty was the one thing that made me realize I was alive. Writing was tantamount to the same thing.

One morning I took the car and drove all day, aimlessly, my arm flung over the door, my eyes squinting in the wind. Toward evening I stopped at the seaside. I had no idea where I was. All I’d seen for the whole trip were the faces of gas station attendants I bought a couple of sandwiches at a neighborhood bar and went to eat them on the beach.

It was deserted. The sun had gone down below the horizon. It was so beautiful that I dropped a pickle in the sand. The sound of the waves, the same for millions of years, relaxed me-encouraged me, reassured me, stunned me. My little blue planet, O my little blue planet. May God bless you, goddamn it.

I sat there for a while, getting to know solitude again, meditating on my pain. I rose. So did the moon. I took my shoes off and started walking along the shore, thinking of nothing. The sand was still warm-the perfect temperature for an apple pie.

Along my way I came across a big fish, washed up on the sand. All that was left of it was a decomposed carcass, yet enough remained to see what a magnificent fish it must have been once- nothing less than a silver lightning bolt with a pearl belly, a sort of moving diamond. All that was over now. Beauty had taken a hard kick in the teeth. There were scarcely any scales left to glimmer in the moonlight-two or three hopeless little scales. To find yourself rotting away like that, after having once been the equal of the stars-wasn’t this the worst thing that could happen to you? Wouldn’t you rather just swim away into the darkness with a final flick of your tail to the sun? If it were me, I wouldn’t have to think twice.

Since no one was around to see, I buried the fish. I dug the hole with my hands. I felt a little ridiculous, but if I hadn’t done it, I couldn’t have lived with myself, and now was not the moment for that.

So that’s how it came to me. I thought it over and over and over-I tossed and turned all night, trying to get the idea out of my head, but by dawn I knew it was the only thing to do. All right, fine, I told myself. It was a Sunday. There would be too many people on Sunday. I put it off till the next day. All day long I dragged my ass. It looked like it was going to storm. Impossible to write-no use kidding myself. Impossible to do anything. Days like that are shittier than anything.

I woke up rather late the next day, around noon. Without thinking, I’d made a huge mess of the house. I started putting things away. Before I knew it, I was in the middle of a full-scale cleanup. I don’t know what came over me, I even dusted the curtains. After that I showered, shaved, and ate. While I was doing the dishes I noticed a few flashes of lightning. The thunder started to rumble. The sky was as dry as powdered milk. Clouds gathered in the burning air.

I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in front of the TV, my legs stretched out on the couch, a pitcher of water in my hand. I relaxed. The house was so clean it was a pleasure to see; from time to time it does you good to know everything is in its place.

At around five o’clock, I put my makeup on, then charged out onto the street, disguised as Josephine. The storm that had been coming since the night before still hadn’t come-the sky was holding its breath. Through my glasses it all looked even darker, nearly apocalyptic. I walked fast. The wise thing to do would have been to take the car, but I turned a deaf ear to it, leaving it behind to sulk by itself. As a finishing touch I’d taken one of Betty’s purses. I held it close to me-it kept my boobs from slipping. I walked with my eyes riveted to the sidewalk, paying no attention to the catcalls that the bums throw at every single girl who passes by-I couldn’t waste my time. I tried not to think of anything.

When I got to the hospital, I hid behind a tree and exhaled two or three times, like wind howling through the branches. Then I walked toward the entrance with my purse under my arm-no hesitation, head high, with the poise of a gal who’s used to ruling an empire. I felt nothing at all as I went through the door-not the tiniest bit of uneasiness. For once I wasn’t carrying an electrified fence on my shoulders, no blood poisoning, no spontaneous combustion or lateral paralysis. I almost looked back to see what I was missing, but I was already on the stairway.

On the second floor, I ran into a group of orderlies. Though I’d just touched up my makeup, all they ogled were my breasts. They were too big, I knew it, and now every last one of them was undressing me with his eyes. To escape, I ducked into the first room I came to.

There was a guy in bed, a tube in his arm and a tube up his nose. He was not in great shape. He opened his eyes when I came in, waiting for the orderlies to pass by. We looked at each other-we obviously didn’t have a lot to talk about, but we looked at each other. For a fraction of a second, I wanted to unplug him. Though I didn’t make a move, the guy started shaking his head no. I gave up on the idea. I cracked the door open to make sure the coast was clear.

Betty. Room number seven. I slid in silently and closed the door behind me. It was dark. Clouds, or simply nightfall, it was hard to tell. There was a tiny light above her bed, so pallid it made my blood run cold. A nightlight when it’s not yet night is like a crippled child. I wedged the door closed with a chair. I ripped off my wig and took off my glasses. I sat down on the edge of the bed. She wasn’t sleeping.

“Want some gum?” I said.

It did no good to search my memory-I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard her voice. Or the last words we’d exchanged. Probably something like:

“Hey, who do you have to fuck to get some sugar around here?”

“Have you tried looking in the bottom drawer?”

I wrapped my tutti-frutti back up-it turned out I didn’t want any either. I grabbed the pitcher of water off the nightstand and downed half of it.

“Want some?” I asked.

They hadn’t tied her down. The straps hung on the floor, like chocolate bars left out in the sun. I acted like she wasn’t gone, like she was still there. I needed to talk.

“The hardest thing is going to be getting you dressed,” I said. “Especially if you don’t help…”

I took my glove off and ran my hand under her nightgown, caressing her breasts. An elephant’s memory is nothing compared to mine. I could remember every square millimeter of her skin. Give me her cells, all jumbled up, and I’ll put them back together for you in perfect order. I teased her belly, her arms, her legs. Finally, I closed my hand over her furry patch-nothing had changed. I felt real joy at that precise moment-a simple pleasure, almost animal. I put my glove back on. Of course the pleasure would have been a thousand times greater had she reacted. But then again, where could you ever find the kind of happiness that would have been-in commercials? At the bottom of Santa Claus’s sack? On the top floor of the Tower of Babel?

“All right, we’d better hurry. We have to go…”

I took her chin and put my lips to hers. She never unclenched her teeth. It was still wonderful. I managed to get a little of her saliva on my lower lip. Her mouth-I ate it ever so gently. I slid my hand behind her neck and pulled her to me, my nose grazing in her hair. If this goes on, it’s me who’ll go nuts, I thought, me who’ll come apart at the seams. I took out a Kleenex and wiped her lips-I’d gotten lipstick all over them.

“We still have a long way to go,” I said.

A doll, docile and silent. They’d filled her to the gills with drugs. They’d already thrown the first shovel of dirt over her. The right thing to do would have been to ambush them all and slit their throats for being what they were-doctors, nurses, pharmacists, the whole clique; not to mention everyone who’d pushed her to that point, slave drivers, people who crush you under their thumbs, those who offend you, lie to you, use you; people who don’t give a shit if you’re one of a kind, people who glow brighter in the bullshit, stand taller on hills of crap, who weigh you down like a ball and chain. It wouldn’t have made me feel any better, though. Wading through the rivers of their blood, I wouldn’t be much better off. Like it or not, what’s done is done, as they say-and though I’m not the kind of guy who gives up hope at the drop of a hat, I understood that sometimes the world seems like the worst of all possible Hells. It depends on how you look at it. May God strike me dead: sitting on that bed in that room, for the longest minute of my life, I’d never seen anything so odious or black. Above us, the storm broke loose. I shook.

“I need you to make one last effort,” I sighed.

The first drops splattered against the window, like insects on a windshield. I bent over her delicately and took hold of one of the straps. I put the tip of it through the buckle and pulled tight. One for her legs. She didn’t move.

“You okay? It doesn’t hurt, does it?” I asked.

Outside was the deluge. It was like being inside the Nautilus. I picked up another strap and put it around her arms and chest, just under her breasts. I pulled it tight. She stared at the ceiling with her one eye. Nothing I did interested her. The moment had come to test my strength.

“I have to tell you something…” I started.

I took one of the pillows from beneath her head, one with blue stripes. I wasn’t shaking-for her I could do anything without shaking, I’d already proven that-I was just a little warmer was all.

“…you and me, we’re like two fingers of the same hand,” I went on. “And nothing can ever change that.”

I probably could have found something more clever to say or, better still, kept quiet. But at the time it seemed innocent enough-a little parade of improvised words. She would have liked that. It was a confection, written in whipped cream, not in stone.

I counted to seven hundred fifty, then stood up. I took the pillow off her face. The rain was making a hell of a din. For some reason I had a pain in my side. I didn’t look at her. I undid the straps. I put the pillow back where it had been.

I turned toward the wall, thinking that something was going to happen. Nothing happened. It just kept raining and raining. The light stayed where it was, and so did the walls-and there I was, with my white gloves and false breasts, waiting for some message from death. But no message came. Was I going to get out of this with only a pain in the side?

I put my wig back on. Just before leaving, I turned and glanced at her for the last time. I expected some horrific sight, but in the end she just looked like she was sleeping. Yet she came up with one more thing to make me happy-she knew how to do it. Her mouth was open slightly. I noticed a pack of Kleenex on the nightstand. It took me a moment to understand, then I started crying. Yes, she was still watching over me, showing me which way to go, even though she was no longer of this world. Her sending me this last sign flooded me with a river of fire.

I rushed back to the bed and kissed her hair, then grabbed the Kleenex and shoved all I could into her mouth, all the way down. I had a spasm-I almost threw up-but it passed. What I want is to be able to be proud of you, she’d said.

When I left, everybody must have been on coffee break. No one was in the halls, and almost no one was in the lobby. I went unnoticed. It was totally dark. The gutters were overflowing down the whole side of the building. It smelled bad-dried-out grass that’s been wet again. The rain was a luminous portcullis of electric wire. I turned my collar up, put my purse on top of my head, and dove into it.

I ran. I had the sensation that someone was chasing me with a flamethrower. I had to take my glasses off to see, but I didn’t slow down. As one might expect, there was no one on the street, so I didn’t worry about my makeup-luckily I hadn’t put on any mascara. I got a lot on my fingers trying to wipe my face off-l must have really smeared it good. Fortunately, you couldn’t see three yards in front of you.

I ran like a poisoned rat caught in a web of pearls. I didn’t slow down for intersections. Plipliplip went the rain; flap flap flap I went; baroombaroom went the thunder. The rain fell straight down. It stung my face-I swallowed some of it. I ran halfway home like a bat out of hell. My whole body was steaming; my breathing filled the street, no joke. I passed under a streetlight, and everything went blue.

At an intersection, I saw the headlights of a car. I had the right of way, but I let him go first. In the pause, I tore my wig off, then plunged ahead. The rain wasn’t enough to put out the fire raging in my lungs. I gave it all I could, then forced myself to give even more. It made me moan and cry, it was so hard. I ran because I’d killed Betty. I ran because I wanted to run. I ran because I needed something else. At the same time, it seemed a perfectly natural reflex-it came from the heart, after all, didn’t it…?