Deathbed

11

“‘. . . Sincerely yours, et cetera.’ And Dolly, make sure that letter gets in tomorrow morning’s mail. It’s important that the Cardinal has advance notice that I won’t be able to attend next week’s vicariate meeting.”

“Yes, Sister.” Dolly had filled many notebook pages with Sister Eileen’s dictated letters. Ordinarily, instead of asking Dolly to stay late, Sister would have used the tape recorder. But tonight, it was as if Eileen were doing something akin to making out her last will and testament. She had caught up on all her correspondence, which was unusual for her. Odder still, she had cleared her calendar for the foreseeable future, canceling appointments and appearances. Dolly could not understand it. But she was not the type to question superiors.

Eileen gently massaged her forehead. She was not sure what was causing the pain. But if she could not shake it soon, she would be forced to let one of the doctors see if he could find anything. Meanwhile, she was so sure she was going to be incapacitated for at least some time, that she had kept Dolly overtime to finish the letters and clear the calendar. And now both were completed.

“Oh, and Dolly, as soon as you can, get someone from maintenance to change the locks on the cabinets and drawers in the pharmacy. And tell them to make sure only the pharmacists have the new keys. Then tell the pharmacists that it is my express order that they let no one else use their keys. No one, no matter who.”

“Yes, Sister.”

“That’ll be all for tonight, Dolly. You’d better get home and get some sleep. There’s a heavy snowfall predicted for the early morning hours. If you can’t get in on time, don’t worry. Just make sure sometime tomorrow you get those letters out. And that notice to maintenance and the pharmacists. That’s important. And Dolly: Thanks.”

“You’re most welcome, Sister.” Dolly exited into the outer office, where she put her notes together. She expected she would indeed be late arriving for work in the morning and she wanted everything lined up so she could get it all finished tomorrow. A feat she would accomplish only if there were no unforeseen obstacles.

She dialed the superintendent of maintenance and told him of Eileen’s order. Dolly knew Joe to be conscientious; he would not be upset at being called at home. Joe would, she knew, be in at the crack of dawn or earlier no matter how bad the weather became. And he would see to it that the parking area and the approaches to the hospital were cleared of snow.

Now that the pharmacy matter was taken care of, there was just the paperwork to do tomorrow. Dolly bundled herself warmly and made certain she had car keys in hand.

She was about to leave when she heard a small cry and a thud.

Dolly hurried to Sister Eileen’s door. She knocked. When there was no answer, she timidly opened the door and peered in.

Sister Eileen was sprawled on the floor. Clearly, she was, at best, unconscious.

Dolly experienced a moment of panic. But, with no one in the immediate vicinity to call on for help, she quickly pulled herself together and dialed emergency.

* * *

Dr. Fred Scott was told about the headaches Sister Eileen had been suffering. He knew she had been assaulted the other evening. Putting the two together, he ordered a CAT scan, which revealed what he suspected: Sister Eileen had a subdural hematoma.

Under the best of circumstances, this would be serious. But Eileen was in her late sixties and undoubtedly had been suffering from this condition for up to forty-eight hours. On top of which, she was a nun. Thus, particularly in a Catholic hospital, a Very Important Person. And on top of that, she was chief executive officer. Thus, anywhere, she was a Very, Very Important Person.

Nevertheless, standard protocol was followed.

Dr. Robert Rollins was the neurosurgeon on call. So he was called. But he did not answer. It was not immediately known why he did not answer. Not until the next morning, during the incredible confusion that was to come, was it learned there was nothing wrong with Dr. Rollins’s beeper. The trouble was that Dr. Rollins was not wearing his beeper during the time it was beeping. Indeed, Dr. Rollins was not wearing anything.

Dr. Rollins was attending one of the seasonal parties by which Detroiters try to defeat the post-New Year’s doldrums. For no discernible reason, Dr. Rollins simply assumed he would not be called while he was on-call. Thus, he entered into the high spirits of the party. So Dr. Rollins’s beeper, along with all his clothing, was two rooms removed from the bedroom wherein the doctor and several others were cavorting.

Trying to get Dr. Rollins to respond to his call consumed considerable valuable time. Mostly because the patient was a Very, Very Important Person, a halt was called to the futile efforts to raise Dr. Rollins and the decision was made to contact the first available and qualified neurosurgeon.

Of course it took more time to rouse another neurosurgeon. Then it took more time for the neurosurgeon to dig out and drive down to the hospital. The gently, but steadily, falling snow made the almost deserted streets resemble a picture postcard. But it also made driving slow and treacherous.

* * *

Bruce Whitaker had worn white coveralls for his tour of the operating room area. He did so because whites, if not the scrub uniform, were required in that section of the hospital. In the event he had encountered anyone, he would not have been stopped for being out of uniform. As it happened, he had, as far as he knew, come through the venture unscathed. But it never hurt to be careful, as he was learning.

As was the custom, he had donned the white paper coveralls over his street clothes. He was now having considerable trouble getting the overalls off. He had perspired generously and the garment clung to his sweat-laden clothing. It did not occur to him that, particularly since whites routinely were discarded like wastepaper, he could simply rip them off. As he struggled to work the coveralls down over his hips, he heard the locker-room door open. He stood absolutely still. The perspiration began again.

“Anyone here?” a small voice inquired.

Whitaker’s surprise at hearing a female voice in the men’s locker room caused him to topple backward over the low wooden bench. The crash was substantial.

“Who’s there?” the small voice asked.

Whitaker, scrunched in the corner, contemplated the folly of overconfidence. Everything had been going swimmingly! Now he would be discovered.

Tentatively, Ethel Laidlaw peered around the corner of the lockers. It was impossible to identify who it was wrapped like a pretzel. “Who is it?”

“Ethel?”

“Bruce?”

“Ethel!”

“Bruce!”

“Ethel, help me.”

The plea was redundant. Ethel was already unwinding him.

“How did you ever get tangled up like this?”

“What are you doing here?”

“One thing at a time.” Ethel finally got Bruce into a redeemable position, then ripped off the remainder of the coveralls and threw them in the basket.

Whitaker adjusted his toupee, which had slipped to a devil-may-care angle. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. “

“Me!”

“I knew you were here somewhere.”

“How did you . . .?”

“Oh, Bruce. You want to help me so much. I just knew you’d be here somewhere trying to help me. I just wasn’t sure where I’d find you.”

Still and all, it seemed odd to Whitaker that in the entire hospital, Ethel would have stumbled upon the men’s lòcker room to search. But this was not the best time to sit around wondering. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Gee, I think that might be the worst thing we could do right now.”

“What?”

“This is a bad time—I mean a bad time to leave. It’s too late to just walk out as if we were part of one of the shifts going off duty. And it’s too early to leave completely unnoticed. Some of the patients get restless about this time and the nurses and the guards are pretty active now. We’d better wait awhile.”

This did not fit into his plan at all. Whitaker was becoming a bit panicky. “Where can we hide?”

“Sometimes the best place to hide is right out in the open.”

“What?”

Ethel removed something from the pocket of her uniform. “Here, take this stethoscope and hang the earpieces around your neck.” She fixed the medical instrument on him. “Like this. Now, put on your white jacket. See, now you’re a doctor. And I’m your nurse. This way, as long as we don’t get too close to anyone, and especially if we don’t meet anybody who knows you, we’ll be able to go anywhere in the hospital until the early hours of the morning. Then we can slip out.”

“You really think so?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Just with this stethoscope?”

“When you see someone, particularly a man, in a white coat with a stethoscope, who do you think he is?”

“A doctor.”

Ethel nodded. “And so does everyone else. Come on, let’s go.”

“Huh?”

“One thing’s for sure: We don’t want to stay in here. We’re pinned down. And for sure I don’t want to be caught in the men’s locker room.”

“Where’ll we go?”

“Just walk the main floor, maybe the basement. We don’t want to be near the patients. One of them might need a real doctor. Then we’d be in real trouble.”

So Whitaker in his white jacket and stethoscope left the locker room with Ethel. The two walked together, slowly but purposefully.

George Snell saw Bruce and Ethel on one of the monitors. They were not of even passing interest to Snell. Just two more figures moving across grainy screens. Besides, Snell was far more involved in what was being shown on commercial TV. And that, as the night or early morning wore on, became more and more select. He was down to mostly test patterns and two UHF channels showing ancient movies. But he kept switching around. One never knew when a given channel might start programming for a new day.

Meanwhile, Bruce and Ethel pretty much maintained their pacing, occasionally resting against an unoccupied booth or station.

“Bruce, I been thinking. We’ve gotten kind of close, you and me. I mean, we have, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, Ethel, I think so. I hope so.”

“And you been going out of your way to try and help me with this problem that I got with Sister Eileen.”

“Oh, Ethel, it’s more than your problem. See, the thing about Sister Eileen, it’s bigger than just you and me. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. But it’s not time yet. It’s too early. At least I think it’s too early. But, after tomorrow . . .” Whitaker checked his watch. “Actually, in just a few hours at most . . .”

“That’s okay, Bruce. The thing I was gettin’ at is . . . well, we’re gettin’ kinda close, and I think I really like you a lot. But we don’t really know each other very good. You don’t know anything about my life . . . I mean before we met. And I don’t know anything about yours.”

“I guess you’re right. Is it important to you? I mean, it’s not all that important to me. The most important thing for me is that we like each other a lot. Maybe we even love each other.”

“I think we do, too, Bruce. But it’s important we know more about each other just so’s we don’t go into this like blind.”

“Oh . . .”

“I’ll go first. I was the fifth of five children—all girls. I never figured out whether Pa kept trying for a boy and didn’t get one and gave up, or whether I wasn’t intended at all. All I know is I wasn’t terribly wanted. So I had a kind of miserable childhood. I went to parochial school and I was smart enough, but . . . clumsy? I broke everything but the rules. And ’cause the nuns were always yelling at me for being uncoordinated, I didn’t do as good in school as I might have. See? There’s a good example for you: I know it should be ‘I didn’t do as well in school . . .’ But why should I speak correctly when I can’t keep a ham sandwich together? I’m so clumsy that I just naturally act dumb. The two go together.”

“Gee, Ethel . . .”

“Wait! So I entered a convent but I didn’t last past being a postulant. By then I had gummed up so many things the mother house hasn’t been the same to this day.

“Since then, I’ve been pretty much on my own trying to find jobs and—even harder—trying to hold onto them after I get them. And that sort of takes us up to the present, where I’m trying like mad to hold onto this job. While the big boss is doing her best to fire me. And what chance do I have in a fight like that!

“So that’s what I am, Bruce: a loser. I’ve been a loser all my life and there ain’t nothin’ that indicates things are about to change. That’s what you got, Bruce, a loser.”

“Ethel! You think you’re a loser! I’ll tell you about a loser! I was an only child. And I went to parochial school too. And I was as awkward and clumsy as you even thought about. Only I wasn’t as smart as you. So when I went to the seminary, I guess I don’t have to tell you I didn’t last long.

“Back then, particularly, there were lots of guys in the seminary. And the professors demanded that you put out. They demanded, oh, accomplishment. I gotta confess to you, I’ve been bitter about that ever since.

“And this is the part that turned out bad: I got in with some other guys and afterward we tried to get even with some of the professors that were in the seminary when we were students. Well, these other guys are easy as clumsy as I am. They won’t admit it, but they are. And, well, being the kind of klutzes we are, we didn’t actually do all that much damage to the priest-professors. But we did enough so that we all got prison terms. I’m out now on parole. The other guys are still in.”

“You mean you actually tried to kill priests? Catholic priests?”

“To be honest, yes.”

“But why?”

“Because we were doing God’s will.”

Ethel shook her head. “Do you do this sort of thing very often?”

“Oh, good grief, no. But I gotta be honest with you: We’re doing it now.”

“Now?”

“Yeah. See, I’m embarrassed about this, Ethel, but I’ve been giving you the impression that I’ve been working on your case, trying to do something about Sister Eileen, so she won’t fire you. Which is true, as far as it goes. But what I’m really doing—or what we’re doing, ’cause the other guys still in prison are in on this too—is we’re trying to get the public eye on this hospital so the Church authorities will have to crack down on all the immorality going on in this place.”

“Immorality?”

“Birth control and illicit operations and like that.”

All the while Bruce was explaining himself Ethel’s eyes continued to widen in disbelief.

“You mean . . .? So that’s what you’ve been up to. I had no idea . . .”

“You mean you knew what I was doing?”

Ethel nodded. “But I didn’t know why.”

“Now you know, Ethel. I hope you don’t try to talk me out of it.”

Ethel shook her head.

“But,” Bruce continued, “with my luck, eventually they are going to catch me and I will probably end up going back to jail. And, Ethel, I know I haven’t got any right to ask you, but if I do have to go back to jail, I mean, would you wait for me?” Bruce hurried on, not giving Ethel an opportunity to respond. “I know I shouldn’t ask you this. I’ve got no right to ask you. So I shouldn’t ask you. Forget I asked you.”

“Don’t be silly! Who else have I got to wait for but you? Oh, Bruce, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. Truly, I think you’re wonderful. And I don’t care if you did do all this as part of some kind of conspiracy. You did it for me, too. I know you did.”

“You’re right, Ethel; I did. And I’m proud of that part of it. . . well, I’m proud of all of it. No matter what price I’ll have to pay, it was God’s will.”

“God’s will. That’s important for you, isn’t it, Bruce?”

“It’s the most important thing in the world. But”—Bruce studied the floor, unwilling to meet Ethel’s gaze—“you are right up there now, Ethel. You and God’s will! The most important things in the world for me.”

“Are you saying you love me, Bruce?”

Bruce nodded sheepishly.

“And I love you too, Bruce.”

Bruce grinned.

“Bruce, do you think that some relationships are made in heaven?”

“I never thought about it much until now. But, uh-huh.”

“I think that’s what happened to us, Bruce. You going to the seminary, me to the convent. Both of us being clumsy as a pair of oxes. Meeting each other here in the hospital. Joining together in more things than even you know about. Bruce, we were meant for each other . . . what do you think?”

“I think you’re right, Ethel.”

“But with our luck, it will be years before we can get together. One or another or both of us might go to jail and God knows when we’d get out, if ever.”

“You, Ethel! What—?”

“Never mind, Bruce. We got to get together—now. It’s God’s will.”

“God’s will?”

“God’s will! But . . . where?” Ethel thought about that. “I think I know. Come on.”

Ethel led Bruce through the corridors in a much more decisive manner than before when they were wending their way around with no more purpose than to pass time.

They encountered no one. But, unknown to them, George Snell again noticed them on one of the monitors. He was slightly surprised to see what appeared to be a doctor and a nurse hurrying so rapidly, so early in the morning. But that was the way with hospitals. Emergencies could not be scheduled to happen only during business hours. By definition, emergencies could occur at any time. So, he turned from the monitor to the commercial TV set.

Only one channel was telecasting. And Snell wasn’t very interested in the offering. After all, how many times could one be expected to watch Laurence Olivier in Wuthering Heights? Shakespeare was all well and good, thought Snell, but not this early in the morning.

However, given the choice between grainy monitors showing mostly empty corridors, and something—anything—commercial, Snell knew what his selection would be. But, just for luck, periodically he would run the selector switch through the gamut of stations, just in case there might be something, anything, else besides Shakespeare. One never could tell.

“Where are we going?” Bruce Whitaker was nearing hyperventilation.

“To the chapel,” Ethel said over her shoulder without slowing a step.

“The chapel! The chapel’s not on the basement floor.”

“Not the main chapel; the studio chapel that the chaplain uses to send services and Sunday Mass through the hospital.”

Bruce tried to concentrate on slowing his heartbeat. “Why should we go there?”

“Because it’s the emptiest place in the whole hospital.”

“Oh.” It seemed to be working. His heartbeat seemed to stabilize, but certainly not at a normal rate.

There was an empty gurney in the hallway. Ethel pushed it into a room in which there was no light whatsoever. Bruce followed her, but stopped just inside the door. He could see nothing in the room. The only illumination was the dim light coming through the door which had been left ajar. Then the door closed. Ethel had closed it. All was black. This was not helping his heartbeat.

“Come here, Bruce.”

“Where?”

“Home in on my voice. Come here. That’s better. Now, kiss me . . . longer . . . like you meant it . . . that’s better.”

“Wait a minute.”

“What’s the matter?”

“You’re unbuttoning my shirt.”

“I sort of hoped you’d do the same for me.”

“Do you think that is all right?”

“It’s God’s will.”

“Never in my life did I want to do God’s will more. But do we have to do it in the dark?”

“Oh, you want light.” Given Ethel’s self-image, she would have preferred the darkness. “Wait a minute. I think there’s a light switch over here near the door . . . there!”

“Wow!” Bruce shielded his eyes. “That’s bright! Does it have to be that bright?”

“That’s the only light there is in this room. This is where they broadcast the services and Mass on closed-circuit television. I guess the light has to be bright.”

There was no reason that Ethel should have known that she had turned on not only the klieg lights, but also the TV camera. What was transpiring in the studio chapel was being carried, closed-circuit, throughout the hospital on Channel 13.

As fate would have it, only one person in the hospital was watching television at that early morning hour.

Out of sheer boredom with Wuthering Heights and on the off chance that something, anything, had begun on another channel, George Snell turned the selector switch once again. Realistically expecting nothing, he flipped past Channel 13; paused, then returned to it. He was unacquainted with that channel since he religiously never watched the Mass or services. But, with relief, he noted there was, indeed, something going on over Channel 13. As far as he was concerned, whatever it was would probably beat out Wuthering Heights.

“Well, now, what could this be?” Particularly when alone, Snell was known to talk to himself. “This don’t look like one of them big-screen movies. Only two people. And no set to speak of. Just bare walls, far as I can see. A table of some sort off in the background. Some sort of small cart. That’s it? That ain’t much.

“Hey, wait a minute! What’re they doin’? They’re takin’ off each other’s clothes! This must be one of them cable channels. You’d never get this sorta thing on a network station. Well, well, well, this is gonna beat hell out of that Wuthering Heights. To hell with Shakespeare!”

He settled back in his chair, keeping his eyes on the screen. Shortly, he edged forward slightly.

“I don’t know whether they’re actin’ this way on purpose, but those two ain’t very good at this. Hell, he can’t even get her clothes off.” He reflected. “I don’t know; maybe it’s better this way. Most skinflicks, people are dressed one minute and naked the next. But, glory, glory, they sure are makin’ a production out of gettin’ undressed.”

Although Snell had seen his share of pornographic films, he always found them stimulating. To him, sex was a sport for all seasons, for spectators and participants alike. There were those who acknowledged him, and rightly so, to be an expert. Thus, when he viewed a skinflick, it was as an epicurean critic.

“They sure as hell need somethin’ bigger than that little cot. Only experts could function on somethin’ that small,” Snell commented. “Amateurs! You’d think at least they could get pros. How did those two rubes ever get cast for a flick like this? It’s come to a sorry state. That’s all I can say. A sorry state!”

“Is it over? Did we do it?” Bruce Whitaker was perspiring mightily. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he felt rather indescribably good about it.

“I think so,” Ethel said. “At least from what I’ve read about it, I think we did it. Did it feel good to you?”

“I think so. It all happened so fast. I don’t think I was thinking about anything at all. How about you?”

“I guess I didn’t feel anything. Maybe I’m not supposed to. I’ve heard women say they got nothing out of it. Maybe this is what they mean.”

“Oh, it couldn’t be that way. God would not be so unfair. If a man is supposed to get something out of it, certainly a woman should too. But what?”

Ethel pondered that for awhile. “I’ve been thinking,” she announced. “I mean, some of the things I’ve read said that something like this could happen.”

“Something like this?”

“Yes. The first time. The books warn that the first time can be disastrous.”

“Disastrous!” As time passed, Bruce was feeling better and better. “I would hardly say it was a disaster!”

“That’s right, don’t you see? So, if the books are right, it should get better the second time.”

“What do the books say?”

“That the first time is liable to be too rapid and the secret is in slowing everything down, which can be better done the second time. Particularly if the second time immediately follows upon the first time. I think I’m quoting exactly. It also says that when we are able to go slowly, we might become more imaginative. At least we are supposed to open ourselves to our imaginations.”

“Are you quite sure this is God’s will?”

“Oh, yes, quite certain.”

“Then”—Brace’s smile was beatific—”God’s will be done!”

“There they go again,” said George Snell, who had come close to turning back to Wuthering Heights just as Bruce and Ethel once more launched themselves onto the Seas of Providence. “I don’t know about those two. I don’t think they’ve got much of a future in this sort of thing.” He shook his head. “Skinflicks have come a long way from the days when nobody was sure just how far you could go and what you could get away with. Nowadays, the flicks have got porno pros, young people with great bods. I don’t know if those two could have made it even in the old days. They definitely have not taken care of their bodies. Shame. Nobody ought to neglect their bodies like that.”

He looked at the screen a bit more sharply. “Wait, that’s not bad! Wonder what happened to that technique the first time around? Maybe that was a teaser. Musta been. They’re beginning to look like pros. And looka that! How many times in a flick like this does the broad look like she’s really enjoyin’ it?

“And look at the guy! I don’t believe it—he’s going to . . . God, even I—wait a minute! Wait a minute! Wait a minute! He’s going to . . . he couldn’t be . . . he’s not . . . he is! Holy glory ... it’s the . . . he’s gonna . . . he’s gonna . . . IT’S THE SNELL MANEUVER!”

George Snell was standing, the chair tipped over behind him. He felt as if his copyright had been violated. He felt as if he’d been violated.

“Oh, Bruce,” Ethel sighed.

“Ethel,” Bruce whispered.

It was just at that moment the explosion occurred.

“What in hell was that!” Snell cried.

Bruce and Ethel were dumped from the gurney.

It was only later, much later, that Snell reflected that the two people he had thought were part of a movie also experienced the explosion at the same instant he did.

And it was only later, much later, that it occurred to him that he recognized both those people who he had thought were actors.