Second Ending

29

“Helen?” Bud said. He turned from the windows, and he walked to her, and she looked up from where she sat on the corner of the couch.

“Yes?”

“That... that Christmas... that time...”

“Yes?”

“I wanted you to know...” This was very difficult. He could barely look at her, and yet he felt he should put it into words, felt things would be better if he could put it into words. “I wanted you to know I’m sorry, truly sorry.”

She stared at him for a long time. “All right,” she said.

“And Helen...”

“Bud, I said it then. I don’t want to say it again now.”

“What?”

“It takes a hell of a lot more than ‘I’m sorry.’”

“I know, Helen, and I realize...”

The knock sounded on the door. Bud glanced at his watch. It was eleven o’clock. Helen opened the door, and the doctor entered. They took him to the couch where Andy had lain quietly through the morning. They stood by anxiously while he examined Andy. He was very thorough, a young man with a pale blond mustache, a meticulous young man. He packed his instruments with loving care when he was through.

“Your phone?” he asked.

“Over there,” Helen said. “What is it?”

“I’m calling an ambulance,” the doctor said. “Your friend is in a coma.”

The rain began at noon.

A slow steady rain that pressed against the windows in the hospital corridor. The corridor was very white and antiseptic. It smelled of ether, and it smelled of clean starched linen, and it smelled of sickness. There was a room at the end of the corridor, and there was a lettered sign on the door of the room, and the sign read: QUIET, NO ENTRANCE, and Andy Silvera was in that room. There was a basket of soiled linen outside the door of the room, and a wheel chair was against the wall farther up the corridor, and in the middle of the corridor was a desk, and a white-starched nurse sat at the desk. And sitting on the bench opposite the desk were Mr. and Mrs. Silvera and Carol. And standing to the right of the desk under the huge hanging light globe were Bud and Helen.

Mr. Silvera was a tall, cadaverous-looking man, an accountant whose eyes were weak and magnified by thick lenses. Mrs. Silvera was a small woman with pitch-black hair and deep brown eyes, eyes her son had inherited. They sat side by side on the bench, wearing their pain like a black cloak. A clock on the wall above the desk ticked loudly.

When the doctor came, he consulted a chart and then said, “What is this? A convention?” Mr. and Mrs. Silvera flinched under the blow of his words.

“We’re his parents,” Mr. Silvera said.

“And we’re his friends,” Carol added defiantly.

The doctor glanced coldly at Helen and Bud, shrugged, and then said, “He was taking drugs, did you know that?”

“Yes,” Carol said.

“Which may explain how he contracted the disease,” the doctor went on. “In the past few years we’ve learned that it can be transmitted by the use of contaminated syringes or needles, or by the administration of convalescent human serum. Even tattooing has come to be regarded as a dangerous means of transmission. If he was an addict, and there doesn’t seem to be much doubt of that, he may have come into contact with a syringe that had been used by someone with the disease. It’s not at all unlikely.” The doctor stroked his jaw. The doctor was a young man used to crowded wards and sudden death. He looked at Andy’s parents. “Your son is now in a coma. The coma was undoubtedly preceded by various symptoms — nausea, vomiting, right upper quadrant pain or distress, headache, perhaps diarrhea. And, oh—” the doctor thought, scanning his voluminous medical knowledge — “...acute chills, fever, anorexia, joint and back pain, urticaria, burning of the eyes” — he stopped, sighed — “and, of course, the jaundice. It’s not a rare disease. It is becoming more and more common among drug addicts. The amazing thing is that he didn’t seek medical aid sooner. When the symptoms presented themselves, he should have—”

“What does he have?” Carol asked.

“Acute hepatitis. Probably homologous serum hepatitis, although we can’t differentiate for sure between the virus IH and the virus SH without a knowledge of the incubation period, which we do not have.”

Incubation, Bud thought, and he remembered the party Andy had described, where a community needle had been passed. Had it been then? How many parties like that had there been? When had he been infected? How long ago?

“Is it... is it very serious?” Mrs. Silvera asked.

“I shall be quite frank with you,” the doctor said. “Until recently, our experience with acute hepatitis has not included recovery after coma. However, we have been using certain drugs with notable success, and we are trying them on your son.”

“What drugs?” Carol asked.

The doctor sighed impatiently, knowing the names of the drugs would mean nothing to Carol, annoyed because he had to transmit the information to her. “We have so far given him two hundred and fifty milligrams of cortisone intramuscularly, and intravenous glucose with five hundred milligrams of terramycin and forty milligrams of vitamin K.”

“What are his chances?” Helen asked, and Bud realized she had been unusually silent since they came to the hospital, and he searched her face and found only intense concentration on it, and again he admired her strength and her courage.

“His chances right now?” The doctor shrugged. “Fifty-fifty.”

“May we see him?” Carol asked.

“We want to keep him absolutely silent. We don’t want—”

“Please,” Carol said.

“His parents, perhaps.” He hesitated, studying Carol’s face, and then added reluctantly, “And you, of course.”

“We’ll wait for you,” Bud said.

“The priest has been here?” Mrs. Silvera asked.

“Yes, we thought it best to...” The doctor hesitated again. He seemed very nervous all at once. “Would you come this way, please? He won’t recognize you, you realize. He’s in a coma. But if you want to look at him...” The doctor shrugged, incomprehendingly, and then his eyes blinked and his voice softened, and he said, “Please, this way.”

They went down the hall to the door marked QUIET, NO ENTRANCE. Bud and Helen waited by the desk while Carol and Andy’s parents entered the room.

“He’s going to die,” Helen said. “I know it.”

“He’s got a fifty-fifty chance,” Bud said.

“If he takes it.”

“What?”

“If he takes the chance. He may not want it.”

Bud shook his head. “Such a kid. Why should he have to—”

“Such a kid, yes,” she said. She stood as stiff as a post, her shoulders back, her head high. Her eyes were bright and staring, and her mouth was a tight line across her face.

Carol was coming down the hallway again. He heard the tap of her heels, and he turned as she approached.

She was not crying. Her face was a deadly white, and there was shock in her eyes, as if someone had punched her with a heavy fist. Her body was trembling, but there was no sobbing, and no crying, and he put his arm around her awkwardly, trying to comfort her, and she kept staring blankly ahead of her, and then she began shaking her head.

She said, “Why should I feel responsible for him?” but she was not asking Bud the question, and her voice was curiously cold and dead.

“You shouldn’t!” Bud snapped. “We... we can’t. Carol, he’s not going to die... he’s...”

“Aren’t we all responsible for each other?” she said, still not looking at him. “If we aren’t, shouldn’t we be?”

“I want to leave,” Helen said suddenly. “I want a cup of coffee. I don’t want to be here when he...” She shook her head, and then she reached out and touched Carol’s hand, and she turned and started down the corridor toward the elevator.

“Helen,” Bud said, “wait.” She stopped, looking back at him. “Carol,” he said, “I’ve got to go now. I’ll be back a little later. Will you be all right?”

“Yes,” she said dully.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

She looked up at him curiously, her eyes still blank. “No,” she said. “I don’t mind at all.”

He squeezed her hand, smiled briefly, and then went down the corridor after Helen. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee,” he said. “I’ve got to get uptown in a little while.”

“All right,” Helen answered.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“You sounded— Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

They took the elevator down to the main floor, and then they walked out of the hospital together. There was a small restaurant on the opposite corner, and they went to it and took a table in the corner. Bud took off his coat and then helped Helen with hers. It wasn’t quite one o’clock yet, but every light in the place was on in defense against the rain.

They sat, and Helen was very quiet, and he watched her and wondered what her silence meant, and he said, “Helen, what I was trying to say before—”

“Don’t, Bud,” she said.

“All right, but I... I wanted you to know... I wanted to apologize.”

“You’ve already apologized,” she said. “Have you got a cigarette?”

“Yes, sure,” he answered. He took the package from his pocket, shook one loose, and then lit it for her, putting the pack on the table.

“He’ll die,” she said. “The poor son-of-a-bitch will die, and all of us will ask why.” Her voice was very low. She squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in on the cigarette. One hand was on the table, clenched tightly, the knuckles white. “I mustn’t... I mustn’t,” she said, and she shook her head.

“Mustn’t what?”

“Nothing.” She smiled suddenly, and the smile was so unexpected that he blinked his eyes. “This is good weather for dying, anyway, isn’t it?” she said, still smiling. “I always say if you’re going to die — and there’s no reason to believe we all aren’t, is there? — then you might as well pick a nice gloomy day for it. Of course, most of us don’t have the choice.”

“Helen, what—”

“Can’t we have some coffee? I think this place is staffed with dead men. Waiter!”

The counterman came over to the table. “What’ll it be?” he asked.

“Two coffees,” Bud said. “And a ham on rye. You eating anything, Helen?”

“No.”

“That’s it,” Bud said, and the counterman walked away. Bud looked at his watch. “I hope he makes it fast.”

“Big test this afternoon, huh?” Helen said.

“Yes. Well, it wouldn’t be so important if I hadn’t flunked the last one, but... well, you know, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do now.”

“Yes, of course. You have to catch up. I knew a man once who spent all of his life catching up. He got out of bed late one morning, you see, and so he lost a half hour, and he spent the rest of his life trying to catch up. He finally died trying to catch a train.” Helen laughed suddenly, a curious laugh, and Bud stared at her because he didn’t think she’d said anything so very funny.

“My cigarette’s out,” she said. “Why can’t cigarettes stay lighted?”

He reached for a matchbook, and she said, “No, I have some. Women carry all sorts of junk in their purses, didn’t you know? Knew a woman who carried the Encyclopedia Britannica in her purse, believe it or not, on the head of a pin. A pinhead, naturally.” She laughed again and opened her purse, and he saw that her hands were trembling, and he stared at her hands fumbling inside the purse, and he saw the book of matches she reached for, and alongside the matches something else, and he stared at the something else, not knowing what it was for an instant, and then realizing it was the syringe she had taken from Andy yesterday.

She took out the matches, and she snapped the purse shut, blotting out sight of the syringe, and he watched her hands shaking as she struck the match and held it to the cigarette, and he tried to remember all of the things she had said yesterday, and he couldn’t remember, except some of them, and they hadn’t seemed very important then, but they seemed important now as he watched her sucking in on the cigarette.

...you’ll smoke incessantly because there’s something very reassuring about a cigarette in your hand or hanging on your lips. You want that cigarette always. You put one out, and you light another one immediately afterwa—

“Ah,” Helen said cheerfully, “here comes the coffee now. I can use a cup of coffee, all right. I’m part Brazilian, you know, and down in Brazil we take baths in the stuff. Of course, you sometimes get a coffee bean stuck in your navel that way, but it’s the spirit of South Americanism that counts, you know, especially when you’re doing a Samba in the bathtub.”

“Helen...”

“Thank you, my good man,” Helen said to the counterman, and she squashed out her cigarette in the ash tray and then picked up the coffee cup instantly. “Eat your sandwich, Bud,” she said. “You’ve got a big test this afternoon, haven’t you? You need your strength. God give me strength, God said, and there was no one to give him any strength because he himself was God.”

“Helen, are you all right?”

“Me? I’m fine. I haven’t felt so good in a month of Blue Mondays. This is perfect dying weather, so when I get home I think I’ll dye some of my undies. I’ve always wanted red undies, but I could never muster up the courage to wear them. Why, suppose your skirts should blow up on a windy day? People seeing those red undies would automatically assume you were a Communist, and the one thing I absolutely fear is people calling me a Communist. Eat your sandwich. You haven’t got much time.”

No, I haven’t got much time, he thought.

I haven’t got much time at all, and if I run into a fouled-up transit situation, I’m liable to be late to begin with. I haven’t got much time — you try to blot out the taste by smothering it in other tastes. You’ll have a cup of coffee, and then you’ll have another cup of coffee, and then another — but there’s the test, what time is it? Jesus, one-fifteen already, what am I supposed to do, she’s got a syringe in her purse, what am I supposed to do?

“Where are you going now?” he asked. “From here?”

“Oh, I don’t know. To the Union Floor, maybe. Give Rog back his syringe. Damn decent of him to lend it to Andy. Never realized a pusher had a decent bone in his miserable body, but it just goes to show you can have people pegged all wrong, doesn’t it? Listen, do you mind if I have another cigarette? I’ll smoke you out of house and home, but some days you’re a natural mooch, isn’t that so? What do you smoke? I smoke O.P.’s. And can we get some more coffee?”

“Another coffee!” Bud shouted at the counterman.

You’ll make a silly joke. You’ll laugh at the joke, and whoever you’re with will think you’re very strange, laughing at a silly joke, not knowing you’re really whistling in the dark, and she’s headed for the Union Floor, and I have a test to take...

“Helen, he’ll be all right,” Bud said desperately.

“He’ll die,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Buddy, he’s going to die, and do you know something? There’s not a goddamn soul except the five people who were at the hospital who’ll give a good goddamn. Twenty years old, and he’s going to die.”

Aren’t we all responsible for each other? If we aren’t, shouldn’t we be?

“The doctor said fifty-fifty. Andy wants to live. He wouldn’t have fouled up his suicide attempt otherwise. Helen, he’ll live.”

“No,” she said flatly. She squashed out her cigarette. The counterman brought another cup of coffee, and she picked up the cup at once. “You’d better get going. Your test is at two, didn’t you say?”

“Yes.”

“Then go ahead.”

“All right,” he said. He went to the coat rack and took his coat from it. He came back to the table. “Helen...”

“Leave me another cigarette, will you?” she asked.

You need help right then... just the help of someone who cares about you... just reassurance... someone to take your hand and lead you out...

“Helen...”

“If you’re going, you’d better get started. Go ahead, Bud.”

“I’m... I’m not sure...”

“You are going, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I...” No, he thought, no! “Helen, look... I... can we... well, suppose we go to a movie or something... I mean, for the afternoon... and then... would you... would you like some dinner? Tonight, that is... and... and maybe we could... could spend the rest of the day together... until... the rest... do you think so?”

“You have an exam,” she said, looking up into his face.

He leaned onto the table, fumbling for words, his eyes clear. “Yes, I... I know I do... I have one, I know... but... I thought we could spend the day together, Helen... I figured...”

“Why?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Because you think I need help? I don’t need any help, Bud. I’ve been through this before, and I’ve always got out of it. I don’t need any help, thanks.”

“I know, Helen. I just thought... well...” He shrugged. He seemed about to go. He started away from the table, and then he turned back, and she was surprised to find him crying. He sat opposite her, and he reached across the table, and he took her hand, and he said, “Helen, you’ve been through it, and you’ll get out of it, but I want to be sure. I want to be sure, darling, can you understand that? And I’ve never been through it, never really, and this time I don’t want to turn my back, Helen. I can’t turn my back for the rest of my life, so let me help you, let me take you home with me, Helen, let me take you home, please.”

She stared up at him, searching his face and his eyes and his mouth, looking for a sign of weakness, and then looking only for strength, looking only for the knowledge that he was strong enough at last, that he was telling himself the truth at last, and seeing that, and smiling, curiously at peace, and finally saying, “I think I’ve been waiting half my life for you to take me home, Bud.”

coda

Lying in the darkness of the room lying with the pain in his body and the harsh breathing and the hot skin and the darkness all around him he knew that death was coming and the shadows hovered over the bed and he wanted his horn in his hands and he wanted to be young again if only he could be young again if only he could be back again when he was young an old man now a man who had seen it all and done it all but none of it like when he’d been young all of it a bust all of it nowhere nowhere the horn if he could only lift his horn to his lips now he would find it he would find the music he would find the music of death was coming death was coming he knew that death was coming he wanted his horn so badly he wanted his horn so that he could blow his horn could blow away death liss-en to that goddamn wind blow blow that horn blow that Gabriel horn if only he could do that before it came if only he could blast the sky apart with his horn find his youth again find what he had lost somewhere along the way where had he lost it where had he lost the magic and the surprise Helen help me please Helen help me please help me find my Carol my horn help me find my horn help me find my life help me find everything I need I need I need before I die because death too death too will be a will be a disappointment