Nevada Barr - A Superior Death

“Oscar.” Anna turned her head away, felt the tears stinging her eyes, rolling down into her hair.

The paramedics on the medevac helicopter were efficient and kind. Anna was unsurprised. In her brief stay in the northern Midwest, she had found most Minnesotans to be efficient and kind. The helicopter-an Augusta, she was proudly informed-covered the distance between Duluth and Minneapolis in just over an hour.

Ralph stayed beside her. Demoted from primary care-giver to companion, he was strapped into a seat at the foot of her stretcher. “I feel like the mother of the bride,” he joked.

Anna’s mind could not make sense of the remark. “Why?” she demanded.

“Just something to say,” Ralph soothed her. “Seeing you all in white and fussed over, nobody knowing where to put me. Take it easy, Anna. I won’t try to be funny anymore.”

“Good.” As she drifted off, she heard him laughing.

When she reasserted herself in the conscious world, the helicopter was setting down.

“We’re there,” said one of the paramedics, a strong, handsome woman with big teeth and hair badly in need of re-perming. “Ninth floor, Hennepin Medical Center. We’ll have you in Jo’s submarine shortly.”

“Lost my sense of humor,” Anna apologized wearily, guessing the paramedic, like Ralph, had made a joke. The woman just smiled and squeezed Anna’s shoulder gently.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” she said.

“Submarine” was an apt description of the hyperbaric chamber. An oxygen mask on her face, Anna managed to sleep out most of her seven-hour stint as the pressure was dropped and slowly brought back up. The last thing she remembered clearly was a friendly smile and the woman behind it saying, “Relax. We work well under pressure.”

Hospital rooms always put Anna in a foul mood. Even more so when she was the inmate. Disconsolately, she stared out over the roof scape. Black asphalt sent up shimmering curtains of heat. Turkish-domed ventilators and galvanized aluminum excrescences completed the monotony. Minneapolis’s ultra-urban skyline blotted out most of the blue. A thin line of green trees advertised Marquette Avenue but so feeble an outpouring of life in the concrete only depressed Anna further.

To cheer herself, she contemplated a shopping spree when the doctors turned her loose. Cities were for Things. Anna began to list all the things she would buy. On a GS-7’s twenty-two thousand a year, the list was necessarily short and only kept her amused for a couple of minutes. Channels 4, 5, 9, and 11 didn’t hold her attention that long.

Boredom had set in so solidly that when a nurse poked her head in the door Anna was actually glad to see her. Even a shot or a pill would be a diversion. The news was better yet: “You’ve got visitors,” the woman announced and was replaced by Christina Walters.

“Thank God!” Anna said. “A person, a real, live human being who doesn’t smell like antiseptic. Come here and let me smell you.”

Christina laughed and crossed the room to kiss Anna’s cheek.

“Ahhh.” Anna collapsed back against her pillows. “ ‘White Shoulders.’ So much more pleasing on females than benzene.”

Ally bounded up on the opposite side of the bed. “Smell me, Aunt Anna.”

Anna grabbed the little girl by the ears and sniffed deeply on the top of her head. “Hmmm… What is that divine scent you’re wearing?” She sniffed again. “Rotting squirrel guts? No…” Ally squirmed and giggled. “ ‘Eau de Road-kill’? No… I’ve got it! ‘Essence of Dog Vomit’!” Ally squealed with delight.

“For heaven’s sake,” Christina sighed. “Ally will be completely beyond redemption by the time she’s old enough to drive.”

“You must be ladylike or the boys won’t like you,” Anna intoned ominously. “No more bat-dung hair mousse.”

“Boys. Ish.” Ally tossed her head with such disdain that Anna and her mother laughed.

“Ally, settle down,” Christina said comfortably. “Get your Aunt Anna her present and then we’ll see what can be done with her. If anything.”

Alison thumped off the bed and ran to dig through the oversized shoulder bag her mother had dropped just inside the doorway. She returned with a paper sack and climbed back up onto the bed.

“Don’t bounce Aunt Anna,” Christina cautioned her. “She’s been saving the free world. It’s not as easy on her as it used to be.”

Anna sniffed.

“It’s in the bag,” Alison said. “We didn’t wrap it because it’s not your birthday or anything.”

Anna reached into the proffered sack and pulled out a plastic-wrapped package.

“Pajamas,” Ally announced.

Anna ripped them free of the cellophane. “They’ve got little Garfields on them,” she complained ungraciously.

Christina arched a perfect eyebrow. “Ally picked them out,” she reproved. “She thought the orange cat motif would keep you from missing Piedmont.”

“Nobody wants to be sick without a cat,” Ally added.

“I love them,” Anna said. “Almost as much as I love you.” She captured the child and covered her head with loud smoochy kisses.

“Stop!” Ally cried, but she was holding tightly to Anna’s neck. “Put ‘em on,” she demanded when the attack was subsiding.

Dutifully Anna took off her hospital gown. The ten-inch slash was exposed. The bandages had been removed to let the air get to it. Encrusted black with blood, the edges pale, the laceration ran from her left shoulder almost to her right nipple.

“Oh, honey…” Christina ran out of words. Even Ally was quiet.

Sympathy unmanned Anna. So far, sheer cantankerousness had kept her from feeling sorry for herself. Ralph had been wrong. She wouldn’t be admired in a bathing suit. Not unless her date was Freddy Krueger.

“Boy, Aunt Anna,” Alison breathed. “Like Zorro. Will it make a scar?” she asked hopefully.

“Alison!” her mother exclaimed. “Whose little girl are you?”

“We can keep our fingers crossed,” Anna laughed, feeling suddenly better.

“I have news, but it can wait.” Christina took charge of the situation. “The nurse here may be efficient, but they have no sense of aesthetics. You look like last season’s prom dress. Get me my bag, honey.” Somewhat subdued after her mild reprimand, Alison fetched the shoulder bag without comment. Chris took out what she deemed life’s necessities: a natural-bristle brush, a lipstick, cream rouge.

“Last time I landed in the hospital you played the role of administering angel. Doesn’t it get a bit old?” Anna asked.

“Very old,” Christina retorted crisply. “Take better care of yourself in the future.”

In a high, piping voice, Ally began to sing: “Button up your overcoat…”

Anna relaxed. Christina knew the best medicine. Healed in body by antibiotics and the hyperbaric chamber, healed in soul by well-dressed hair and a little cheek color. Healed in soul, Anna admitted as the other woman deftly brushed and French-braided her hair, by knowing someone was genuinely glad you had lived.

“What’s your news?” Anna asked when Christina, satisfied with her efforts, was stowing away the hairbrush and makeup in her capacious bag.

“The Houghton police found Donna Butkus’s body,” she replied without preamble.

“Jesus!” Anna sat up straight and felt the sudden pull of the torn flesh of her chest.

“He didn’t eat her up after all,” Alison said disappointedly.

“Where?” Anna demanded.

“In the police station of all places.” Chris sat down in the vinyl armchair beside the bed.

“Nitrogen narcosis.” Anna rubbed her eyes. “Does this make sense to you?” she appealed to the five-year-old Alison who, ensconced at the foot of the bed, was folding the pajama wrapping into a transparent fan.