Frank De Felitta: For Love of Audrey Rose

The nurse and a physician stepped into the infirmary annex. The physician smiled and held up thumb and forefinger in a circle.

“Are you sure?” Dr. Geddes asked.

“He never touched her,” the physician said.

“Thank you.”

The nurse picked up Jennie’s clothes and went back to the diagnostic chamber. The physician made a few brief entries into the infirmary logbook. Dr. Geddes stood up, and he lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, avoiding Janice’s pleading eyes.

“What’s going to happen to Bill now?” she asked softly.

“He won’t be facing any judge, that’s for damn sure. He’s going to a nursing home. Same one I picked out a long time ago.”

Janice turned on her heel, went through the corridors to the elevator, and returned to Bill’s room.

The orderly had torn down what remained of the decorations. They were swept, along with the broken glass, into a pile in the corner. A rectangle of cardboard was jammed over the broken window. With the roll of tape held between his teeth, he secured the cardboard onto the sill.

Bill moaned softly. Janice pulled up a chair. Gently she smoothed his hair back, cleaned the flecks of dirt from his lip. The face, once again, was not his. It belonged to an animal, a caricature of the man who sought love so desperately, so unforgivingly.

“She remembered,” he mumbled. “I know she did.”

“I can’t hear you, Bill.”

She leaned over, her ear to his face. The warm breath of her husband muttered sibilant syllables.

“She remembered…. She remembered….”

“That’s all he says,” the orderly ventured.

For nearly ten minutes she tried to speak to Bill. But his lips worked over and over those vague sounds as though he himself no longer knew what they meant. Janice felt the tears coming, so she rose to go.

She gave the orderly ten dollars.

“I’m sorry he hit you,” she said. “Please be kind to him.”

“Right, ma’am. And thanks.”

Then Janice slowly left, went down to the infirmary, and took Jennie home.

Janice dressed Jennie in new pajamas and covered her with several blankets. Chills alternated with the fever. She had relapsed into the December illness.

“Five-five-five—”

Mechanically Janice brought a glass of water to the cot, helped Jennie drink, and was glad to see the small eyelids close again.

She telephoned Allegheny Airlines, reserved two seats for the early evening flight. She telephoned the clinic, but Hoover was at Temple University. Miserable, she hung up. Outside, the wind screeched up Sixty-seventh Street, banging potted plants over the sidewalks. A garbage can rolled over and over, echoing against cement.

“No-no-no-no—!”

Upstairs Jennie recited the numbers. Was it a string of zeroes, or was she refusing something? Hesitating, Janice went slowly up the stairs.

Jennie’s eyes were open, but they were glazed in tormented sleep.

“No-no-no-no—”

The glassy face looked as though it were in the throes of denial. Denying something from within.

Janice took her temperature. Just under 100 degrees. She looked at the clock. They had two hours to catch the flight.

“No-no-no—” Jennie whispered plaintively.

“Nobody’s going to frighten you ever again, darling.”

In thirty-five minutes, the taxi deposited them at La-Guardia Airport. Through the blackness swirled the lights of departing aircraft, livid behind the falling sleet.

The flight was delayed due to the storm. When it took off, an uncomfortable shiver shook the wings, and the passengers laughed nervously. In her arms, Jennie grew warmer. Janice took her to the lavatory and kept her face cool with wet paper towels.

Sleet turned to heavy snow, flailing past the red light at the wing tip. White particles out of nowhere, flashing, then disappearing to nowhere.

A bang of tires on hard cement, a second thud, a third, and then the plane decelerated and taxied carefully to the terminal.

This time Elliot Hoover stood at the bottom of the steps. He raised his hat in mute, worried greeting.

“They told me you were coming.”

He took Jennie in his arms, kissed her, but it was not until they nearly reached the terminal building that he saw the flush on her face.

“She looks ill,” he stammered.

“The fever. It’s come back. Elliot, I had to get her out of New York! Bill’s collapsed! He’s become a raving maniac! Dr. Geddes wants to lock him up and throw away the key!”

“This is terrible,” Hoover murmured. Jennie stirred in his arms.

“It was during the birthday party,” Janice continued stridently. “They were alone together in his room. Jennie started screaming. Wouldn’t stop. By the time we entered the room, the whole place was a shambles and she wouldn’t stop screaming.”

Hoover swallowed. A wave of despair passed over his face.

“Did he say anything?”

Janice took a deep breath. “He said, ‘She remembered.’ Over and over, Elliot.”

Hoover sighed. The sorrow of the night was softened in the deep snow. The warehouses, coal cars, and stacks of iron pipes looked like fanciful sculptures. Only a few red lights blinked high on the water tower, and then the Ford stopped in front of the clinic.

“Let’s get her to the clinic.”

“Elliot. What’s happening?”

He put a gloved hand on hers. “I don’t know.” Then gently, “Come. Let’s take her home.”

Inside the clinic most of the children were in bed. Roy peered suspiciously from behind a bookshelf. The carpet was littered with toys, pictures torn from magazines, and pieces of crayon. A smell of wet wool permeated the halls.

Mr. Radimanath, surprised, stood up from the desk in Hoover’s office and came into the hall.

“Mr. Templeton has had a relapse,” Hoover said calmly.

Mr. Radimanath’s hand went to his mouth.

“Please listen. I want you to fix up Jennie’s room. She has a bad fever.”

With an anxious glance at Janice, then at Hoover, Mr. Radimanath shuffled rapidly to the stairs.

Hoover hung his coat on one of a small series of pegs. He took Jennie from Janice’s arms and felt the girl’s neck and forehead. Mrs. Concepcion peered in from the hallway leading to the kitchen.

“Rosa,” Hoover whispered, “could you prepare a hot drink for Jennie?”

“Right away, Mr. Hoover.”

Hoover turned Jennie’s face to him, smiled, and kissed the small forehead.

“No-no-no—” she murmured sleepily.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he said, smiling.

Mrs. Concepcion returned with two cups of steaming broth. Shivering, Janice accepted a cup. Then Mrs. Concepcion spooned the broth gently into Jennie’s mouth and carried her upstairs to her room. The clinic’s quiet was broken by a low moan upstairs.

“You see?” Hoover said after a while. “Nothing changes here.”

Janice looked anxiously out the window. Fat flakes continued to fall. The sills were blocked up with snow.

“The roads will be closed by morning,” Hoover said. “At least two feet. That’s what the radio forecast.”

Janice sipped the soup, fondling the cup. The trembling did not go, even though she was finally warm. She put her coat across a child’s desk and leaned wearily against the wall. The stairwell light went off. After several minutes the upstairs lights went off. A thin outline of luminosity rimmed Hoover’s forehead.

“Good night, Mr. Hoover,” came Mrs. Concepcion’s voice from above.

“Good night, Mrs. Concepcion. Thank you.”

“Good night, Mr. Hoover,” followed Mr. Radimanath’s voice.

“Good night and peace to you, Mr. Radimanath.”

Another light went off. Hoover slumped against the wall, head down, massaging his face.