Jeremiah Healy - Right To Die

Oh, some nightmares sure, and she couldn't abide loud noises, probably reminded her of the bombs. And she was shy around strangers, just like Marpessa here." Doleman ruffled the bird's feathers, and Marpessa pecked him lightly on the left cheek. "But she did just great in school, lost most of the accent, went on to be a secretary downtown."

"When was this, Mr. Doleman?"

"When was what?"

"When she became a secretary."

"Oh. Just after they shot Jack Kennedy. She had to start back a couple of grades in school, on account of having no schooling, much less any English, back in the old country. But she was a good girl, no trouble with boys or anything. Then – "

He stopped again, but I didn't prompt him.

"Then the wife – Florence – had the heart attack. It just come on her one night, no warning at all. Heidi was a godsend, taking care of the house for me while I finished up at the MTA – I was a motorman, Arborway line mostly. They call it the MBTA now, but not me. After I retired, Heidi and me were going to sell this place, move somewheres warm, but we never got around to it."

"How old was Heidi when your wife died, Mr. Doleman?"

"How old?"

"Yes."

"Oh, out of her teens for sure. Hard to say. See, she didn't give us any trouble like most kids do. so you didn't pay that much attention to how old she was. She always seemed older. what she'd been through in the war and all."

"What year did your wife pass away?"

"Year?"

"Year."

"Watergate. Was Watergate on the TV when we got back from the funeral."

So call it seventy-three or so. To have been a war orphan, his Heidi had to have been in her early thirties by then. Not much of a life for her, but then, maybe a lot better than she remembered from childhood.

"What happened to your daughter after your wife died?"

"Oh, she – like I said, she took care of the house and all. Was just the two of us, but it was a good life. Good as could be without Florence. But then Heidi…"

Doleman squirmed in his seat. Marpessa became agitated and flapped her wings, making the cry I'd heard over the telephone and thundering, in that small, quiet room, over to a windowsill near the inner door of the spacelock.

Doleman gave no indication that he noticed the bird. "Heidi took sick. Doctors said they didn't know what, but they did. They just didn't want to tell me. Didn't want me to know what they told Heidi. She was a brave girl, none braver. She never wanted me to worry. But you could just see it in her. The way she didn't have any get-up-and-go. Didn't want to eat, losing weight." Doleman rested his forehead in an upturned palm. "Was the leukemia."

I said gently, "And when was that, Mr. Doleman?"

"Started a year ago, a year ago this month. They took her to the hospital, then she'd be home, then in again. The MTA and the folks at her job, they took care of most of the bills. The doctors said there wasn't anything to be done. But they was wrong!"

Doleman seemed to come back to life, fill himself with a past energy. "Heidi was a strong girl. She'd survived before, in Germany, when everybody around her was dying. Strong and brave. She could have beaten it, weren't for her."

The way Doleman pronounced the last word, there was no question who he meant.

"She wrote this!" He stabbed the book with his index finger so hard I was afraid he'd jammed the knuckle. "This piece of deviltry. Of despair. Don't fight, she says in here. Don't resist the Reaper. And don't just give in. Help him along. Take your own life because it belongs to you, not to anybody else, like your family who loves you and depends on you. Oh, no. It's okay to be selfish, see? It's okay to give up."

"Your daughter read the professor's book."

"She did. I didn't know a thing about it. Can you believe that? Me, her own father, Heidi never told me. Just let on how she was a burden, how it was hard for her to do things anymore. But not a word, not one word about suiciding herself."

I thought back to Beth. The conversations we had, the idea just below the surface. I had the feeling Heidi told her father as best she could, but that he just hadn't been listening.

"One morning in August I got up, didn't smell the coffee. Heidi always brewed the coffee, strong enough to knock you over. Well, I got up that day and didn't smell it. Didn't know what was wrong at first, because it was something that wasn't there instead of something that shouldn't have been there, like a noise. Then I realized I couldn't hear her either. I went to her door, knocked like I always did since she was old enough to… old enough anyway, and I didn't hear her and I knocked louder. Still nothing, so I opened it. And there she was, in her bed, covers up over a nightgown I never saw before. Her hands were folded on top of her chest, and her mouth was open a little, nothing coming out. I touched…"

Doleman's Adam's apple rode hard at his collar. "I touched her hands and I knew… knew she was gone. Then I saw the little pill thing next to her, vial or whatever you call it, clear so you could tell it was empty. Sleeping pills. And the book. The goddamn book with her note sticking out of it. The note said, 'Papa, please forgive me. Please read this and maybe you'll understand. I'm sure I'm going to be with Mama, and we'll look after you always. Heidi.' "

I changed positions in my chair, Marpessa making a clucking noise behind me.

Doleman fixed me with his eyes. "Well, mister, I started reading this book. Chapter a night, every night. Still read it. Still trying to figure out what the devil's bitch could have said to make a fine girl like Heidi turn her back on her family and take her life like that. But I can't. And that bitch can't either. Never answered my letters, never even answered my question at the library the other night."

"How old was Heidi when she died?"

"How old?"

"Yes."

"Just forty-eight."

"Mr. Doleman, I'm sorry."

"Sorry'? Don't be sorry. I've gotten even."

I felt a little queasy. "Even?"

"You betcha. Marpessa there. I've got me somebody now that bitch can't take away. " Doleman stabbed the book again. "Marpessa can talk but she can't read, see? Great company, and better than a watchdog at knowing when there are people coming round. Why, I was to say the magic word, she'd fly in your face right now, rip your eyes out."

I was trying not to take that seriously when he said, "Macaws, they live to be eighty, a hundred years old. Marpessa'll be here long after I'm gone, mister." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'll never have another thing in this house that I'll outlive, see?"

I thanked Doleman for his time and moved slowly to the inner door. As I opened it, Marpessa looked at me sideways and squawked, "Bye – bye."

I DROVE BACK INT0 DOWNTOWN AND FOUND A PARKING SPACE on Charles near Cambridge Street. Stopping in a bookstore, I bought the latest Robert Randisi paperback to see how private investigators in the Big Apple were doing. A couple of chapters went down over lunch at the Sevens, a great neighborhood bar that's still what the Bull & Finch used to be before the latter went television as Cheers. I tried to wash the taste of Doleman's bitterness from my mouth with a pub sandwich and draft ale, but they didn't help much.

Leaving my car where it was, I walked to Massachusetts General Hospital. Inside the imposing white granite facade, an information volunteer with the demeanor of a kindergarten teacher explained the color – coded lines on the floors of the corridors. Following the path for Internal Medicine, I eventually reached Paul Eisenberg's office. Or at least the suite that included his office. The waiting area was crowded, some people obviously in serious if not emergent difficulty even just sitting, others at attention, as if to advertise that they were only companions, not sick themselves.