Gene Wolfe - Free Live Free

A nurse with a clipboard looked in. “Dr, Make-ee?”

“Makee. Say it like ma’s key, then leave off the S.”

The nurse nodded and wrote something on her clipboard. “You’re the patient’s personal physician?”

“I was the last to treat him, I believe, before he got sent here. I’m not sure he has a personal physician.”

“And when was that?”

“Yesterday. I told all this to Dr. Roberts.”

“I know, but I have to have it for his record. Did he show signs of anxiety or confusion when you examined him?”

Dr. Makee shrugged. “He was anxious about his condition. He’d had a head injury, and he was afraid it might be serious. I didn’t think it was, and I told him so. That seemed to reassure him. I wouldn’t have said he was confused.”

When the nurse was gone, Barnes said, “Well, Doc?”

“Well what? I haven’t seen him yet.”

The door opened again, and a tall, red-faced man with a long nose peered through. “Shipmate!” he hissed.

Barnes glanced up.

“Remember me? Seaman Reeder?”

Barnes nodded. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The sailor stepped inside and shut the door. He wore the soiled white pajamas of a patient. “I got picked up. I was in a bar—cuttin’ up pretty silly, I guess.”

“And they brought you here?”

“I been in the brig a lot—it wouldn’t have been much fun to go again. So I just kept on cuttin’ up—sillier, even—and they brought me here. The food’s better, a little.”

Dr. Makee said, “Stretch out both hands, young man.”

Reeder did.

“Pronounced tremor. How long had you been drinking?”

“I don’t know. Before Christmas.”

“About a month, then. I’ve seen them a lot worse, but you’re bad enough. Dee tees?”

“I don’t think so. Anyway, how can you be sure?”

Barnes asked, “When were you supposed to be back to your ship?”

“January fifth. It was a Christmas leave.”

Dr. Makee said, “I’m surprised you weren’t picked up by the Shore Patrol. In my day, you would have been.”

“I just kept missing the bus,” Reeder told him. “Honest. There’s only one to Norfolk from here, and it leaves at eleven twenty in the morning. Sometimes I wouldn’t make it. Sometimes I’d get there early, but I’d get tired of waiting and go off for a drink someplace.” He turned to Barnes. “You got to get me out of here, Mate. That’s why I came. I saw you when they brought you up. You know the last thing my mom said when she died?”

Barnes shook his head.

“She said, ‘God, you gotta take care of Baby Phil, because he won’t never take care of himself.’ I wasn’t there, but Bubba was, and he told me. God has to get me out, and you’re His chosen instrument.”

“Instrument, hell. I never even met Him!”

Dr. Makee chuckled and nudged Barnes with an elbow. “Don’t be too sure.”

“Besides, why do you have to get out? They’ll just send you back to the Navy, and that’s where you ought to go anyway.”

“Shit, man, not like this! You know what they’re doin’ here? Buildin’ up a file on me that says I’m crazy as a bedbug. I want to get back to my ship.”

Dr. Makee said, “I would think it’s already sailed, if you’re as late as you say.”

“They’ll hold me till she comes back, or maybe fly me—”

The door swung wide, and a burly young man with crew-cut hair led in Proudy, his arms pinioned by a canvas straitjacket. Before he could stop himself, Barnes said, “I didn’t think you really used those things.”

The attendant told him, “They’re a lot more humane than they look. He’s comfortable, but he can’t hurt himself or anybody else.” He glanced at Reeder. “You want this one out of here?”

“Let him stay, if it’s not against the rules.”

“Okay with me. Doctor?”

Dr. Makee nodded.

“At least you’ll have somebody to talk to. The sailor will talk your arm off. The cop won’t say a word.”

“I just want to reexamine that head wound.” Dr. Makee stood up. “I see somebody has changed the dressings.”

“Yeah, we did that.” The attendant closed the door behind him.

“Come over here, Officer,” Dr. Makee said. “Sit down.”

Proudy did not move. His face seemed paler than Barnes remembered it, the big nose nearly white at the tip. He watched them without expression.

“Some of ‘em don’t talk,” Reeder said. “Besides, they been givin’ him dope for sure. They give everybody dope, even me.”

Dr. Makee nodded, “Well, if he won’t come to me, I’ll have to come to him. It’s lucky he’s not a tall man.”

“You’re goin’ to get me out, aren’t you, Mate?” Reeder asked Barnes.

“I don’t see how,” Barnes told him. “I will if I can.”

“Listen, you can do it.” Reeder lowered his voice. “Mate, we don’t want the old doc mixed up in this, do we? You step outside with me for a minute. I know a place where we can talk. Hey, you know that puzzle I bought off you? The little guy in the cage. I think I just figured out how to get him out. I’ll tell you about that too.”

Reeder opened the door, and Barnes followed him. The same despondent men sat on the benches. The bright squares of light cast by the windows on the worn linoleum were longer now; the short winter day was drawing toward its close.

“There’s a room back here they don’t use any more,” Reeder said. “The light don’t work. This is one old, old building.”

“I’d think they’d keep it locked.”

“They do, but you can spring it if you push against the door frame. That’s how you get the little guy out, right? Spring the bars just ever so little, just like you’re goin’ to do for me. Here we are.”

To Barnes the door looked like all the rest, except that it had a fairly new lock of shining brass.

“We won’t have to do it this time,” Reeder said. “I left it off the latch when I was here before.” He pushed against the door, but it did not give.

“Somebody found it,” Barnes told him. He felt relieved.

“Yeah, probably one of the nurses saw the crack and pulled on the knob.” Reeder braced his back against one side of the warped frame and put a foot against the other, grunted, and pushed the door with his hand. It swung inward.

“Dark in there,” Barnes said.

“Yeah. There’s a window, but they got a steel hatch over it. Nothin’ to worry about in there, just old beds and stuff. Come in now before somebody sees us.”

Barnes stepped inside, and Reeder shut the door.

“Look, Mate, I’m sorry, but I forget your name.”

“Osgood M. Barnes.”

“Look, Barnes, like I said, I’ve already overstayed my leave. Even if I was to go back to Norfolk now, they’d toss me in the brig. So all I got to do, really, is turn myself in here. I can go to any Navy installation—a recruitin’ station, or whatever—and tell them a story, okay? Soon as I get out on the street, that’s what I’ll do. They got my money when they took me here, but I’m not even askin’ you for bus fare. If I had it, I’d probably go someplace and have a beer, and then it would be gone anyhow.”

“Okay, I won’t give you bus fare. I haven’t got it anyway. But how can I get you out?”

“Change clothes with me!” It was a hoarse whisper.

“Are you crazy?”

“Hell, no. The crazy ones don’t want out—not really. That’s why they call it an asylum. I got a fancy hotel room I was going to skip out on, and there’s some dirty uniforms in there. I’ll tell ’em I lost my key, they’ll give me another one, and I’ll go up and change and call the Navy. You wait to give me time to get away, then you tell them who you are, and they’ll let you out.”