John Hawks - The Traveler

After he had saved enough money, he would buy an island somewhere in the Pacific. Neither he nor Gabriel had a girlfriend, and Michael couldn’t decide what kind of wives would be suitable for a tropical paradise. In his dream, he and Gabriel were riding horses through the surf and the two wives were slightly out of focus, standing on a bluff wearing long white dresses. The world was warm and sunny and they would be safe, truly safe. Forever.

A brush fire was still burning in the western hills and the sky was a mustard-yellow color when Gabriel reached the hospice. He left his motorcycle in the parking lot and went inside. The hospice was a converted two-story motel with beds for sixteen patients with terminal illnesses. A nurse from the Philippines named Anna was sitting behind a desk in the lobby.

“It’s good you’re here, Gabriel. Your mother asks for you.”

“Sorry I didn’t bring any doughnuts tonight.”

“I love doughnuts, but they love me too much.” Anna touched her plump brown arm. “You must see your mother right now. Very important.”

The hospice aides were always washing floors and changing bedsheets, but the building smelled like urine and dead flowers. Gabriel took the stairs to the second floor and walked down the hallway. The fluorescent light fixtures in the ceiling made a soft humming sound.

His mother was asleep when he entered her room. Her body had become a little bump beneath a white sheet. Whenever he visited the hospice, Gabriel tried to remember what his mother was like when he and Michael were boys. She liked to sing to herself when she was alone, mostly old rock-and-roll songs like “Peggy Sue” or “Blue Suede Shoes.” She loved birthdays or any other reason to have a family party. Even though they were living in motel rooms, she always wanted to celebrate Arbor Day or the winter solstice.

Gabriel sat beside the bed and took his mother’s hand. It felt cold, so he held it tightly. Unlike the other patients at the hospice, his mother hadn’t brought in special pillows or framed photographs to transform the sterile environment into a home. Her only personal gesture was when she asked that the room’s television be disconnected and taken away. The TV cable lay coiled on a shelf like a thin black snake. Once a week, Michael sent a new bouquet of flowers to her room. The last delivery of three dozen roses was almost a week old and fallen petals had made a red circle around a white vase.

Rachel Corrigan’s eyes fluttered open and she stared at her son. It took her a few seconds to recognize him.

“Where’s Michael?”

“He’ll be here on Wednesday.”

“Not Wednesday. Too late.”

“Why is that?”

She let go of his hand and spoke in a calm voice. “I’m going to die tonight.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t want the pain anymore. I’m tired of my shell.”

The shell was his mother’s name for her body. Everyone had a shell and it carried around a small portion of something called the Light.

“You’re still strong,” Gabriel said. “You’re not going to die.”

“Call Michael and tell him to come.”

She closed her eyes and Gabriel went out into the hallway. Anna stood there holding some clean sheets. “What did she say to you?”

“She said she’s going to die.”

“She told me that same thing when I came on shift,” Anna said.

“Who’s the doctor tonight?”

“Chatterjee, the one from India. But he went out for dinner.”

“Page him. Please. Right now.”

Anna went downstairs to the nurse’s desk while Gabriel switched on his cell phone. He dialed Michael’s number and his brother answered after the third ring. There were crowd noises in the background.

“Where are you?” Gabriel asked.

“Dodger Stadium. Fourth-row seats, right behind home plate. It’s great.”

“I’m at the hospice. You need to come here right away.”

“I’ll drop by at eleven o’clock, Gabe. Maybe a little later. When the game’s over.”

“No. This can’t wait.”

Gabriel heard more crowd sounds and his brother’s muffled voice saying, “Excuse me, excuse me.” Michael had probably left his seat to walk up the steps of the baseball stadium.

“You don’t understand,” Michael said. “This isn’t fun. It’s business. I paid a lot of money for these seats. These bankers are going to finance half of my new building.”

“Mom said she’s going to die tonight.”

“But what did the doctor say?”

“He left to get dinner.”

One of the baseball players must have gotten a hit because the crowd began to cheer. “So find him!” Michael shouted.

“She’s made up her mind. I think it might happen. Get here as fast as you can.”

Gabriel switched off the phone and returned to his mother’s room. Once again he took her hand, but it was several minutes before she opened her eyes.

“Is Michael here?”

“I called. He’s on his way.”

“I’ve been thinking about the Leslies…”

This was a name he had never heard before. At various times, his mother mentioned different people and told different stories, but Michael was right-none of it ever made sense.

“Who are the Leslies?”

“Friends from college. They were at the wedding. When your father and I went on our honeymoon, we let them stay in our apartment in Minneapolis. Their apartment was being painted…” Mrs. Corrigan shut her eyes tightly, as if she were trying to see everything. “Then we came back from the honeymoon and the police were there. Some men had broken into our apartment at night and shot our friends while they were lying in our bed. They meant to kill us and made a mistake.”

“They wanted to kill you?” Gabriel tried to sound calm. He didn’t want to startle her and stop the conversation. “Did they catch the murderers?”

“Your father made me get in the car and we started driving. That’s when he told me who he really was…”

“And who was that?”

But then she was gone again, drifting back into a shadow world that was halfway between here and far away. Gabriel continued to hold her hand. She rested awhile, then woke up and asked the same question.

“Is Michael here? Is Michael coming?”

DR. CHATTERJEE RETURNED to the hospice at eight o’clock and Michael showed up a few minutes later. As usual, he was alert and full of energy. Everyone stood in front of the nurse’s desk while Michael tried to find out what was going on.

“My mother says she’s going to die.”

Chatterjee was a polite little man who wore a white physician’s jacket. He studied their mother’s medical chart to show that he was aware of the problem. “Cancer patients often say things like this, Mr. Corrigan.”

“So what are the facts?”

The doctor made a notation on the chart. “She may die in a few days or a few weeks. It’s impossible to say.”

“But what about tonight ?”

“Her vitals haven’t changed.”

Michael turned away from Dr. Chatterjee and began to walk upstairs. Gabriel followed his brother. It was just the two of them in the stairwell. No one else could hear.

“He called you Mr. Corrigan.”

“That’s right.”

“When did you start using our real name?”

Michael stopped on the landing. “I’ve been doing it for the last year. I just haven’t told you. Right now, I’ve got a social security number and I’m paying taxes. My new building on Wilshire Boulevard is going to be owned legally.”

“But now you’re on the Grid.”

“I’m Michael Corrigan and you’re Gabriel Corrigan. That’s who we are.”

“You know what Dad said-”