Evan Hunter - Far From the Sea

So long ago, he thought.

What happened, Molly? What happened to the miracle?

When did we become obsolete?

He went into the bathroom to shower, worrying that he might not hear the phone if Kaplan called.

“I was waiting for you by the Emergency Room,” Bessie said.

“I came in the main entrance,” he said.

“Do you come by taxi?”

“Yes.”

“It’s shorter if they drop you by the Emergency Room.”

“Well,” David said.

“What does it cost, the taxi?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what it costs ?”

“Two-fifty, something like that.”

“You should have them drop you by the Emergency Room. It’s shorter.”

David nodded. He did not want to be talking to Bessie about taxi fares; he did not want to be talking to her about anything , in fact. He wanted to know only whether or not his father had survived the operation. They were walking swiftly down the third-floor corridor; or, rather, he was walking swiftly, and Bessie was trying to keep up. He did not want the encumbrance of an old woman at his side. He wanted to get to the nurses’ desk in the Intensive Care Unit and find out how his father was. He looked at his watch. It was five minutes to eleven. As they passed the open door to the waiting room, he said, “Wait for me here, I’ll be right back.”

He walked directly to the door at the end of the hall and stepped into the unit. He did not think anyone would chastise him for breaking in here five minutes earlier than he was supposed to. Besides, he didn’t care. A strange nurse was standing behind the desk. She looked Oriental. Chinese or Japanese, he couldn’t tell which. Maybe Vietnamese. That was probably it.

“I’m David Weber,” he said. “How’s my father?”

“Fine,” the nurse said, and glanced up at the clock.

“When did he get back from surgery?” David asked.

“He didn’t go to surgery,” the nurse said.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you talked to Dr. Kaplan?”

“No.”

“You’d better talk to Dr. Kaplan.”

“Why? What’s the matter?”

“He should be here in a little while, he called ten minutes ago. You can talk to him.”

“Where’s my father now?”

“In his room.”

“The same room?”

“Number five,” the nurse said, and nodded.

He went into the room without asking permission. The clock on the wall opposite his father’s bed read four minutes to eleven. His father was staring at the wall. There seemed to be more tubes attached to him, was that possible? A tube running under the sheet, alongside the one that went to the stained bag. Another tube hanging on a stand, the end of it taped to his left arm, the tube on his right arm still feeding him his three thousand calories a day. His father kept staring at the wall.

“Hello, Pop,” he said.

“Yeah, hello,” his father said. “What’s going on here?”

“What do you mean?”

“They shaved me, they washed me, they told me I’m going down for an operation, and all of a sudden I’m sitting here twiddling my thumbs. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, Pop.”

“So who does know?”

“I called Dr. Kaplan early this morning, but he never returned my call.”

“Of course not,” his father said, nodding. “President of the United States.”

“He should be here soon, I’ll find out then.”

“Got me all ready,” his father said, “and then nothing happened.”

“Well, there must be a reason,” David said.

“The reason is they don’t know what they’re doing. Where’s Bessie?”

“Outside.”

“Why isn’t she inside? What’s she doing outside?”

“Pop, I didn’t learn until a minute ago that you didn’t have the operation.”

“They don’t tell you anything around here,” his father said, nodding. “Go get her, would you, please?”

When Bessie came into the room, his father said, “Hello, kiddo.”

“Hello, Morris,” she said, and went to the bed and kissed him on the cheek.

“Did you bring the scissors?” he asked.

“Oh, Morris dear,” she said, “I forgot.”

“My nails are getting like Fu Manchu’s,” his father said. “Many man swallow,” he added, “but fu man chew.”

“He always makes jokes,” Bessie said fondly. “I miss your jokes, Morris, you’d better hurry up and get out of here.”

“Are you still playing cards?” his father asked.

“Every night, Morris. But it’s not the same without you.”

“Nobody to cheat them, huh?”

“You don’t cheat, Morris.”

“I cheat,” he said.

The Vietnamese nurse came in.

“How are you doing, Mr. Weber?” she asked.

“Why’d they call off the operation?” his father said.

“You’ll have to ask Dr. Kaplan.”

“I’m asking you . This is the Dragon Lady,” he said to David. “Bane of my existence. Can’t get a word out of her. Inscrutable.”

The nurse pulled back the sheet.

There was a tube sticking in his father’s penis. They had shaved his pubic hair and the hair on his legs. He looked very white all over. His penis looked tiny, like a boy’s, the tube sticking into its opening, yellow fluid seeping along the tube, bubbling along the tube. David was embarrassed for a moment by the intimacy of the situation, Bessie standing beside the bed as the nurse exposed his father so completely, he himself seeing his father’s genitals for the first time since he was a small boy undressing with him in the locker room at Jones Beach. His father’s penis had looked so huge and threatening then, and he had turned away, somewhat frightened. He turned away now, too, but only because he was suddenly overcome by a wave of grief so keen that it brought quick, hot tears to his eyes. The sight of his father lying there helpless and vulnerable, the nurse checking the tube as if it were attached not to his father’s very masculinity but to some machine instead, as impersonal as any of the machines around—

“Does that feel all right?” she asked.

“Oh, it feels just fine,” his father said. “I’ve always wanted to pee in a tube.” Then, forgetting he had used the same line yesterday, he said, “You’ll be the urination of me.”

“He’s a very funny man, your father,” the nurse said unsmilingly, and pulled up the sheet and walked out.

David went to the bed. He took his father’s hand in his own.

“I’ll find out about the operation,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”

The tears were still standing in his eyes. His father looked up at him. His own eyes widened when he saw the tears. A look of surprise crossed his face. The look said: What’s this? Tears? He kept looking at David in surprise until finally David turned away and left the room, hoping he had not revealed too much, hoping he had not transmitted to his father the knowledge that he was dying. Bessie came out a moment later.

“He looks terrible,” she whispered.

“Excuse me,” Kaplan said, “but is this your mother?”

“No, she’s a friend,” David said.

Kaplan looked at him. Bessie nodded expectantly.

“She can hear anything you have to say,” David said. “What happened? Why didn’t you operate this morning?”

They were standing in the corridor outside the waiting room. A long table on wheels was in front of the window streaming sunlight. Kaplan was dressed more severely today. A dark blue suit, a white shirt, a blue tie. He looked like a mortician.

“Well, we planned to,” Kaplan said, “but we thought it best to postpone. We discovered fluid in his lungs, and we...”

“His lungs? I thought his lungs were okay.”