Evan Hunter - Far From the Sea

“How soon will that be?” he asked.

“He should be calling in soon, sir,” she said.

“Thank you,” David said.

He debated calling his uncle, decided he would keep the line free until Kaplan returned his call. When the phone rang at five-thirty, he thought it was Kaplan calling back.

“Hello, David?” Bessie said.

“Bessie,” he said, surprised. “How are you?”

“No use complaining,” she said. “Did you see your father?”

“Yes, he’s all right.”

“What does the doctor say?”

“I haven’t spoken to him yet. I’m waiting to hear from him now, in fact.”

“So I’ll get off the phone,” Bessie said, but she did not get off the phone. There was a small silence. “Do you know the ring your father has?” she said. “The one he wears on his pinky all the time?”

“Yes?” David said.

“I have it here,” she said. “With the other things he gave me to hold when I went with him to the hospital. His wallet, his eyeglasses, his address book. I don’t know what’s in the wallet, I didn’t look. But I’m worried about the ring. He’ll never talk to me again if I lose that ring. I never seen him without that ring on his finger.”

“His mother gave it to him,” David said.

“I know, him and his two brothers, they all got the same rings. So what I’ll do — you’ll be at the hospital tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll bring it tonight. His wallet, too, all the other stuff. His keys you already have. This way, it’ll be off my mind. I’m a little worried carrying it on the bus, the crime down here, they’ll break your head for a nickel. But I’ll make sure I keep my hands on my pocketbook. So I’ll see you seven o’clock.”

“Good-bye, Bessie,” he said.

“Good-bye,” she said.

He put down the receiver. The phone rang again almost at once. He picked up the receiver again.

“Hello?” he said.

“Mr. Weber?”

“Yes, Dr. Kaplan, how are you?”

“Fine, thanks,” Kaplan said. “Have you seen your father today?”

“Just a little while ago. He was asleep.”

“Yes,” Kaplan said.

“Have you seen him?”

“I’m at the hospital now.”

“How is he?”

“More lethargic than he was yesterday. Not quite as alert. His temperature’s dropped a little...”

“To what?”

“Just under a hundred.”

“That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

“The change isn’t appreciable. His lungs are clear now...”

“Good,” David said.

“But I’m frankly worried about his kidneys, Mr. Weber. We can maintain his blood pressure with medication, but if his kidneys continue...”

“Why? What’s wrong with his blood pressure?” David said.

“It’s dropped to fifty.”

“Is that low?”

“Very low. Well below the normal range.”

“Well... what does that mean? His blood pressure dropping?”

“The blood pressure indicates how well the heart is pumping. We’ve already begun medication, we’ve put him on Dopamine to support the blood pressure. But, as I said, if his kidneys continue failing...”

“ Are they failing?”

“I’m afraid they are.”

“Yes, what then?”

“He might need dialysis.”

“What’s that?”

“A kidney machine.”

“To do what?”

“To purify his blood.” Kaplan paused. “Would you be in favor of that?”

“I’m not sure.”

“In any case, I’d like to do a tracheotomy in the morning,” Kaplan said. “We don’t like to leave a respirator tube in the throat longer than forty-eight hours.”

“Is that what a tracheotomy is? Removing the respirator tube?”

“No, no. We’d open his throat surgically and clamp a tube there. In the trachea. It’s a very simple procedure, we can do it in his room. It wouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes at most. He’d be a lot more comfortable afterward.”

“When does he stop being himself? ” David asked.

“I’m sorry, what...?”

“When does his body become just a... a middleman for all those machines?”

“Well, that’s what you’ve got to start thinking about, Mr. Weber.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dialysis. Whether or not you want us to put him on a kidney machine.”

“Can I withhold permission if I choose?”

“You can.”

“What happens then?”

“If his kidneys fail and he has no dialytic support?”

“Yes.”

“He’ll die,” Kaplan said.

“When will I have to make this decision?”

“We’re watching him very closely,” Kaplan said. “I assume you have no objections to the tracheotomy.”

“Not if it’ll make him more comfortable.”

“It will.”

“Fine then.”

“I’ll do it first thing tomorrow morning.”

“If he’s still alive,” David said, and sighed.

“Well,” Kaplan said, “let’s hope he is.”

“Yes,” David said.

“Good night, Mr. Weber.”

“Good night,” David said.

He went to where he’d left his drink, took a long swallow, and then set the glass down again. He went to the bed, picked up the slip of paper on which he’d scribbled his uncle’s numbers, and dialed the one at the delicatessen.

“Max’s Deli,” a man said.

“Uncle Max?”

“You want Max Weber?” the man said.

“Yes, please.”

“You can get him at home,” the man said. “You want the number?”

“I’ve got it,” David said. “Thank you.”

He hung up, waited for another dial tone, and then dialed the second number on the sheet of paper.

“Hello?” a voice said.

“Hello, Uncle Max,” David said, smiling. “This is David.”

“Who?” the voice said.

“Is this Max Weber?” David said.

“This is Max Weber, who’s this? ”

“David.”

“David who?”

“Your nephew,” David said.

“Ha-ha,” his uncle said.

“Uncle Max, this is David. Your nephew.”

“Ha-ha,” his uncle said again. “What is this, some kind of joke?”

“Uncle Max, it’s me, David. Your nephew.”

“What nephew? Some joke, very comical. Ha-ha.”

“Is Aunt Rachel there?” David said.

“No, she’s not here. Who’s this?”

“Uncle Max, can I please speak to Aunt Rachel?”

“I told you she’s not here. What are you, a comedian?”

“Uncle Max, your brother is dying,” David said. “Morris is...”

“What brother? Ha-ha, very comical,” his uncle said.

“Uncle Max... please...”

“What do you want, funnyman? You like telling jokes? Very comical. Ha-ha.”

“Okay, Uncle Max,” David said, and hung up.

He sat with his hand on the telephone receiver for a very long time. He’s senile, he thought. Jesus Christ! Dashing Uncle Max with his flashy Studebaker and his dark-haired, dark-eyed beauties. Uncle Max with his little silver mustache comb. Oh my God, he’s senile! Tears rushed to his eyes. He hit the dial of the phone with his bunched fist, and then stood up abruptly and went to where he’d left his drink. He drained the glass. The phone rang.

Here it is, he thought.

The phone kept ringing.

I don’t want to answer it, he thought.

He went to the phone. He lifted the receiver.

“Hello?” he said, and took a deep breath.

“David?”

He let out his breath.

“Hello, Hillary,” he said.

“I’ve been trying to reach you, your line’s been engaged.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. How are you?” he said.

“Fine. Are we still on for tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Dinner,” she said. “Or have I frightened you off?”