Hubert Selby - Requiem for a Dream

Sara was put in a wheelchair and taken from the ward, down an elevator, through a long, gray tunnel to a waiting room where other patients docilely sat, their attendants in a corner smoking, joking, keeping an eye on their patient. Sara looked at those in front of her and blinked a few times, squinted, then stared. From time to time someone would open a door and call a name and one of the attendants would wheel the patient through the door, and they seemed to disappear, yet there always seemed to be just as many people in front of Sara. Time continued to be time and Saras name was called. Her attendant wheeled her through the door and Sara tried to smile. In front of her a man sat behind a desk. There were others in the room. The man behind the desk was called your honor. Someone stood up and opened a folder and read some things to the judge. He looked at Sara. She tried to smile and her face started to stretch in her wideeyed grin as little bits of spittle dribbled down her chin. He signed his name to a piece of paper and handed it back to the man. She was committed to a State Mental Hospital.

Sara was awakened early and hustled out of bed and taken to the basement of the hospital where she was put on a bench to wait. And wait. She asked if she could have something to eat and was told it was too early. When she asked again they said it was too late. Eventually she was checked through one line, then she waited. She sat on the bench and stared. She went to the next line. And waited. She was given her clothes. She looked at them a long time. They told her to dress. She stared. They put some clothes on her. She struggled into the rest. They led her to another bench. She waited. They put her on a bus and she sat and stared ahead as the others were placed in their seats. They drove through the streets with a lifetime of familiar sights and sounds and Sara stared in front of her.

They were led off the bus and their names were checked off a list and then they were led through a gray, moist and freezing tunnel that connected with other tunnels and eventually to a building on the remote part of the grounds and locked in a ward jammed with others shuffling, sitting, squatting, standing, staring. Sara stood still and stared at the gray walls.

Ada and Rae made a visit. They sat in a corner of the visiting room and stared at Sara as she shuffled toward them. They knew it was Sara, yet they didnt recognize her. Bones stuck out everywhere. Her hair hung dead from her head. Her eyes were clouded and didnt see. Her skin was gray. Sara sat and Ada started taking food out of a large shopping bag. We got some lox and cream cheese and bagels and blintz with sour cream and some danishes and pastrami and chopped liver on rye with mustard and onions and a container hot tea and… How are you dolly?

Sara continued to stare, Yes, and tried to smile and took a big bite out of the sandwich and made a grunting clacking sound as she chewed, the mustard oozing out of the corners of her mouth. Ada blinked and Rae gently wiped the mustard, and spittle, away. They looked at their friend of so many years, trying hard to understand. They stayed for an endless hour then reluctantly, but with a sigh of relief, left. They stared at the gray walls and lifeless trees and grounds as they sat waiting for a bus, tears flowing from their eyes. They hugged each other.

Harry and Tyrone stared silently through the windshield, their fear and apprehension increasing with each mile. Harry was almost doubled in a fetal position. The pain and panic had almost cut off his breath. The closer they got to Miami the more deeply the distance between them and the neighborhood was drilled into their minds. They still had plenty of stuff and uppers, but the fear was so intense that it was a tangible substance in the car. Harry would try to close his eyes and forget everything except the fact that the connections were in Miami, but as soon as he did he saw his arm, a naming red, then green, and he could hear someone sawing his arm off and he jerked himself up in his seat and grabbed his arm and tried rocking back and forth as much as he could. Man, I cant cut it. I gotta get some penicillin, or somethin, for this fuckin arm.

They parked the car around the corner from a small medical building and went into the first office they saw. There were a few people in the waiting room and Tyrone went over to the nurse to tell her about Harry. Yawl have an appointment? Tyrone just shook his head, No. Its an emergency. Why dont yawl go to the hospital? Ah doan know where it is an he— Harry came over, I got a bad infection in my arm and Im afraid I/ll lose it. Cant the doctor see me? Please. Harry shoved his arm forward and she glanced at it for a moment, then at them, Sit down. After a few minutes the nurse came back and opened the door to the examination room and called Harry, This way.

Harry paced back and forth, holding his arm, trying, from time to time, to sit, but couldnt stay still for more than a minute. Eventually the doctor came and looked at Harry for a minute, Whats your problem? My arm, its killin me. The doctor grabbed Harrys arm roughly, Harry wincing with the pain, and glanced at it then dropped it. I/ll be back in a minute. The doctor left the room and went to his office, closed the door, and called the police. Hello, this is Doctor Waltham. Over to Russell Street? Ive got a young man here I think you should see. Hes got an infection in his arm that looks to me like it came from a needle, and his pupils are dilated. I think hes a drug addict. He sounds like a gawddamn New Yawk bum and hes with a nigga. He hung up then buzzed his nurse and told her the police would be there in a few minutes, so just keep your eye on that New Yawk nigga. The doctor waited a few more minutes before going back to Harry. He roughly grabbed Harrys arm again and twisted it, Harry gaggin and his knees bending from the pain. This is going to take time to clean out. Ah have one more patient to treat, then ahll be able to take care of you. He left before Harry could say a word, or even catch his breath.

Tyrone tried to look at a magazine, but he kept feeling like getting up and running out of the office. There was something wrong, but he didnt know what it was. He glanced at the nurse out of the corner of his eye from time to time, and she always seemed to be staring at him, and looking like he had just killed her moms or something. It made him feel creepy. He went back to the magazine and turned his head so he couldnt see her and just stared at the pictures, occasionally glancing at the words and wishing he was back in the neighborhood, panic or no panic, cold or no cold. It was too mutha fuckin hot here an he didnt like it. He wondered what was happening with Harry. He felt Harry had passed through that door into something else. He sure as hell didnt like the way he was feeling or the way that bitch was lookin atim. Damn, he wished he was back in the Apple. He/d be happy to jus lay down in the mutha fuckin snow if he were back there right now. What was he doin here anyway. Sheeit, he never wanted to be in no mutha fuckin South. Gahddamn, he wish Harry would hurry up an get his arm fix so they could get their asses outta here and back—he suddenly became aware that somebody was standing beside him and something in his stomach dropped to his knees. Before he turned his head he knew it was the man. What you doin here, boy ? Tyrone slowly turned his head and looked up into the face of a cop.

His partner walked into the room where Harry was waiting. As he heard the footsteps and then the door starting to open a feeling of relief started to flow through Harry and he almost smiled as the door started to open—the cop stood staring at him, then moved into the room. Harry died. Where you from? Harry blinked, his head shaking uncontrollably, Huh? Uhhh a what???? Whats the matter with yawl? caint you talk? and he grabbed Harry by the chin and stared into his eyes for a minute, then shoved Harry from him, Ah said where you from? The Bronx… a, New York. New Yawk, eh? He pounded Harry in the chest with his finger, knocking him against the examination table, Yawl want to know something? we don’t like no New Yawk dope fiens aroun here. Especially white nigga dope fiens. Harry started to say something and the cop hit him hard, on the side of the head, with his open hand, knocking him down, Harry falling on his arm. He grabbed his arm and moaned with pain, trying desperately to catch his breath and hold back the tears that the pain had brought to his eyes. Ah dont want to hear one fucking word from you, nigga lova . The cop grabbed Harry by the bad arm and dragged him, half fainting, to the car, cuffed his hands behind his back, and shoved him in. Tyrone was already sitting there, his hands cuffed behind his back.