Kent Haruf - Eventide

You better not be getting a swelled head over what he told you, he said.

I’m not.

Well, see that you don’t. You’re a good boy. That’s enough. Now help me get these overalls hooked up and we’ll get out of here. We’ll have to see what they’re saying up front.

The boy fastened the shoulder straps of his grandfather’s pants and the old man rose from the chair.

What’d I do with that handkerchief I was using?

It’s in your back pocket.

Is it?

Yes. That’s where you put it.

The old man took out the dirty handkerchief and cleared his throat and spat, then wiped the handkerchief across his mouth and put it back in his pocket, and then together he and the boy went out of the room down the hall to the front desk, to learn what next would be required of them.

IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON WHEN THE NURSE BROUGHT THE old man into the hospital room occupied by Raymond McPheron. She rolled his wheelchair in next to the vacant bed near the door and set the hand brakes and told the old man to get undressed and to put on the hospital gown that was laid out for him at the foot of the bed. It opens in the back, she said. Then I’ll come back and get you settled in. She yanked the curtain partway closed around his bed and left. The boy had followed them into the room and stood now beside his grandfather, accompanying him as he had all the long afternoon.

Across the room Raymond lay in bed under the window, his leg in the cast and raised onto two pillows on top of the thin hospital blankets. Beside him sat Victoria Roubideaux with the little girl in her lap. They could see the old white-haired man and the boy beyond the end of the curtain, but they hadn’t yet said anything to them. The old man had begun to complain in a high whining voice.

I can’t change out of my clothes right here, he said. Do they expect me to take my pants off behind this goddamn curtain like I was in some kind of circus sideshow?

You have to, Grandpa. The nurse will be coming back any minute.

I ain’t about to.

Raymond leaned up in his bed and spoke across the room: Mister, they put a bathroom in yonder through that door there. You can step in there if you’d care to. I don’t guess they put it there just for me.

The old man pulled the curtain back. In there, you say?

That’s right.

I guess I could do that. But look here, don’t I know you? Aren’t you one of the McPheron brothers?

What’s left of them.

I read about you in the paper. I’m sorry to hear about your brother.

The woman that wrote that didn’t even know the half of what she was saying, Raymond said.

My name’s Kephart, the old man said. Walter Kephart. They tell me I got pneumonia.

Is that right.

That’s what they’re telling me.

You look like you got some good help there with you anyway.

Too good, the old man said. This boy here keeps telling me what to do all the time.

Well, it’s nice having a young person around, Raymond said. I got awful fine help myself. This here is Victoria Roubideaux. And her little girl, Katie.

Hello, Mr. Kephart, Victoria said.

How do you do, young lady.

Grandpa, the boy said, you have to get changed.

You see there? the old man said. Right there’s what I’m talking about.

You go ahead and use that bathroom, Raymond said.

The old man stood out of the wheelchair and shuffled slowly around the bed into the bathroom and shut the door. He was inside for ten minutes and beyond the door they could hear him coughing and spitting. When he came out he was wearing the striped hospital gown and carrying his clothes over one arm. The skirts of the cotton gown flapped about his old flanks. He had left the strings at the rear untied and all of his scrawny gray backside was exposed to view. He handed the clothes to the boy and sat down at the edge of the bed and settled the skirts of the hospital gown over his legs like an old lady. Go get that goddamn nurse that was in here, he said. Tell that woman I’m waiting on her.

The boy went out into the hall and they could hear the sound of his rapid steps going away on the tiled floor. The old man looked across at Raymond. It ain’t even decent what they make you wear in this place.

No sir, Raymond said. I’ll have to agree with you on that.

It’s goddamn indecent is what it is.

The boy came back with the nurse. She was carrying a sterile tray that she set on the bedside table and then she looked at the old man. Are you ready, Mr. Kephart?

For what?

To get into bed.

I ain’t planning on just setting here, he said.

No, I didn’t think you’d want to do that.

She helped him swing his legs onto the bed and drew the sheet up and arranged the pillow under his head. Then she opened the sterile tray and wiped the back of his hand with a swab. This may sting, she said.

What’s that you’re doing?

I’m going to start the antibiotics now.

Is that what the doctor said?

Yes.

She poked the needle into the loose skin at the back of his hand and he lay in bed and looked up at the ceiling without moving. The boy watched from the foot of the bed, biting his lip when the needle went in. The nurse taped the needle to his hand, then hung the bags of fluid on a metal stand and connected the tubes and adjusted the steadily dripping fluid in the drip chamber and stood watching for a moment, and then inserted the thin oxygen prongs into the old man’s nose. Now breathe in, she said. Take some deep breaths. I’ll come back to check on you in a little while.

What good’s this thing suppose to do me?

It’ll help fill your lungs. Until you can breathe normally again on your own.

It don’t feel right. His voice sounded high-pitched and unnatural, on account of the nose prongs. It tickles my nose.

Breathe, the nurse said. You’ll get used to it. And when you need to spit, here’s a box of Kleenex. Don’t be spitting in that dirty handkerchief.

After she was gone the boy came forward and stood beside the bed. Did she hurt you, Grandpa? The old man looked at him and shook his head. He went on breathing and lifted his hand to adjust the oxygen tubes.

From across the room Victoria Roubideaux asked the boy if he didn’t want to sit down. There’s a chair over there, she said. You could bring it up next to the bed. But he told her he was all right, he said he wasn’t tired. An hour and a half later when the orderly brought in the dinner trays, he was still standing beside the bed and the old man was asleep.

IN THE EVENING GUTHRIE AND MAGGIE JONES CAME INTO the room together with Guthrie’s two boys, Ike and Bobby. They all stood around the bed and talked quietly with Raymond. Victoria was still in her chair, with Katie sleeping in her lap. Guthrie explained what he and the boys had done out at the ranch that afternoon. The cattle in the pastures out south all seemed fine, and they had checked on the bulls and horses. The water levels were what they should be in the stock tanks.

I thank you, Raymond said. I don’t like to have to bother you.

It’s no bother.

Well I know it is. But I thank you anyway. He looked at Ike and Bobby. Now what about you two boys? How you doing these days?

Pretty good, Ike said.

I’m sorry you got your leg hurt, Bobby said.

I appreciate that, Raymond said. It’s kind of a ugly thing, ain’t it. But it was a bad thing that happened. You boys remember you got to be careful around animals. You won’t never forget that, will you?

No, sir, Ike said.

I’m sorry about your brother, Bobby said softly.

Raymond looked at him and looked at Ike and nodded to them both, then he shook his head once very slowly, and didn’t say anything. Ike gave Bobby a hard poke in the side when no one was looking, but in the awkward silence Bobby was feeling bad enough already and wished he had never said any word at all about the old man’s brother.