Stephen Dixon - What Is All This? - Uncollected Stories

“You’re going to a home — now, you know that. It just depends when. You’ve got to realize I teach in San Diego, and by staying here with you I’m losing all my paid sick days for ten years.”

“You sick? Take some of my medicine then. Got more than I can use in two lifetimes, those thieving doctors.”

“I spoke to the nursing home administrator today. He says they’ve a waiting list a mile long — that’s how well respected and popular this home is.”

“Popular because it’s cheap.”

“It’s not cheap. I’ll be paying more for you there than I would at Grossinger’s Hotel.”

Then send me to Grossinger’s. There I’d at least get to meet interesting people and eat good, filling food. And what a choice. You ever see the menu they got up there?”

The food’s supposed to be excellent at this home also. And this Mr. Kramer, the administrator, told me—”

“Better food than at the Concord, Grossinger’s has. That’s a fact. Been to both resorts, and Grossinger’s is without doubt the best. I only wish you were in the resort business.”

“So do I. It’d be a nice healthy life.”

“Healthy life, my eye. Money. You’d make money. Piles of it, though you’d probably have your first stroke by the time you’re forty. And with three college degrees, those guests would give you twice the respect you get from your junior high school delinquents.”

“Junior college, and they’re good kids.”

“Whatever they are, but you won’t listen to me. You never have. So what do you say you let me watch some entertainment for a change,” and he switched on the TV.

This Mr. Kramer,” Ray said over the ad, “he says he’s held your place as long as he can. That if you don’t take it in two days, we’ll have to give it up. That I’ll have to forfeit my thousand dollar deposit besides, and he doesn’t see the prospect of another vacancy for three months.”

“Somebody’ll die before then. Old people always do, especially in nursing homes.”

“Listen, it took me a month — will you shut that thing off!” The television went dead. “A month of constant badgering to finally get you this bed, and I don’t want to give it up. I promised Mom I’d see you were well taken care of, if anything happened to you, and this is the best way I know how.”

His father looked sad, then indignant. “What’re you always going on about your poor mom for? Is it you want me to think about death?” Ray shook his head. “Well, you’re successful at it, even if before it never enters my mind, close as some people might say I am to it. All I know is that death’s my world’s worst enemy — but you? It’s always on your mind, day and night.”

“I didn’t know I was upsetting you so much.”

“Worse than that, you’re a depressing joke. Okay, we both loved her. But she’s dead and buried now and we’re left here alive with each other, so let her rest in peace.”

“Fine. Now let’s get back to what we were talking about. The only solution left is for you to try the home for a month. If you don’t like it, I’ll find you a place more comfortable.”

“You’re a liar. For you saying you’d fly East just to make me more comfortable? Once I’m in that home, you’ll forget me for good, just as you forgot to invite me to California.”

“If you mean for a visit, I was always too busy with work. But if you mean the homes there, you wouldn’t like them. Who would you know there but me? And you’d leave in a week, it gets so hot.”

“You don’t want me out there because you don’t want me around, period. That’s okay. You’re no bargain yourself. But I’m willing to admit how bad off my health is, so if that Hudson River home you got lined up for me is so important to you, have them hold my place for two more weeks. If it’s not too difficult to understand, I just want a last two weeks alone by myself here and then I’ll go.”

“Impossible.”

“Why? Just leave, that’s all. Get Mrs. Longo down the street to look in on me twice a day, and I’ll be okay. So I mess up the house a little — big deal. Then, in two weeks, I’ll go to the home, but in my own way. No help. Nothing. Just me in a cab with nobody around to make a fuss over me. Then the realty people can sell the house, the junk people can have the furniture, and with the money you get from them you can help pay the nursing home. My own Social Security and the little savings I got should take care of the rest.”

“You serious?”

“Serious as anything. Move my bed near the john and I’ll be all right. When I want groceries or something, I’ll phone and they’ll deliver. Is it a deal? Because believe me, it’s the only one I’ll make.”

Next day, Ray called Mr. Kramer and asked if he’d hold his father’s place two more weeks.

“Can’t,” Kramer said. Those beds are too scarce as it is. And I’m not getting a dime from yours, and I’ve maybe ten families hounding me to put their fathers here for the rest of their lives. What better offer could you give me than that?”

“My father will also be there for the rest of his life. And he’s a very amiable man who won’t give your staff the slightest trouble.”‘

“All my patients are amiable, Mr. Barrett. I’ve no complaints: they’re all dolls. I’m sorry, but you have to have that bed occupied by tomorrow, or it’s off my reserve list, and also gone is your deposit.”

Ray arranged for Mrs. Longo to look in on his father for the next two weeks. That afternoon, after seeing that the refrigerator was full and a bed was set up near the downstairs john, he kissed his father goodbye and trained to the New York town overlooking the Hudson where the nursing home was. He greeted Kramer in his office, said how glad he was to meet him after speaking with him on the phone these last weeks, and asked to see his father’s room.

“You want to inspect it before he comes, that it? Right this way, then. It’s really heartening to see such a devoted son,” and he led Ray to the second floor.

There it is,” Kramer said. “Even from the corridor you can see how much cheerful sun it gets.”

Ray walked into the room, said hello to the three patients there, and sat on the one empty bed. He kicked off his shoes, stretched out on the bed, and told Kramer that for the next two weeks he was going to be staying here. “I made a deal. And if you’ll hold on for a minute and not get so hysterical, I’m sure I can make you understand.”

“So how are things looking to you today?”

Ray opened his eyes. It was Mrs. Beets, an 82-year-old resident from the next room, nudging his shoulder.

“Fine, thanks, and you?”

“Terrible. My palsy’s never hurt me worse. You want to see how bad my hand shakes?”

“I was sort of taking a nap, thanks.”

“Naps you can always take, but my hand here’s shaking more than even yesterday. I think it ought to be photographed for posterity by a TV news show, just so young people can see how fast a human hand can shake.”

“Leave him alone, Beetie.” It was Mr. Spevack from the next bed. He was 78 and on his back all day, as he’d recently had one of his legs removed because of some rare bone disease.

“I was only showing him my hand.”

“Show it to the Marines.” After she left, saying she had a painting class to attend anyway, Spevack raised himself a few inches and said “Never saw such a bad palsy case in my six years here. But tell her that once and she’ll never leave us alone. Sleep well?”

“So-so.”

“Sleep, go on, don’t let me bother you. Man’s best healer, sleep.” And after Ray felt himself dozing off again: “What about your stomach? Acting up again?”

“It was never acting up, Mr. Spevack.”