Элизабет Страут - Olive, Again

Fergus walked to the television set, and then he was aware of a different strange feeling, his eyes became blurry very quickly, and without any sense of warning that his body would do this he went crashing to the floor, hitting his head on the corner of his television; briefly he saw stars. When he came to, he heard the loud talking of women, this would be his family, and they were trying to sit him up, and they did, and then he was standing and they were pushing him into the car.

All Fergus wanted to do was curl up, this kept going through his head, just curl up, curl up, curl up, and when they got him to the hospital he did that, he curled up on the floor of the emergency room, and very quickly a nurse came and got him standing again, and then he was on a thin bed and he curled up on the bed. When someone tried to straighten out his legs, he curled them right back up, almost to his chest, and his head was down there too. All he wanted was to stay curled up with his eyes closed.

Eventually he heard someone say “sedative,” and he thought Yes, give me that, and they must have, because he slept deeply, and when he woke he felt frightened and did not know where he was.

“Dad?” It was Lisa, lowering her head, speaking to him quietly. “Oh, Daddy, guess what? You’re okay! Oh God, Daddy, you scared us so much, but you’re okay. They’re going to keep you here tonight, but you’re okay, Daddy.”

She held his hand, and he squeezed it.

Then Laurie was there, and she said, “Oh, Dad, we were so scared,” and he nodded.

Then he was alone, and he fell asleep again. When he woke, he knew right away that he was in the hospital and it was nighttime, a small light was on above his hospital bed. He closed his eyes again.

As he lay there he became aware of someone stroking his arm, very slowly, rhythmically, back and forth went the hand on his arm. He kept his eyes closed so it would continue, and it did. After many minutes went by—who knew how many minutes?—he turned his head and opened his eyes and saw that it was his wife. She stopped when she saw him watching her and put her hand into her lap.

“Ethel,” he said. “What have we done?”

“Done about what?” she asked quietly. “You mean our life, or our children?”

He said, “I don’t know what I mean.” After a moment he said, “You have to tell me about Anita’s kids. Not right now, but someday soon.”

“Oh,” Ethel said. “They’re looney tunes.”

“Not like ours,” he said.

Ethel said, “Not like ours.”

And then he nodded toward his arm, a small nod, but old marrieds that they were she understood. She began to stroke his arm again.

Olive Kitteridge opened her eyes.

She had just been somewhere—it had been absolutely lovely—and now where was she? Someone seemed to be saying her name. Then she heard beeping sounds. “Mrs. Kitteridge? Do you know where you are?” Wherever she had been was very sunny and there was no sun here, just lights on above her. “Mrs. Kitteridge?”

“Huh,” she said. She tried to turn her head, but it wouldn’t turn. A face appeared right near hers. “Hello,” she said. “Who are you? Are you Christopher?”

A man’s voice said, “I’m Dr. Rabolinski. I’m a cardiologist.”

“Is that right,” said Olive, and she moved her eyes to looking back up at the lights.

“Do you know where you are?” the man’s voice said.

Olive closed her eyes.

“Do you know where you are, Mrs. Kitteridge?” The voice was getting annoying. “Mrs. Kitteridge, you’re in the hospital.”

Olive opened her eyes. “Oh,” she said. She considered this. “Well, hell’s bells,” she said. The beeping sound continued. “Phooey to you.”

Now a woman leaned down. “Hello? Mrs. Kitteridge?”

Olive said, “It was awful nice. Just awful nice.”

“What was nice, Mrs. Kitteridge?”

“Wherever I was,” said Olive. “Where was I?”

“You were dead.” This was the man’s voice.

Olive kept looking up at the lights. “Did you say I was dead?” she asked.

“That’s right. You had no pulse.”

Olive considered this. “Petunias,” she said, “are such a nuisance.” She said this because she thought the word “deadhead.” To deadhead petunias was a constant job. “Godfrey,” she said, thinking of lavender petunias. “All the time,” she said.

“All the time, what? Mrs. Kitteridge?” This was the woman, who kept appearing and then disappearing.

“Petunias,” said Olive.

And then the voices lessened, they were chatting among themselves, and the beeping sound continued. “Can’t you get that to stop?” Olive asked the ceiling.

The woman’s face, a plain face, came back into view. “Get what to stop?”

“That beep-beep-beep-beep.” Olive tried to figure out who this woman was; there was something familiar about her.

“That’s the heart monitor, Mrs. Kitteridge. That lets us know your heart is beating.”

“Well, turn it off,” said Olive. “Who gives a damn?”

“We do, Mrs. Kitteridge.”

Olive thought through everything that had happened so far. “Oh,” she said. And then she said, “Oh, shit . Honest to Christ,” she said. “For fuck’s sake.” The woman’s face went away. “Yoo-hoo,” said Olive. “Hey, yoo-hoo. Excuse me, I have no idea why I said ‘shit.’ I never say ‘shit.’ I hate the word ‘shit.’ ” No one seemed to hear this, though she could hear voices nearby. “All right,” said Olive, “I’m going back now.” She closed her eyes, but the beeping continued. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said.

The man’s face returned. Olive liked the man better than the woman. He said, “What is the last thing you remember?”

Olive thought about this. “Well,” she said, “I can’t say. What should I say?”

“You’re doing fine,” the man said.

What a nice man. “Thank you,” Olive said. Then she said, “I would like to go back now, please.”

The man said, “I’m afraid you won’t be going home for a while, Mrs. Kitteridge. You’ve had a heart attack. Do you understand?”

When she woke up next, a different man was there; he seemed almost a boy. “Hello,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Jeff,” said the fellow. “I’m a nurse.”

“Hello, Jeff,” said Olive. “Now tell me why I’m here.”

“You had a heart attack.” The fellow shook his head sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

Olive moved her eyes to look around. There were many machines, and many little lights, and still that beeping noise. Then she looked at her arm and saw there were things attached to it. Her throat felt funny, kind of achy. She looked back at the boy. “Uh-oh,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, with a shrug. “I’m so sorry.”

Olive pondered this a while. “Well, it’s not your fault,” she said. The boy had brown eyes, and long eyelashes. A lovely young man.

“Oh, I know,” he said.

“What’s your name again?”

“Jeff.”

“Jeff. Okay, Jeff. How long do you think I’ll be in here?”

“I really don’t know. I don’t even think the doctor knows.” Jeff was sitting in a chair, she realized, that was pulled up right next to the bed she was lying on.

She looked around, without raising her head. “Am I alone?” she asked.

“No. You have two roommates. You’re in the ICU.”

“Oh hell .” After a moment Olive said, “Who are the roommates? Are they men?”

“No. Women.”