Percival Everett - Wounded

On Thanksgiving morning Morgan’s mother died. I was trimming hooves when Gus called to me from the house end of the barn. “Phone,” was all he said. I found myself trotting, then sprinting. Gus said, “Morgan,” as he trotted behind me. My messy boots slipped on the linoleum as I crossed to the phone.

“Morgan?”

“It’s mother.” She was crying. “She won’t wake up. I’ve called nine-one-one.”

“I’m on my way.”

On the phone with the emergency operator, Morgan had used the magic words “heart attack.” And so the medivac helicopter was already there when I arrived. The blades were still turning and the horses in the pasture were tearing around through the wet grass and mud. The sky was bright blue and the yellow helicopter set against it made the scene surreal. Emily was being carried to the open craft as I climbed out. Morgan ran to me and I held her, but she didn’t need to be held. She told me that the paramedics would not let her ride in the helicopter with Emily.

“I’m driving you to town,” I said. “Get in.”

I opened the passenger side and got her in. Suddenly she was like an elk caught in a bright light. I buckled her belt and closed the door. As I drove away from the house she stared ahead through the windshield.

“I knew she wasn’t right this morning,” she finally said. “I asked her, I said, ‘Are you okay?’ and she waved me off. Oh, god. I knew it. I just knew something was wrong.”

I put my hand on her leg. I considered a list of platitudes, but they all seemed unusable. Years ago, I had often felt ambushed by Susie when bad things happened. I would offer a quiet hand of support and she would ask why I wasn’t saying anything. Then I’d say something, admittedly vacuous but meant in the spirit of support, and she would snap at me, asking what that was supposed to mean or accusing me of belittling her fear or grief. Now, I remained silent and if Morgan asked me to speak, I planned to say, “I’m right here.”

“Do you think she’s going to die?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, realizing that ‘I’m here for you’ wasn’t going to work.

“She was so limp. Maybe she was already dead.”

I squeezed her thigh.

“John.”

“Yes?”

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too, honey.” We made the big curve around the mountain. “Twenty minutes,” I said.

“Twenty minutes?”

“To town.”

“Twenty minutes to town.” Morgan closed her eyes and let her head rest against the seat.

When we arrived, the helicopter was idle on its pad, and a nurse was watching through the emergency-room doors. Morgan looked at me and I pulled her close. We walked to the hospital, knowing already that Emily was gone.

Emily had been laid on a bed in a curtained stall. Her face still looked alive, with some color in her cheeks. A sheet was pulled up to her shoulders. Her hair was wild about her head and Morgan sought to straighten it. The doctor stood there with Morgan and talked to her. I stood there, feeling sad and sick and weak. I thought of the elderly person I had left at my house. I stepped into the hall and used the phone at the nurse’s station to call Gus. After I gave him the news there was a long silence.

“Gus?”

“I’m here.”

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“I’ll feed. You stay with Morgan.”

“Thanks, Gus.”

I arranged for the one mortuary in Highland to come for Emily while Morgan took care of matters with the hospital. I then drove her home. I wanted to take her to my place, but she insisted. I got a fire going while she straightened up. Emily had fallen in the den and things had been left disturbed.

“It’s cold in here,” Morgan said.

It wasn’t cold, but I said, “I’ll have the fire good and hot shortly.”

“She just fell over, John.” Morgan was standing in front of the sofa. “She didn’t make a sound. I didn’t see her face. I don’t think she felt anything. The doctor said she probably didn’t feel anything. He said her heart probably just stopped.”

I walked to her and lowered her to the sofa. I sat beside her with my arm around her.

“Do you think she went peacefully?” Morgan asked me.

“I do,” I said.

Morgan didn’t cry, but she fell fast asleep quickly. I untwisted our bodies and went outside to feed her horses and check the gates. I came back into the house and called Gus. He took a long time answering and I started to get upset. He picked up.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“All is fine,” he said.

“What took you so long?”

“I was busy, do you mind?”

I caught myself, caught my worry and caught the anxiety that had been working on me. “I’m sorry, Gus.”

“How’s Morgan?”

“She’s asleep.”

“I’ve got things covered here.”

“Okay.”

“Get some sleep,” he said. “I mean it.”

“Yes, sir.”

I didn’t wake Morgan, but let her sleep the night on the sofa. I sat nearby in a stuffed chair and watched her, realizing with each sleep-breath she took that I did, in fact, love her. And I didn’t love her because I needed to love someone, but because she wouldn’t go away, not physically, but in my head.

Morning came and Morgan was still asleep. I went out into the clear crisp air to feed the animals. I put the hay in the feeder in the pasture and noticed Morgan’s horse, Square, arching her neck and coughing. It was an odd behavior, but she went for her food. She wanted to eat, so I didn’t think she was about to colic. Then she arched again and I thought she might be choking, which seemed odd since she hadn’t eaten anything yet. Choking on hay is uncommon and choking on the green grass is really uncommon. I haltered her and removed her from the food. I put her in a paddock and made sure there was water for her. Morgan came from the house in a thick robe, her face already worried.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Square’s acting funny,” I said.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if there’s anything wrong yet.”

Just then the horse arched her neck again and coughed.

“What was that?” Morgan asked.

“That’s the funny thing,” I said.

“What’s wrong with her, John?” Everything was piling up on poor Morgan. She started to cry. Since there’s nothing wrong with crying, I didn’t get in her way. I simply proceeded with what I had to do with the horse. “Go to my truck and bring me my red box. I’ve got a speculum in there.”

She trotted, the robe trailing behind her, crying there and back.

I had my thumbs in the horse’s cheeks and was trying to see into her throat, trying to spot any kind of obstruction. “I need a flashlight,” I said. “There’s a penlight in the jockey box.”

She ran crying to get it. She came back and I asked her to hold the lead rope while I looked. I held the light in my teeth and opened Square’s mouth again. I grabbed her tongue and pulled it to the side. She was drooling and I saw that there was a bit of blood mixed in it. I saw a wire or a stick in her throat.

“Yep,” I said.

“What is it?” Morgan asked.

“She’s got something in there all right.”

“Oh, my god,” she said.

“She’s okay, Morgan.”

“Can you get it out?”

“I’m going to try.” I didn’t want to tell her that if I couldn’t we were going to have to take her to the clinic down in Laramie and have the vet knock her out and find a way to get it out. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her that. “It’s not too far back there.”

“John?”

“Okay, I’m going to give her some butte; that will make her feel better. I’ve got one shot of that left right here. And I’m going to sedate her slightly as well, but you’re going to have to hold her. Okay?”