William Kienzle - Deathbed

“May God fill your heart with peace and lead you to eternal life. Amen.

“May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” Koesler’s right hand traced the sign of the cross.

“Is that it?” Alice Walker asked.

“That’s it,” Koesler confirmed as he removed the stole from his shoulders.

“That was nice.”

“Yes, I thought so too.”

“I didn’t think I was going to get all this when I asked Rosie—uh, Sister Rosamunda—for confession.”

“I know. But I didn’t think you’d mind the sacrament of Anointing too.”

“Oh, I didn’t. I was afraid to ask for more than confession. I was afraid you’d come and give me Extreme Unction. And that would have been it.”

“It?”

“Yes. Then you’d’ve prayed me right into the next life.”

Koesler smiled. “I wouldn’t have done that. We need you too much right here.”

There was a slight pause as Koesler folded the stole and gathered up the pyx that had contained the consecrated wafer.

“They didn’t fool me, you know,” Alice Walker said in a knowing tone.

“Huh? Who didn’t fool you?”

“Those two last night.”

“What two last night?”

“The two in the next bed.”

Koesler glanced at the empty bed near the door. It was made up with customary hospital care. There was no doubt that it was not being used by any patient. He knew that Alice Walker was of advanced age and that she was ill. But he was not conversant with her mental state. For all he knew, she might have a touch of Alzheimer’s. Or possibly she had been just hallucinating. In any case, no one was occupying 2218-B.

He decided to try a little reality therapy. “Mrs. Walker, there’s nobody in the other bed in this room.”

“There certainly was last night.”

“There was?”

“Yes, two.”

“Two? It’s a single bed.”

“Not when one is on top of the other. “

“On top? Mrs. Walker, what happened last night?” Koesler was mystified. What did she think happened last night?

“Well, I was havin’ my evening snack—graham crackers and milk—when I heard them. There was two of them. I couldn’t see who they was right off. This curtain was pulled around my bed and the only light was this one at the head of my bed. They was whispering, but I could tell it was a man and a woman. At first they was just sparkin’, but then they went into the act.”

“The act?”

“Yes, you know what I mean. What could I do? I couldn’t stop ’em or cheer ’em on. Besides, they got through it rather rapid. So I just kep’ eatin’ my snack. But then they started in again. I never heard nothin’ like it. I mean it wasn’t ten minutes after they finished the act the first time when didn’t they start all over again. Well, I tell you, nothin’ surprises me much anymore. But that surprised me. And a bit of the snack went down my throat the wrong way and I started chokin’. The next thing I know, the man fell out of the bed and, I guess, rolled across the floor until he hit my bed. Wham!

“Well, my bed hit the wall and I pitched out of it and onto him on the floor. Knocked the morsel right out of my throat. Saved my life, I guess. But what a way to do it!

“Next thing I know, the nurse—’cause that’s who I think it was—was gettin’ herself and him dressed. They got me back in bed. I guess they didn’t think I knew what was goin’ on.

“Then all hell broke loose. People comin’ in here makin’ a fuss over me. Shoot, I was okay by then. And while they’re makin’ this fuss over me, this man—turns out he was a guard . . . at least he had a guard’s uniform—is tellin’ everybody this cockamamie story about how he heard me chokin’ and came in and saved me. I mean, I’ve lived a long and eventful life, but that’s the first time anything as weird as that ever happened to me.”

Koesler was unsure what to believe. It was a wild tale. A bit too wild, he thought, to have sprung out of whole cloth. Perhaps it was true.

“Have you told this to anyone else, Mrs. Walker?”

“No, just you.”

“Why didn’t you tell somebody? The people who were in here last night? Or someone this morning?”

“Don’t want to make any enemies. I’m goin’ into surgery, you know. I want to have at least an even chance to come out of it okay.”

“So why did you tell me?”

“I can trust you. God! If you can’t trust a priest, who can you trust?”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

“Whatever you want. I don’t care. It ain’t my responsibility anymore. If you tell, they can’t blame me. It’s your responsibility. Or if you don’t tell anybody, that’s okay too. I don’t care anymore. It’s your kettle of fish now.”

Koesler shrugged. “Glad to be of help.” He made ready to leave.

“One more thing,” Alice Walker said.

“Yes?”

“Pray for me and my operation.”

“I just did—in the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick.”

“I know. But keep it up. It couldn’t hurt.”

“Right.”

* * *

Father Koesler made six consecutive calls on new patients on his floors, each of whom was otherwise occupied, either with tests, therapy, or being examined by doctors. Time, he decided, for a coffee break.

The cafeteria coffee had its usual severely strong character. So as usual he was more warming his hands from the cup than drinking it. The people who complained about his coffee-making should be made to sample this coffee, he thought. That would teach them to better appreciate his efforts.

While he sat by himself in the nearly empty cafeteria, two nurses seated themselves at a neighboring table. Evidently, they were also on coffee break. They were actually sipping the coffee. Koesler wondered if it just took time to get used to its industrial strength.

The two nurses began chattering away, seemingly oblivious of Koesler’s proximity.

In order to distract himself, Koesler weighed what he might do with the information he had been given by Alice Walker. It all came down to: to tell or not to tell.

Before Mrs. Walker’s revelation, Koesler had heard something of the event. The version he’d heard was considerably less titillating than Alice Walker’s account. He had overheard some talk of the rescue. But the emphasis was on the coincidence that a guard should be passing by a room at the exact moment a patient happened to be choking. Beyond that, there was some comment about the guard’s being able to execute the Heimlich Hug. It was, Koesler had been led to believe, not so outstanding or newsworthy an event.

If one could rely on Mrs. Walker, there was a far more colorful aspect to this rescue now celebrated in the lore of this ancient hospital. Which were it known would undoubtedly trigger a couple of dismissals. Was it worth it to reveal the story and cause a couple of people to be fired?

Probably not, Koesler concluded. Security in this hospital was not the best, to say the least. It would not be improved with the revelation that one of the guards had been horizontal when he should have been vertical. Same for the nurse—or aide, whichever.

Peripherally, he noticed the two nurses changing position preliminary to leaving. “What’s the hurry?” the blonde asked. She seemed to be down to the dregs of her coffee, but not ready to leave.

“I gotta get back,” the brunette answered. “One of the gals in 2214 is having problems.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. No one can figure it out. Just took a bad turn. I promised to cut my break short and get back. I gotta go.”

“Okay, okay. Hold your horses. I’ll be right with you.”

The two nurses departed, leaving Koesler wondering. Something about that room number . . . Ordinarily, there was no reason a particular room would strike any chord in his memory. But, for some reason, Room 2214 stood out. Of course it must have something to do with the patients in that room. But what?