“Excerpt from Little Stories”
The Red and the Black"As I parted the curtain and stepped toward the bed, I heard a whimper, then a groan. I inhaled deeply the strange smells that saturated the air. It was the scent of primordial life, brine and flora all mixed with the sweet medicinal smell of a hospital. I took Sarah’s hand, drew it to my lips, and kissed it lightly. She pulled her hand away, clutched her face with both hands, squinted her eyes, and turned toward me, moaning, “God, it hurts so much, Jeff”
"Sarah was sprawled across the hospital bed, her body coated in sweat and her disheveled blond hair matted to the pillow. Two nurses and the doctor stood at the foot of the bed, commenting nonchalantly about how well this delivery was going, that she was fully dilated, and the baby was crowning. Sarah cried out and then exhaled heavily, her body not her own as she breathed in…out…in…out, and twisted from the contractions.
"She arched her back as she pushed downward with all her might, and her eyes closed into narrow slits. All these sounds, motions, and smells were swirling around us in this miracle of birth. Sarah grabbed my arm again, clinched her teeth, dug her nails into my arm, and let out a low moan, “Oh…Jeff….Oh, God, Jeff.” Hunching forward, Sarah breathed harder, deeper, and pushed from her very soul as the head slowly emerged and a baby’s cry rang out in the delivery room. After he clipped the umbilical cord, the doctor placed this bundle of wet hair and soft folds of flesh into Sarah’s waiting arms. As she pulled the naked little infant to her chest, Sarah turned to me with tears streaming down her face and sobbed, “We got our baby girl.”
===Far across town, an old man named Arthur Johnson dozed in an uneasy sleep in a hospital room that was filled with the acrid smell of urine combined with sweat. By his side, monitors glowed and lights flickered as they registered the slow progress of a life ebbing away. His shallow breathing was labored, as if a heavy weight rested on his chest. From days of struggle, this normally well-groomed man had a four-day-old beard, his body was covered with a sheen of perspiration, and his hair had become a matted collection of overgrown gray ringlets.
At the head of the bed his son, Jake Johnson, spoke in low tones to his sister, Judy. He stood there in his well-pressed Oxford shirt and slacks, which looked like they had just been delivered from the dry cleaners. His arms were folded across his chest as he stroked a finger across his lips and gazed on this heart-rending scene. The bloodshot eyes and the creases on his cheeks attested to the sleepless nights and helpless days that were taking their toll on this fifty-five-year-old man. Judy stood beside him near the wall, her skirt and blouse immaculately fresh and clean, in sharp contrast with her eyes, which were red and swollen from days of crying. She pulled Jake close and whispered, “Dad’s not going to make it. The doctor said his chest is filled with infection from the surgery, and it’s just slowly eating him inside.”
Jake shook his head, ran his open palm down the side of his face as he sighed and said, “Yes, we all know that, but I just wish we could make it easier on him.” His voice broke as he continued, “Last night he pulled me close and whispered in my ear. ‘Jake, just get me a gun. Please, put me out of this misery.’ It’s just a horror to watch this and not be able to do anything.”
Peggy, Arthur Johnson’s youngest daughter, sat beside her father, keeping a solemn vigil. Her hair was styled in a short perm, which was just beginning to show a light frosting of gray. Despite having had three children, she still had the figure of a twenty-two-year old, and she had a carefree attitude that was more appropriate for a woman twenty years younger. Tonight though, a dull gaze replaced the sparkle in her eyes. She held her sleeping father’s hand, stroking his forearm and his hair. Each morning for the past two weeks she had washed his face, tried to comb his hair, and given him as much comfort as she could.
Judy signaled to Peggy to join her and Jake in the corner of the room. Peggy got up, pulled her father’s hand to her lips, and, her voice cracking, called out, “Oh, Dad.” She gave his hand a kiss and then laid it by his side like it was fragile porcelain.
She walked over and joined her brother and sister in the corner. Tears streaming down her face, Judy said, “Mom called from home. She wants us all to get a good night’s sleep, so she’s hired a nurse to sit with Dad tonight. You know, normally I would never let anyone else stay with him, but he’s so medicated, he’ll just sleep through the night. And we all need some rest.”
===Still farther away, on the edge of town, Emily Johnson, Arthur’s wife of fifty-three years, sat at her kitchen table having dinner. Her face was fully made up with light red lipstick, rouge, and eyeliner. Her hair looked as if it had been done that day at the beauty parlor, and her light brown blouse and pantsuit were neatly pressed as if she were ready to receive houseguests. She had cooked a full meal: roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, iced tea, and a chocolate cake. This dark November evening she sat at an empty table, staring across an empty kitchen inside an empty house. After blandly poking at her food and eating a few bites, she wrapped the leftovers in aluminum foil, loaded the refrigerator, cleaned all the dishes, and put them away in the cabinets. She followed the same ritual she had observed religiously all years they’d been married. Then she retired to an empty bed and sat staring blankly at the television screen, contemplating the unimaginable.
===
