I Can Hear the Mourning Dove Page 14

  “I’ve thought once or twice about gettin’ in your pants, but that’s only natural, am I right?” He is smiling his charming smile with all his teeth.

  I need to breathe; I’ve never been spoken to like this before. “Can you say that to another person?”

  “If you’re gonna ask, you gotta let me answer.”

  When I am with him I feel like he is peeling me. The deep breathing will help me. The ones at school carried the mark of evil, but Luke is not one of them. “No one ever touched me before,” I tell him. “No one ever kissed me either. DeeDee told me once about French kissing and it sounded repulsive. Dr. Rowe told me the Surly People who molested me were more interested in cruelty than in sex. She also showed me my father wasn’t perfect and there’s no such thing as Surly People, not in any organized sense. People are neither perfect nor perfectly evil.”

  He reaches over and touches the back of my hand. “I forgot all about the scumbags that tried to gang you, Red. I’m sorry for what I said.”

  There are tears blurring my eyes but the breathing helps me; I think I’ll be okay. “I get confused about things; I shouldn’t make such a big deal out of nothing.”

  “It was just a smartass remark,” he says. “I apologize.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not going to get scrambled, if that’s what you mean. It would probably be a good idea if we changed the subject.”

  “That’s cool.” He shakes his loose hair and adjusts his headband. “If you want the truth,” he says, “I think I owe you another apology.”

  “What for?”

  “We were talkin’ that one night about the place where you grew up.”

  “Allerton Park.”

  “Yeah. Allerton Park. It’s a real nice place. I told you about puttin’ a rubber on that statue; I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “You were only telling a story. I think my feelings get hurt too easily.”

  “Yeah, well anyway, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I’m sorry. When we were down there, I remember layin’ out under the stars on the shore of this pond. It was real, real peaceful there.”

  “That’s the pond in front of the mansion,” I say. “My father and I used to pick wildflowers in that area all the time.” I now have my composure back, thanks to the deep breathing.

  “It was pretty much a pure nature trip. It was real different from anything in my experience. That was in the summer though; what goes on down there this time of year?”

  “Not much,” I say. “After October fifteenth, the whole park is deserted, except on holidays. I always loved Allerton in late October and early November, when the trees had such glorious colors and I felt like I had the whole place to myself.”

  He is gazing off and blowing smoke at the ceiling. I decide to change the subject. “I’m so sorry you got put here. I told Dr. Rowe that you were provoked, but I’m not sure she believed me.”

  Luke looks at me for several seconds. “You stuck up for me?”

  “I tried, but I’m not very good at it. I’m not exactly an assertive person. What good is my word against Mrs. Youngblood’s?”

  “Yeah, that’s true. The bullshitters always seem to have the upper hand. That’s how they control the system.” He bends forward to put out his cigarette. Then he leans back in his chair and locks his hands behind his head. His legs are crossed at the ankles.

  “I had about four bullshitters come and visit me yesterday,” he says. “The main one was my caseworker. What it comes down to is, they’re going to try me as an adult. I could be lookin’ at a heavy-duty sentence.”

  “But why?”

  “You tell me. It’s not like I didn’t cooperate. I told ’em I pulled Johnny’s plug and I told ’em why. I even told ’em how.”

  “You told your caseworker the whole story?”

  “Most of it. I gave her the highlights, you might say. I’ve never told anybody all the details about the actual part at the hospital. I’ll tell you though, if you still want to hear it.”

  “Please tell me.” I don’t know whether to feel honored or afraid, but I know I want him to feel free to tell me.

  He lights another cigarette. “This was a couple months after the migrant work adventure I told you about. It was around Labor Day, and I didn’t actually know John was in the hospital until I got a letter from him. The person who actually wrote the letter was a hospital volunteer. I figured if he couldn’t even write his own letter, he was probably in bad shape.”

  “But if your friend couldn’t even talk or move, how did the hospital volunteer know to write the letter?”

  “I think they found my address in Johnny’s things.”

  “He knew you’d be back at your house?”

  “No, hell no; after we split up, even I didn’t know where I was headed. I think they just wrote the letter and hoped I’d get it. Anyhow, the hospital was clear over in the Quad Cities; I had to hitch. When I got there he was in intensive care. He was just skin and bones, I couldn’t hardly even recognize him. His skin was gray. It was enough to make you bawl or piss your pants, just lookin’ at him. I had a talk with this little old lady named Mrs. Askew. She was a hospital volunteer, in fact she was the one who wrote the letter. She told me it was almost a month since they brought John in. She said he was completely paralyzed from damage to the spinal cord in a wipeout on the bike. I thought about how he liked to ride stoned, but I didn’t mention that. She told me he wasn’t goin’ to get any better; they couldn’t fix his spine. He couldn’t eat or talk. They had to feed him through a tube. He even had to have his diapers changed by the nurses.”

  I am concentrating on what he is saying. I am trying to understand, so I don’t say anything. I will see my mother tomorrow.

  He goes on. “I had a long conversation with John in his room, which meant I was doin’ the talkin’. All he could do was blink, once for yes and twice for no. To make a long story short, he wanted me to pull his plug. He wanted to snuff. That’s the reason he wrote me the letter. When I left his room, I didn’t say I would and I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I could understand his point of view, he’d been layin’ there like a vegetable for almost a month, what did he have to look forward to in life, but snuffin’ a guy is not the kind of thing you take lightly, you know what I mean? I had to think it over.”

  “If you were a true psychopath, you couldn’t have as much conscience as you do.”

  “Thanks, Red. Anyhow, I went back to the hospital the next morning and had another talk with Mrs. Askew. My mind wasn’t made up yet. I’m not usually into indecision; I knew I had to shit or get off the pot. Mrs. Askew was cuttin’ up Styrofoam egg cartons for little kids in the hospital to do art projects. I was sincerely impressed; givin’ her time to help hospital patients, gettin’ no pay and probably no credit. In my opinion, people like her are worth a thousand bullshitters like Pendleton, he’s the guy who runs Clark House, who spend their time in their BMWs or their fatass offices, gettin’ their picture taken for the newspapers and makin’ the decisions that run other peoples’ lives.

  “That’s more or less off the subject. I just happen to remember it. I don’t know how you get me to talk like this, Red. What Mrs. Askew told me was, John didn’t have any relatives to take care of him, so they were gonna send him to a state hospital for permanent placement. I said who made this decision, and she told me a hospital review board made up of doctors and social service people. As soon as she told me this, I got real steady inside and the decision was easy. John lived his whole life by his own code, free and clear of the system, and now the bullshitters were gonna put him in their vegetable garden for the rest of his life. It was either his way or their way, dependin’ on what I decided to do. Lookin’ at it that way, it was a simple choice.”

  “But I don’t understand how you could do it. It must have taken skill and cleverness.”

  He shrugs. “It wasn’t that hard. I think there was less nurses because it was a holiday weekend. Anyway, I went back about suppertime whe
n everybody was busy servin’ meals. I snuck into John’s room without anybody seein’ me. He was asleep, which was real important; I didn’t want him to watch me do it.”

  “But weren’t you scared?”

  “A little, but not bad once my mind was made up. There was this big console close to his bed which was part of his respirator equipment. The respirator was the only thing keepin’ him alive. When I took the panel off the back of the console, I found two or three electrical circuits. I didn’t have time to study how the alarm was wired, so I just cut each one.”

  “Was he dead then?”

  He shakes his head, “No. That was just to kill the alarm. The respirator was plugged into the wall down by the foot of the bed. Before I actually pulled the plug, I looked at him for a few seconds. He was skin and bones, but he was asleep and peaceful. I was real happy knowin’ he was gonna go in his sleep. I just pulled the plug and left the room real quick without lookin’ back. If he was gonna choke, I didn’t want to be around to hear it.”

  He leans forward to put out the cigarette. “That’s the story, Red. That’s the whole thing. What do you think?”

  It is so overwhelming because he is describing the actual death of a real person. “It’s not for me to judge other people,” I say quickly. “I have more than I can handle, just trying to deal with my own problems.”

  “Yeah, but what do you think?”

  “You only meant it for his own good. You meant well.”

  “Tell it to the bullshitters.” The faraway look is back in his eyes and it frightens me. “Sometimes I feel like my whole life is just gettin’ the shaft, one way or another.”

  “Please don’t say that.”

  “You said to me once I was vulnerable. Maybe you were right. I never shoulda been put in Clark House in the first place.”

  I wonder if I’m supposed to say something or ask a question, but I’m afraid; I have a lump in my stomach because I’m afraid he’s leading up to something.

  I tell him not to give up hope. I tell him maybe the court will be lenient; maybe the court will understand he meant well.

  Luke shakes his head no and lowers his voice. “I need a favor, Red. I need a favor from you.”

  I am suddenly taking deep breaths. I have to stay in control, no matter what he asks.

  His dark eyes have locked onto me. “I need to get out of here. I need to escape.”

  “But wouldn’t that be unwise?” I ask. “Wouldn’t that just make things worse?”

  “Things can’t get any worse. All I need is to get the hell out of here. I can make it on my own if I can get free.”

  “You mean I would help you escape.” I hardly have the breath to say it.

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  I have a tight grip on the edge of my chair. “But this is the lockup wing, could you escape from here?”

  “Yeah, I think so, but you’d have to give me a little help.”

  “How? What would I have to do?”

  “All I’d need from you is a little distraction.” He is speaking in a low voice, but trying to look natural.

  “A distraction?”

  “That’s all. Just a little somethin’ to keep old Four Eyes over there occupied for a minute or two.”

  I have to look away from his eyes. It’s hard for me to concentrate on what he is saying, there’s such a riot of feelings in my stomach. If there’s something you want, you reach out and take it. How like the Surly People he seems at this moment.

  He continues, “It’s not gonna be complicated. All you have to do is come about suppertime, when he’s eatin’ over there at the nurses’ station. All you have to do is keep him occupied for maybe thirty seconds. I’ll go down the hallway like I’m goin’ to take a leak. I’ll close the hall door behind me. The exit door at the other end of the hallway is just locked with an allen wrench, and they leave it on the ledge above the door.”

  I am not speaking, but nodding my head rapidly up and down.

  “They think that’s a good place to hide a key. See what I mean when I say how simple it would be?”

  “You mean I would help you escape. That’s the favor you want me to do.”

  “Yeah, you listenin’ to me at all, or what?”

  “But what would you do after you escape from the hospital? Where would you go?”

  “That’s no problem; there are lots of places. All I need is to get on the road.”

  “But Luke, you don’t have a car. How would you travel? Would you hitchhike?”

  “No. No thumbin’. I’d go straight for the Iron Horse.” He is smiling at me now with his white teeth. Why is he doing that? Has he seduced me like the voice warned?

  The gleam in his eye frightens me, but I ask, “Please, what is the Iron Horse?”

  Luke glances quickly at the security guard, who is still watching us. “Not so loud, okay?” He sits forward and says, “The Iron Horse is John’s Harley. It’s locked up in the garage over by his old apartment because the courts haven’t decided what to do with his stuff. That’s what happens when you die with no relatives. They just lock up all your stuff till the courts decide what to do with it.”

  “The Iron Horse is a motorcycle,” I murmur.

  “Yeah; the one Johnny was ridin’ when he cracked up. It’s got a twisted fender and some busted spokes, but I’m pretty sure it’ll still run.”

  The audacity of his plan astounds me. So does its simplicity. But how would I dare? I have started to tremble; I lock my hands between my knees to make it stop.

  Then the guard standing at the nurses’ station says in a loud voice, “You got about one more minute, Luke.”

  “So what do you say?” Luke asks me quickly. “You wanna go for it?”

  I’m so afraid. They have him locked up like a caged animal and the only thing plain to me is my own fear. “I don’t think I could do it. How could I ever create a diversion?” The words catch in my throat.

  He winces and says, “Your part is real simple, Red; all I’m askin’ is a little distraction.”

  “But I just don’t think I could.” There are tears blurring my eyes but I refuse to let them come.

  He says to me, “Either you can or you can’t. There comes a time when you have to shit or get off the pot.”

  The guard is walking toward us, but I need more time. I stand up and whisper to Luke, “Please, I need more time. I have to think it over. I just need more time.”

  “That’s cool,” he says.

  During crafts and through lunch I am somewhat groggy. I eat a few bites of tossed salad and drink my apple juice. If you chew and chew long enough, eventually it has to go down your throat. I’m still over a hundred pounds, it could be worse. I’m so afraid I will go flat out and become a useless lump at the very time Luke wants me to be resourceful.

  In group I have dry mouth. We have a new member whose name is Antoinette; she is sitting in the mist. She has moved here from Chicago and her new house speaks to her with voices. I have a sky voice but she has a house voice.

  Miss Dellapiano is sitting beside me; she asks me how many spices I can name. I can only think of origami, but I’m pretty sure that’s a craft, not a spice. Anyway, we’re supposed to be listening to Antoinette. She has so much static. I clamp my hands between my knees because I’m starting to get the shakes.

  Luke wants me to help him escape from the hospital. At three-thirty I use the phone in the lounge to call my mother. I say to her, “I think I should come home now. I’ve been in the hospital long enough.”

  “Grace, we went through this the other night.”

  I speak to her coldly: “You do want me to come home and live with you, Mother. I am correct in assuming that.”

  “Of course I want you here, but I want you to get well so you can stay here. Have you brought this up with Dr. Rowe?”

  My mother doesn’t understand about the lump in my stomach; she doesn’t know that Luke wants me to help him escape. “Dr. Rowe says I’m not ready yet,�
� I tell her. “She means well, but there’s so much she doesn’t understand; her life is so sound.”

  “We talked about a pass,” Mother says. “Have you asked Dr. Rowe about a pass?”

  “Yes, I have a pass. I can come home tomorrow for the weekend.”

  “Good. Let’s take it one step at a time and trust Dr. Rowe.”

  She doesn’t understand what Luke expects of me. “Mother, you are speaking in cliches.”

  “Maybe I’m a cliche kind of person, Grace. What else would you expect from a rock?”

  Her sarcasm means I have hurt her feelings. “You always say my name when you patronize me,” I tell her.

  “I don’t think that’s fair.”

  “Mother, I have tears in my eyes. I’m not supposed to cry because I have mascara now.”

  “Grace, please. I’m trying to understand, but we have to follow Dr. Rowe’s advice. We both need to trust her.”

  This is not going to work. I say goodbye and hang up the phone.

  When six o’clock comes, I know I can’t do it. I don’t have the strength. I feel so woozy and shaky; I blame the stress. But I could never willfully create a diversion in order for Luke to escape.

  My own cowardice is disgusting to me as always. Maybe I’m not lucid enough to be a real coward. It seems like my whole life is just a chain of panicky, disoriented states, linked one to the next. Something needs to be done but I am helpless. I could disappear from the face of the earth and not cause the tiniest blip or ripple.

  First Luke terrified me and now I care for him. I have to tell him I can’t do it; I can’t just fail to show up without a word of explanation. It will be most humiliating, but I have to go back to the lockup wing and tell him I can’t go through with it.

  I’ll need an excuse to go back on Luke’s unit. The nurse will be different on this shift, but I don’t have time to get a written pass from Dr. Rowe. I go to the cafeteria and talk with the cook named Wilma Dean in the serving line.

  “Please, if you don’t mind, I’d like my gazpacho from the refrigerator.”

  “What’s the matter, Grace? Not hungry tonight?”