Time moves on, and for many hours Cohen cannot look at his father lying in the hospital bed. One of the nurses mentioned that the last thing to go is hearing, and the thought that his father might still be able to hear him, might be aware of his presence, unsettles him. It sends him up out of his chair and over to the window, where he watches as the sky gradually dims from platinum to silver to slate to ash. It is inside him too, the grayness.
He glances at his father, gives a sort of wince, and turns back, feeling the cold glass. He moves his fingers along it slowly, as if trying to placate winter, convince it to lumber off, make way for spring. The sky and the snow and the fading light divide, separate, become their own elements. They are no longer connected. Cohen also feels disconnected, fragmented, as if all the times of his life are straining one from the other—his childhood, his adolescence, his adulthood. Who is he? Which of these Cohens is standing here in the room with his dying father, looking out over a silent city?
Confession. Again the concept flashes through his mind, and now it’s dark and he doesn’t know how long he’s been staring out at the streetlights that seem more yellow than white, the brake lights and the long streaks they leave behind on the wet streets. He sits down and falls asleep.
When he wakes up, a nighttime nurse has crept into the room, moving like a shadow. “Hi,” he says quietly, rubbing his eyes.
“Hello,” she says. “Anything new in here?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Okay,” she says, adjusting Calvin’s pillow, moving his arms so they’re across his chest. “We’ll move him around a bit more in the morning to try to keep away the bed sores and maintain circulation.”
Cohen doesn’t reply. He bites his lip. Does she know the situation? Does she know he’s dying, that the doctors have given him up for dead? Why move him now? But he doesn’t say anything.
Midnight.
He is suddenly wide awake in a way he has not been for days, and he wonders if he can get into Saint Thomas Episcopal Church. He seems to remember someone saying they usually leave at least the chapel unlocked. There is something about sitting in there at night in the dim lights, staring at the mesh of the confession screen, that seems like it would help. He considers calling Father James to see if he might meet him for confession again, but he also feels bad asking him to come out into a cold night.
Cohen glances at his father. Should he leave him like this? What if his father dies while he’s gone? Kaye would be mortified if she found out Cohen left him; she would be devastated if their father died alone in the room.
Cohen looks up at the clock again. He decides to go to Saint Thomas. He’ll walk fast.