WITH PEPPER’S INTAKE meeting finished, Dr. Anand walked him out of the conference room and back into the hall. Pepper expected some ceremonious next step, but the doctor just pressed him back against the hallway wall, as if he was about to use a pencil to mark Pepper’s height.
“Stay here,” Dr. Anand said, already turning away. “A nurse will be by quickly. She’ll take you to your room.”
And just like that, the doctor returned to the conference room and shut the door. Pepper felt like a fridge left out on the sidewalk.
The walls in this hallway were eggshell white like those in the conference room. The floors were cheap beige linoleum tiles. On the wall, right beside him, at shoulder level, hung a framed landscape painting. There was another across the hall. An empty beach by his shoulder; a path through empty woods across the way. Soothing images, by reputation. In truth, Pepper felt more comfortable around apartment buildings and even on subway platforms—maybe not beautiful, but his natural habitat. Not just his, but likely that of nearly every damn person associated with this hospital, from the staff to the patients to the cops who’d brought him in. So why decorate the walls with someone else’s dream of peace? Maybe they were just feeding that most natural human appetite, the hunger for somewhere else. A yearning Pepper could relate to just then.
No nurse appeared, and for fifteen minutes Pepper just repeated the same words to himself: seventy-two hours. Seventy-two hours. You can stand anything for seventy-two hours.
The loud voices playing from a TV somewhere down the hall, deeper inside the unit, had changed to loud explosions. Maybe someone had switched the channel, or the show had come to a moment when the world starts blowing up. Pepper knew it was just a television show, but the sounds seemed to grow as they traveled from wherever the TV sat to where Pepper still stood in the long, empty hall of closed doors. The howl of human beings, the victims of those crashing sounds, played louder and louder. Like the people themselves were about to come flooding into view. Maybe not even people, but people’s parts. A wave of blood. Dismembered limbs breaking the surface of that wave like sharks’ fins.
Pepper knew this couldn’t happen, but his chest felt tight.
He looked to his right and focused on that secure ward door. What if Dr. Anand hadn’t locked it behind the cops? What if all Pepper had to do was give a little push?
Seventy-two hours. Seventy-two hours.
He couldn’t stand this for that long. He couldn’t even make it twenty minutes before he tried to escape. Pepper lurched toward the big door.
He grabbed the handle and pushed lightly. But of course the door didn’t open. He pushed harder. He tried to turn the knob. It didn’t shimmy. He let go of the handle now and pressed both his meaty hands against the door and leaned into it. He set his broad, laceless boots down flatly, repositioned his large hands, and now he powered against that door, straining like a bull. But the damn door stayed secure.
Finally he pressed his face to the shatterproof window. There were little lines embedded in the plastic, like chicken wire. He’d been on the other side less than two hours ago. Two hours before that, he’d been on the other side of Queens! He’d been trying to help Mari by having words with her ex-husband, a man who wouldn’t leave Mari be. And yet here Pepper was, locked away. He pressed his face to the window, fucking confused. There was nobody on the other side. He closed his eyes.
“Better not let them see you doing that.”
Pepper opened his eyes, expecting—not hoping, but expecting—to find himself on the E train, having fallen asleep and only now waking to learn he’d dreamed up New Hyde Hospital. Instead he found himself still staring through the plastic window.
“If you understand English, then step away from the door,” the voice continued.
But Pepper didn’t move fast enough. Before he could stand up, stand back, and turn around, he felt fingers grip his wrist.
After having three cops wrestle him to the ground in a high-school parking lot, then being handcuffed to a chair, Pepper really wasn’t in the mood to get hemmed up one more time. No more hands on him tonight. He turned and yoked the person grabbing him. He actually pulled off a pretty sophisticated move, mostly through momentum and a great weight advantage. He yanked his wrist free from the person’s grip, turned and enveloped the body behind him, and lifted it into the air.
When it was over, Pepper had a seventy-six-year-old woman in a bear hug.
And before he could apologize, or loosen his grip, or set her back down on her feet, what did the old woman do?
She kissed him right on the mouth.
He dropped her and she landed harder on one foot than the other, yipping like a dog whose tail has been caught.
Now Pepper bent to cradle her on instinct, in case she’d been badly injured. But the old woman threw her arms out to stop him.
“You like it a little too rough for me,” she said.
The door of the conference room finally opened and Dr. Anand’s round head peeked out. He watched them both for a moment. Pepper and the old woman turned their attention to him.
“I see you’ve met Dorry,” the doctor said. “She’s our unofficial ambassador.”
“Hello, Captain.” She saluted him, any hint of leg pain hidden.
Dr. Anand tipped his head toward her slightly, then looked back down the hall, deeper into the unit, toward the TV sounds.
“Miss Chris is late again,” Dr. Anand said.
Dorry patted her chest. “She deputized me.”
She looked up at Pepper. “I can take him to his room.”
She jabbed Pepper in the belly. The new admit looked comically large next to Dorry, like a sheepdog beside a shih tzu.
Dr. Anand looked down the hallway once more, but Miss Chris made no appearance. He said, “Take him to his room, Dorry, but don’t go in his room.”
Dorry poked Pepper’s belly again.
“Dr. Anand thinks I’m a raging slut,” she said.
Dr. Anand stepped all the way into the hallway and waved his arms as if clearing smoke. “I never said that, Dorry! Now come on.”
Pepper couldn’t help it, he laughed. The old woman made him feel at ease. The blush burning across Dr. Anand’s brown face also helped. Pepper decided to join in the banter. He set one hand on Dorry’s shoulder and said, “Maybe me and her will just run away together.”
Dorry quickly slipped away from Pepper’s hand as Dr. Anand stepped toward them with surprising quickness. “There is no intimacy allowed between patients on the unit. Do you understand?”
Pepper wanted to point out how ridiculous the warning was. What they were just doing counted as intimacy, too. But he knew, from past experience, no one likes a nitpicker. Especially not one who looked like him. Such a small act as begging to differ, from such a large man, tended to make people particularly angry. In general, people thought he took up too much room on the subway and often sighed or grunted to let him know. The only benefit to his great mass was that he could lift heavy things. He’d been a professional mover for eleven years.
As Dr. Anand continued to glare, Pepper stepped back an arm’s length from the old woman. Then he stuck his arm out and wiggled his fingers to show the distance. The playful moment over, Pepper again felt the gravity of this night—I’m locked in a mental hospital—as dead weight in his legs.
Dr. Anand nodded at Dorry. “He’s in five.” The doctor reentered the conference room and shut the door behind him with a click.
The old woman was right beside Pepper, pinching the back of his left hand. “I thought you were going to tell him about how you kissed me next.”
“Me?”
“Don’t insult a lady.”
Dorry’s hunched back only made her look smaller than she already was. She had wiry white hair that clearly hadn’t been combed in days. It shot from her scalp in fifteen unflattering directions, like a feral child’s. Her faded blue nightdress came down to her shins. On her dry, bony feet were faded blue slipper-socks. She wore gigantic glasses, big plastic Medicare frames. Their lenses so thick they looked slathered with Vaseline. Even if you didn’t know this woman was crazy, you’d think she was crazy.
Pepper said, “I’m sorry for grabbing you. I didn’t know you were a woman.”
Dorry frowned. “What the hell kind of apology is that?”
Pepper gripped his hands together. “I didn’t mean it like that! I’m sorry, that’s all. All right?”
“Let’s put the past behind us,” she said. “I always greet the new admits. You should see a friendly face first.”
Then Pepper pointed one finger at her eye, though not too close.
“That was you!” he said. He realized she really had been the first person he’d seen.
Dorry took off her glasses and the resemblance became exact. She winked at him.
“I’m always getting recognized by my fans.”
Pepper pantomimed applause. He didn’t actually clap because he didn’t want to give Dr. Anand another reason to step into the hall.
Dorry reached out and wrapped her left arm around Pepper’s right elbow. She looked up at him over the tops of her glasses. From here he could see the off-color band around her iris. She clearly wasn’t blind, but maybe blindness wasn’t too far off.
He was surprised to feel grateful for the tenderness in the touch.
“Let me give you the tour,” she said.
“They call this building Northwest,” Dorry began. “That’s just because it’s located in the northwest corner of New Hyde Hospital’s grounds. So much for creativity, right? Anyway, there’s three buildings at the center of the hospital campus and that’s the heart of the operation. Emergency room, surgery, children’s unit, geriatrics, ICU, almost everything is in those three buildings. Everything but us, really. You’ve got those three buildings, then the main parking lot. A couple hundred parking spaces. Then, you’ve got us crazybirds, tucked into the northwest corner. Some people say we’ve been exiled out here, but I prefer to think our building is exclusive. You’ve got to have a special invite to enter Northwest. They’re called commitment papers! I’m just kidding.
“So Northwest is the psychiatric unit. No other kinds of patients. It used to be an ophthalmology ward but that was over fifty years ago. Before I even got here, and that’s saying something. Fifty years ago they made Northwest a psychiatric unit and moved all the old ophthalmology equipment up to the second floor. It’s just a big attic. The layout of the second floor is exactly the same as the first, but none of us has any business up there.
“Think of the unit as a wagon wheel. That’s the easiest way to picture it in your mind. There’s one roundish room in the middle of Northwest and that’s where you’ll find the staff. There’s a big old desk unit in there called the nurses’ station. All roads lead there. It’s the hub of this wagon wheel.
“Then you’ve got five hallways. They’re like the spokes, going to and from the nurses’ station. Like this hallway here, it’s the first one any new patient enters, so it’s called Northwest One. Northwest One has all the conference rooms.” She slapped one of the closed doors. “This is where you’ll have group sessions, mornings and afternoons. But don’t think of these as classrooms because then you’ll start thinking of Northwest like it’s a school, with schedules and activities and lots of structured time. But it doesn’t work like that! You can wander, watch television, or lie down in your room. That’s how people spend most of their day, every day, on the unit.”
Pepper grabbed the handle of a closed door and tested it.
“Come on. Stop jiggling that. The only way to open these conference-room doors is with a set of keys. And only staff members carry those. Keep moving.”
She yanked on Pepper’s arm and he followed her.
“Now here we are. The hub. And that’s the nurses’ station. Right in the center. Ugly isn’t it? And it’s not even real wood. Or at least it’s not good wood. It looks kind of like a Chinese food–restaurant counter, doesn’t it? I’ve seen enough of those!
“I guess the biggest difference between those Chinese-food places and the nurses’ station is that this one doesn’t have those bulletproof windows separating the workers and customers. And there’s no Chinese people working back there, either. Mostly it’s blacks. Usually the blacks are on the customer side, am I right? Chicken wings and French fries! They love that chicken-wings-and-French-fries combo. And extra hot sauce, please! I’m just kidding. They never say ‘please.’
“So you can see the five hallways from here. That’s Northwest. And while you’re in here, that’s pretty much the whole world. You’ll see. Northwest One, Two, Three, Five.”
“What about Four?”
Dorry stopped moving. Almost seemed to stop breathing. “Forget about Northwest Four, you understand me? You don’t go near Northwest Four.”
“You going to tell me what’s over there, or can I guess?” He couldn’t take her seriously.
“That’s where the buffalo roam,” she said absently. Dorry’s eyes lost focus, a thousand-yard stare.
Pepper stifled a grin. “Oooooh-kay.”
“Do I look like I’m joking with you?” she asked.
You look bonkers, is what Pepper wanted to tell her. Instead he said, “No, ma’am.”
Just as suddenly, Dorry’s glare disappeared. She smiled as if they hadn’t just had this little confrontation. She continued the tour.
“Each hall has its own purpose. Northwest Two is for the men. All male patients sleep in rooms on Northwest Two. All female patients are in Northwest Three. They’re serious about that. No slipping past them. I’m the only exception. I’ve been here long enough so they trust me. And I’m so old they can’t imagine I’m going to screw anybody. Boy, are they wrong. Kidding!
“Now here you are. Northwest Two, room five. I can open the door for you but I can’t step in. Look! They’ve put fresh sheets and a pillowcase at the foot of your bed. And one of their finest pillows. Hah! The damn things are thinner than a throat lozenge, but don’t bother asking for a second one. They’ll write that you’re a ‘narcissist’ in your file. I remember the patient who was in that bed before you. He was discharged two weeks ago. Or is he dead? I forget.
“Anyway, that’s the tour. Gratuities aren’t mandatory, but they are appreciated!”