Mr. Kirko was taking his time dying in bed number seven. He just kept lying there week after week.
“Not even getting any worst. At least not to the naked eye,” said his daughter Shelley. “Look, I’ve got obligations, the children,” she said.
“Obligations we’ve all got,” her brother, Mervin, said. “You’ve got obligations. Angel’s got obligations. And my obligations you know. I’m the son. So forget your obligations sometime. It’s Papa.”
“It’s too true. It’s Papa,” said Angel, who was unmarried and had nothing. “He’s all I’ve got,” Angel said.
“And he’s dying,” Shelley said.
The orderlies came, hollering, “Beds number seven and eight!” and pulled the curtains around to make tents. Then they staggered off with Mr. Kirko and bed number eight to give them baths. These were old orderlies and their backs didn’t straighten much anymore, so they just put Mr. Kirko and bed number eight in the water and let them sit there. Then these orderlies broke out the old Camels and smoked while the sick people sat in hot water till their behinds shriveled.
“This is how it is when you’re one of the masses,” one said.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” the other said.
Then one said a lot and the other said a lot and they checked to see if Mr. Kirko’s behind was shriveled, and it was, so they got their hooks under his armpits and dragged him out of the tub. He groaned and his eyes rolled up, but at least he didn’t die on them. They sat him on a three-legged stool to dry him. The stool scraped on the tile floor. “Hear that noise?” Mr. Kirko asked.
They stopped toweling him because he never spoke and now he was speaking.
“That’s the springs in my ass, breaking.”
He threw up then, yellows and browns, and most of it went into his slipper.
“Goddamned pigs when they get old.”
“There’s no fool like an old fool.”
These orderlies slammed his foot into the slipper and propped him against the wall. His face was all red from his bath and his foot was yellow and brown.
They checked to see if bed number eight’s behind was shriveled, and it was, so they got their hooks into him and started to drag, but he wouldn’t give. They let him have a little punch in the head to show they meant business, but it didn’t do any good because he only gave a moan or two and died.
“Well, naught is certain save death and taxes.”
“We’ll let this sleeping dog lie.”
They staggered back to bed number seven with Mr. Kirko. The son, Mervin Kirko, was pacing up and down outside the room, looking at his watch. Angel Kirko, who had nothing, was standing in the corner, twisting her handkerchief. Shelley Kamm was looking through her purse and sighing a lot.
“Did we have a nice bathie-poo?” Shelley said to her father as these orderlies pulled the curtains.
“It’s little enough to have,” Angel said.
Inside the tent the orderlies rested for a while and then they each took an arm and counted down. “Three, two, one, go!” And Mr. Kirko went thundering up onto the bed, headfirst. His head went shlunk into the wall. He wailed for a minute and then tuned down to whine.
They threw back the curtains and approached the weeping women.
“It’s an ill wind that blows no good,” one said.
“It’s too true,” Angel said.
“It’s a mercy some of them go when their time has come,” the other said.
“I know you’re doing everything you can,” Shelley said.
On the way out these orderlies nodded at good old Mervin. “You can just pace around,” they said, “up and down, back and forth, you name it.”
Angel and Shelley didn’t know what to do next.
“He doesn’t look any worst to me,” Shelley said.
“Not to the naked eye, he doesn’t,” Angel said.
“Oh, nurse, nurse,” Shelley said, calling Nurse Jane. “He doesn’t look any worse, does he?”
“Well, he’s going to,” Nurse Jane said. “They don’t just go in and out of here unless they’re seriously, you know. What he needs is some needles and bottles, some pickies and pokies, and a tube up his nose.”
Nurse Jane returned with everything she had promised.
“Bed number eight,” she said to Angel. “Where is he?”
“Personally, I don’t know,” Angel said. “I haven’t the slightest.”
“She hasn’t the slightest,” Shelley said. “She’s never had anything and now she’s losing her papa.”
“It’s a matter of professionalism,” Nurse Jane said. “There are lists to be filled out, tags, markers, numbers, identity bands, indicators, thingamabobs, you have no idea. So you can’t just have bed numbers disappearing. Now you, Miss Kirko, when did you last see bed number eight?”
“Well, I’ll do my best,” Angel said. “He was last seen by me personally when they staggered him off for his bath.”
“Bath,” Nurse Jane said and stalked away, kachung, kachung. “Very good,” she said a few minutes later. “Very good, Miss Kirko. We found him dead in the bath and so he’s accounted for.” She leaned across Shelley and put her hand gently on Angel’s bosom. “It’s just so we know,” she said tenderly. “We have to know.”
“It can’t be easy,” Angel said.
“It’s the children I worry about,” Shelley said.
“When the doctor comes, you’ll see,” Nurse Jane said, and wheeled the empty bed out of the room.
The doctor appeared at seven o’clock on the bonker. He had a clipboard in his hand and he kept looking from it to the place where bed eight used to be.
“I see they’ve dispatched bed eight,” he said. “You must be the Kirkos. You belong to bed seven.”
“Yes, we’re the Kirkos,” Mervin said. “I’m the son and these are the two daughters, Angel Kirko and Shelley Kamm. Shelley was a Kirko before she was a Kamm.”
“How do you do,” they all said, shaking everything.
“I’m Dr. Robbins,” Dr. Robbins said.
“Dr. Robbins,” they all said, grateful as anything.
Angel and Shelley took a good long look at Dr. Robbins while he took a good long look at Mr. Kirko. In each arm old Kirko had needles that ran down from bottles full of white and bottles full of yellow, and there was a tube up his nose that went somewhere and another tube that ran from his winkler into a bottle under the bed. Mr. Kirko was getting the full treatment.
“You’re very young for a doctor,” Shelley said, taking in the little bulge in his white pants.
“But competent,” Dr. Robbins said.
“Oh, I didn’t mean,” Shelley said.
“We never meant,” Angel said.
“Of course, of course,” Dr. Robbins said, and he bit the inside of his face so they’d know. “I’ll wait outside,” Mervin said.
“You can pace up and down,” Dr. Robbins said. “Or back and forth. You name it.”
The doctor stood for a while looking at Mr. Kirko. He plucked at his leg; it looked like turkey.
“I think that leg’s going to have to come off,” the doctor said.
“Oh no!” Angel said, fainting.
“Oh, God in heaven!” Shelley said.
Angel kept on fainting.
“Mervin! Mervin! We’ve got to make a decision. This Dr. Robbins here says the leg has got to come off. It’s our duty to decide,” Shelley said.
Mervin came back in from his corridor.
“These are the moments one dreads, Doctor,” Mervin said.
“Oh, no!” Angel said, fainting some more.
“Before we decide,” Shelley said, “I think I should have a word with the doctor in private.”
“I’ve never had anything,” Angel said as Mervin dragged her from the room.
Shelley shut the door and leaned against it, her head thrown back. Outside she could hear them pacing up and down, back and forth.
“I thought we should have a word alone,” Shelley said.
“Most understandable at a time like this, Mrs. Kamm,” he said, reaching for his zipper.
“Yes, it’s difficult for all of us, Doctor. It’s the children I worry about.” She slipped off her panties and in one graceful motion scooped them up from the floor and tucked them into her purse.
They stood for a moment looking at bed number seven. “We could put him on the floor, Doctor. He wouldn’t mind.”
“It’s better the patient not be disturbed,” he said and gave a little tweak to a tube here and a tube there.
“Oh, dear,” Shelley said.
“Now if you will please step over to the door and lean your back against it, so,” the doctor said. “Very good. And now we’ll lift this skirt and—yes, you’ll have to bend your knees as if you were sliding down the wall, that’s right—and then I’ll just slip this in here. Um, we need a little wiggly, then oomph, there we are.”
“Yes, that does do nicely, Dr. Robbins,” Shelley said.
They stood there like a Rorschach.
“Perhaps, Mrs. Kamm, you’d prefer to put your purse on the floor.”
“Oh, silly of me.”
“Just drop it. That’s right. And then you can put your hands right here.”
“Oh,” she said. “Oh.”
“I think you’ll find, Mrs. Kamm, that once your father’s leg comes off, you’ll be more than pleased you agreed to it.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re right, Dr. Robbins. It’s just that, you know, we’ve known him so long, Doctor, and always with the leg.”
“Yes, yes, of course. These feelings are natural. There would be something wrong if you didn’t feel them.”
“Oh, yes,” she said.
“Could you move that knee out a little, and away?”
“Like this?”
“Fine,” he said. “Well, we’re having marvelous weather… for this time of year.”
“Marvelous,” she said. “Doctor, I want to thank you sincerely for giving us your valuable time. We truly appreciate it.”
“A doctor does his best,” he said. “Comfortable?”
“Mmm, yes. Doctor, I hope you won’t think me overly personal, but I couldn’t help noticing when you took it out what an enormous jumjum you have.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, shrugging modestly.
“Oh, you do, you do. Truly.”
He gave her a little jab to the left.
“Thuth thuth thuth,” they laughed.
“You must have gone to a wonderful medical school,” she said.
“Harvard,” he said. “They teach you everything.”
“It must be wonderful,” she said.
“Philosophy,” he said. “‘Every proposition is true or false.’ Langer.”
“That’s deep,” she said.
“Heidegger,” he said. “‘Listen to what is not being said.’”
“That’s deep too,” she said.
“Bucky Fuller,” he said. “‘Everything that goes up must come down.’”
“I’ve heard that one,” she said.
“Human behavior is a language,” he said.
“Yes,” she said.
“If the material of thought is symbolism, then the mind must be forever furnishing symbolic versions of its experiences,” he said. “Otherwise thinking could not proceed.”
“Ooh,” she said, moving her right hip forward and backward in a new way.
“Perhaps I’m being too technical, Mrs. Kamm?”
“Oh no, Doctor, no. Those are beautiful thoughts,” she said.
“Very well,” he said. “Now, Mrs. Kamm, if you would just move this foot forward and in a bit.”
“Oh!”
“You see.”
There was a banging outside the door, bonka bonka bonk.
“It’s Angel,” Shelley said.
“If you’ll concentrate, please,” he said.
“Oom, oom,” she said, and her feet rose from the floor.
Their bodies began to shake like dustrags, and then she bit his neck, and then he punched her ribs to make her stop. Finally she shook uncontrollably and he tore at her hair.
Bonka bonka bonk at the door.
“Hungh,” he said, pulling her loose and dropping her in the corner. “Hungh,” he said again and stood looking down at his ruined jumjum.
Bonka bonka bonk at the door again.
“It’s me,” Angel’s voice said. “I want to come in.”
“I’m just pacing,” Mervin said from down the corridor.
Shelley brushed off her dress and patted her hair into place. “It’s not bad enough about Papa,” she said. “They have to make a scene in the corridor.”
“It’s the tension,” Dr. Robbins said, all zipped and polished. He opened the door. “Come in,” he said. “Your sister has reached her decision.”
“The leg has got to come off,” Shelley said. “Dr. Robbins is right.”
“What’s all this?” Angel said, pointing to the chunks of Shelley’s hair with blood on the ends.
“That’s my hair,” Shelley said. “These decisions are never easy, Angel.”
“Whatever the doctor says,” Mervin said.
“I’ll tell Nurse Jane,” Dr. Robbins said.
In a moment the two orderlies came hollering, “Bed number seven!” and wheeled out the last of Mr. Kirko. It was a sad noise going.
“Man proposes, God disposes,” one said.
“Every cloud has a silver lining,” the other said.
Angel and Shelley and Mervin stood in the empty room looking at one another.
“Once that leg is gone it will be different.”
“That leg was the trouble.”
“He never looked any worst. Not to the naked eye.”
“He looked worst with tubes and needles.”
“And the thing in his winkler.”
“There’s nothing left to do but pray.”
A storm broke outside the window. They all went and looked at it. Rain fell like swords.
“Well, at least he’s not out in that storm.”
“Yes, that’s a mercy.”
“It’s the children I worry about.”