The smell of food lingered in the corridors of the hospital, so I knew that lunch had been served recently. When I reached Mr. Stanley’s room I was pleased to see that most of the dishes on his tray were empty.
“They serve something good for a change?” I asked, plunking into the visitor’s chair near his bed.
“Soup. Chicken vegetable with soda crackers. The crackers were in a cellophane wrap that I could hardly get open and there were only two of them anyway, so I nearly gave up. I got them, though.” He smiled proudly. “And I had a chicken salad sandwich with it.”
A dish of Jello wobbled as he adjusted himself to get more comfortable. It was the only thing he’d left untouched.
“Well, I’m glad you’re eating better,” I said.
“It’s not so bad now that I can order my own food. A person gets on to what’s passable after a few days here.” He leaned forward and added in a hushed voice, “If you ever find yourself trapped in this here place, don’t eat the potatoes.”
“I’ll remember,” I promised.
“Well, now, I guess you’ve asked your folks about keeping Ernie,” he said.
“Actually, I didn’t have to ask,” I said proudly. “When I explained things to them, they just offered right off. They’ve gotten pretty fond of him.”
“Be hard not to,” he said huskily. He cleared his throat.
“My mom was wondering how he came to be called Ernie. It’s not a typical name for a cat.”
“I don’t suppose it is,” he agreed. “Well, now, would you believe he’s named for five Ernies?”
“Five?”
“That’s right. You see, my littlest granddaughter had first suggested the name, from the character on Sesame Street. You know the one with Bert?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Well, after she put the name into my head, I got pondering on it. I wasn’t sure if it was the right name for the little fellow. Then I got thinking of how so many children had loved watching Ernie Coombs over the years. You know who he is?”
“Mr. Dressup,” I said, thinking of the many hours I’d spent enthralled with the show when I was a little kid.
“That’s right. So, there was a good connection with the name and children. That’s important, you know. But that wasn’t all. You see, once I got thinking of the name, I realized there were a couple of other Ernies that I admire a good deal. One was the Blue Jays catcher from back in the eighties, Ernie Whitt. I don’t sup-pose you’ve heard of him.”
“No,” I admitted.
“And the fourth was Ernest Hemingway, one of my favourite authors. Have you read anything of his?”
“Just The Old Man and the Sea. We took it in school.”
“Mmmm. He won the Pulitzer in 1953 for that one. Great book, though I don’t know that the practice of teaching it in high school is the best idea. Seems to me a person should know a bit more about life before they can really appreciate most of Hemingway’s work.” He paused to take a sip of the ice water that was always nearby.
“Something you might be interested in knowing about Hemingway is that he was a real cat lover. In fact, the Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum in Key West houses about sixty cats, and some of them are direct descendents from the cats Hemingway had.”
“Wow! That’s pretty cool.”
“It is, isn’t it? And that makes it extra fitting that Ernie is named after him, for one.”
“But that’s only four,” I pointed out. “Didn’t you say there were five?”
“Ah, yes. That was the clincher. You see, right at that time it happened that I was reading a collection of short stories, and one of them was called ‘A Child’s Christmas in Wales’ by Dylan Thomas. Anyway, there’s an Ernie mentioned in that story. Now, it’s not a significant character and he only appears in one line, but the name jumped out at me.”
“Because it was a fifth Ernie?” I asked.
“Well, partly, but partly because his full name was Ernie Jenkins. Don’t you think that sounds like a perfect name for a cat — Ernie Jenkins?”
I agreed that it did indeed.
“So, that’s the whole story. Will you be able to remember it to tell your mother?”
“I think so. But you can tell it to her again sometime, because once you’re in your new place my folks would like you to come over once in a while to visit Ernie.”
Mr. Stanley didn’t say anything for a minute and I thought perhaps he was uncomfortable with the invitation — my parents being strangers to him and all. But then I saw that it wasn’t discomfort but emotion that had quieted him.
“You tell your folks that I’d be honoured,” he said when he finally spoke. It was in a kind of choked voice, but I acted like I didn’t notice.
“How’s the book I brought for you holding out?” I asked.
“I’m nearly through,” he said, regaining his composure. “I find I tire easily these days, so I can’t concentrate like I used to when I’m reading. It’s a wonderful book, though. Maybe you’ll read it sometime.”
“I will,” I said. “It’s not due back at the library for a few weeks yet, so I’ll read it before I take it back.”
“You’re an awfully good girl,” he said, out of the blue.
The compliment surprised and kind of embarrassed me, the way he’d just blurted it out like that and all. I didn’t know quite what to say back, so I just smiled. I felt kind of the way you do when you’re small and some adult starts saying how cute you are or stuff like that while you’re standing right there feeling like a moron.
After a moment I asked him if I could get him any-thing else from the library, and he mentioned a few books and left it to me to choose from the list. I wrote the titles down in my little notebook, where I’d already jotted down details about the naming of Ernie.
A man came in then and took out the lunch tray. Mr. Stanley snatched his water cup from it just in time to keep it from disappearing with the Jello.
“Can’t go any time at all without a sip of water,” he told me. “The air in here is terrible dry.”
I’d noticed that already, having had to put lip balm on a few times after even a short visit in there. I wondered what made hospital air like that.
“The girls come around every morning and again before bed to fill this jug up with ice water,” he said, pointing to a small plastic pitcher. It had a lid that I think doubled as a drinking cup if you wanted to use it. “It’s dandy — cold and refreshing through most of the day. Doesn’t get warm until late afternoon.”
“I’m sure they’d bring you a fresh jug then, too, if you asked,” I said.
“Oh, they would, they would all right. Very good nurses and such working here. But they’ve got so much to do, lots more important than that. No, I wouldn’t bother them for that.” He looked mildly alarmed, as though he was worried I’d think he was complaining when he hadn’t meant to. “It’s fine as it is. Just fine.”
“Well, there’s no reason I can’t refill it, is there?” I asked. I’d visited Betts in the hospital a couple of years ago when she’d had her appendix out and I remembered that there was a little room where patients could get a few basic things for themselves.
“Why, now, I suppose you could.” He looked pleased. “That would be lovely. I don’t know where the machine is, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll find it, don’t worry.” I picked up the pitcher and wandered down the hall and around the corner. There, a nurse pointed me in the right direction, and in no time I’d refilled it with water and lots of ice and taken it back to his room.
Mr. Stanley was thankful, as always. It’s nice how something that small and simple can make a difference. It got me to thinking that maybe, once he was out of here, I’d look into volunteering at the hospital. I could-n’t come up every day, especially when school was back in, but it wouldn’t be too much to give an hour once or twice a week.
I was on my way home, thinking about the whole volunteer thing and how I could fetch ice water and read to folks or whatever was needed, when something shifted in my head. It was one of those quick thoughts that can nearly go right by if you don’t catch it and take a closer look.
I came to a dead stop right there on the sidewalk as an idea formed and took hold. The clues I’d thought didn’t exist had been there all along, right under my nose — hiding in plain sight. I just hadn’t realized what they were trying to tell me! When the full meaning hit me, I nearly jumped and hollered.
It was so simple! Why hadn’t I realized it before?