From the short story collection: The Village of Manor Bayou
by Patrick Owens
My grandson is standing on a chair, poking around above the ceiling panels. His butt’s about to knock over my food supply.
“Careful, Arnie.”
“I know Grandpa, the I.V. pole.”
His voice echoes above the drop-ceiling like he’s inside a base drum. I hope it doesn’t carry to the nurse’s station. “Any luck?”
Arnie lets the panel settle onto the metal grid, which is in my line of sight. I can’t turn my head anymore, but my eyeballs still swivel good. Geez, look how he’s grown! His hair is almost to his shoulders, but he’s clean-shaven. Must be a new fad.
“Nothing, Grandpa. We used the last one.”
“Wrong. I remember every gag I ever pulled, and we only did five of the dead-rat bits. There’s one more up there.”
“Okay, I’ll ask the nurse for a flash – “
“No, if the Devil’s Daughter finds out… just reach around. You’ll find it.”
Arnie’s back on the chair, and he must be on his tiptoes. I can see down to his belt now.
“Bingo,” Arnie whispers, and a mangy stuffed rat comes into my window on the world.
“Pretty scruffy.”
“Does it matter Grandpa, considering where it’s going?”
“Don’t get me laughing.” Boy, I feel terrible — about as bad as I look. When the black nurse leans over me, I can see myself in her glasses. My head looks like a skull — honker jutting forward like the front end of an eagle. And I bet I don’t have that fifty-two-inch waist anymore, like when I slept buttons in the rag trade. “We got about ten minutes to wait, Arnie. You still working at the market?”
“Full time until school starts. You all right, Grandpa?”
Dumb question? Can’t move — can hardly breathe. “I’m okay, Arnie. Just thinking about the payoff on this gag, when the day nurse thinks she’s found a dead rat in a… Hey, did I tell about the bit I pulled on the fellas, about the rules–“
“I know. Rules For Old Men To Live By,” the kid declaims, like a summer stock actor doing Shakespeare.
“Smart ass.”
“Ah, tell me again Grandpa.”
“Okay. It’s a great bit! I did it last week … last month? Who the hell knows. Rule Number One: Never Trust A Fart.”
“You said that was Number Two.”
“I’m talking priorities here, Arnie. Let’s see what’s next?”
“I thought you remembered every gag “
“I was right about the last rat, wasn’t I? Is Willie awake?”
“His curtain’s closed.”
“He likes his privacy. Hey, Willie! What comes after ‘Never Trust A Fart?'”
“Ooo,” is my new roommate’s answer.
“Not again, Willie. I told you don’t ever do that when my family’s here.”
“Ooooo.”
My darling Sadie would have another stroke if she knew my roommate jerks off in her bed.
“Let him have his fun, Grandpa. Mom and the brats won’t be here for awhile.”
Oh, shit! I can’t get any air! I’m going to croak right now!
“Grandpa, should I call the nurse?”
Don’t scare the kid. Relax, relax. Damn, my lungs–
“You better rest, Grandpa. We can do the rat joke another time.”
“No! No! It’s got to be … now!” Oh, shit “Let me … catch my breath.”
What’s that sound? Liquid dribbling? I’m peeing in the plastic bag! “Rule Number Two: ‘Never Pass A Urinal By.’ These aren’t any wishy-washy guidelines, Arnie. Axioms, that’s what they are. You understand?”
“Not yet, Grandpa.”
Where the hell’s the damn nurse? I can’t stall much longer. “What the hell is Rule Three?”
“Oooooooo.”
“Willie’s got it. ‘Never Waste An Erection.’ And Rule Number Four … ah, too much remembering.”
“Grandpa, if we’re going to do the bit– “
“Forget about Number Four. I remember Five.”
“Grandpa –“
“Don’t interrupt. Five’s the most important one. ‘Nobody Dies In Room 125.”
“But you’re in Room 125.”
“Right. Nobody’s ever croaked in here.”
“I thought Grandma–“
“Sadie was in an ambulance, on the way to the hospital.”
“How about before they let her move in with you? That roommate was –”
“The Committee wheeled him down the hall before he packed it in. As long as I’m in this room, I’m immortal. That’s a verifiable truth.”
“Now I know you’re doing a bit, Grandpa.”
“Yeah, I’ve done some beauties.” In my day, a good gag was the greatest thing in life. There were lots of button salesmen in the rag trade, and we all sold the same crap. But my customers wouldn’t buy from anybody but Herschel Leibowitz so they could hear first-hand about the jokes I pulled on their competitors. Be special! That’s the secret weapon of sales. Now all I’ve got left is this lousy bit the Committee promised to help me with. Pitiful.
The smell of cheap lilac water drifts through the doorway.
“Everything all right in here?”
It’s Satan’s Concubine, making her last round of the day.
“Yes nurse, we’re fine, everything’s fine.”
So sayeth my roomie, Willie the Spineless.
“What about you Herschel?”
Beelzebub’s Bitch shall not be ignored. “Fine,” and the swish of polyester grows faint. “She’s gone?”
“Yes, Grandpa.”
“Willie, come over here.” Time to set the plan in motion. Breathe easy, stay calm … calm. Okay. “Here’s the plan, fellas. Willie, you’re the spotter. You’ll hear the toilet flush in the next room. That gives Arnie just enough time to slip the rat into the bedpan, which will be on the chair beside the bed covered with a towel. Got it?”
The sound of high heels clicking in the hallway gets louder. And tap shoes, too. Two pairs.
“Daddy, is it safe for ladies to come in?”
Arnie whispers from someplace to my left. “It’s Mom, Grandpa.”
“Wait a minute, Miriam,” I croak, then whisper to Arnie. “Come closer.”
My grandson’s face blocks out my entire universe – until he gets a whiff of my breath and he disappears to the left. Everybody can hear him gagging.
“Daddy, who’s getting sick?” An edge of hysteria creeps into Miriam’s voice.
“Just a minute, sweetie.”
“How long is your daughter going to be here?” Willie whispers. “The Committee’s coming in right after the night nurse cleans you up.”
“They’ll be gone. Wait in the hall, Willie.”
“What committee?” Arnie asks.
“Dance. I’m the chairman.”
“But you’re paralyzed, Grandpa.”
“So what? My mind still works, I can organize things.
“Dad-deeeee!”
I’ll bet Miriam’s out in the hallway, arms folded, tapping her toe like she did when she was eight years old. “Okay, darlings. Ollie, ollie oxen free.”
“Who’s dancing?” Miriam leans in past the I. V. bags and gives me a quick peck on the forehead. I pretend not to notice that she’s holding her breath.
“Come here, girls. Give your grandfather a kiss.”
My twin granddaughters stay at the edge of my vision and wave. Smart kids.
“So, who’s dancing?” Miriam asks again.
“We’re planning a surprise party for all the horny old ladies around here.”
“Daddy, don’t talk dirty in front of your granddaughters!”
“You better straighten your mother out, kids. Tell her what year it is.”
“What century, you mean, Grandpa,” one of the darlings says. I can’t tell their voices apart anymore.
“I’m so sorry we’re this late, Daddy. The girls had extra help at school, then cotillion rehearsal. The nurse says we can only stay a minute.”
The toilet flushes in the next room and Willie whispers, “Go” from the doorway. The sound of his hobbling gait fades toward the dayroom.
Arnie rushes out of the room. “Got a date, Mom.”
“Arnie?” Miriam calls after him.
In less than five seconds I hear, “Bye-bye Grandpa,” as Arnie’s fast-moving footsteps echo in the hallway, until the door to the patio slams.
My last bit is on.
“Daddy, what’s going — ”
Suddenly, screaming and the sounds of running feet fill the critical care unit of Manor on the Bayou. Then silence settles on my world until a shadow looms, and I find myself nose-to-nose with Lucifer’s Bastard Girl-Child.
“Herschel Leibowitz you are an evil degenerate low-life, and that is why Almighty God punishes you every day of your miserable life.”
I exhale at her face. “Praise the Lord!”
The day nurse doesn’t blanch, hangs right in there, my putrid breath doesn’t phase her at all. Definitely a visitor from Hell. Finally, she mutters her way out the door, and Room 125 grows silent.
“Miriam sweetie, are you and the girls still here?”
“What was it this time Daddy? A dead toad on a food tray?”
Miriam sounds very tired.
“Now that mama’s dead, am I in charge of getting you to grow up?”
Oh boy, here she goes.
“You want to turn your grandson into Peter Pan Jr. before you die?” she shouts.
Arnie could do worse, but this is not the time to tell her. “All right, I won’t involve the kid in any more gags, I promise.” And that’s the worst part of my last bit. I won’t get to do it with Arnie.
“I haven’t seen much of you lately, sweetie.”
“I know, I just can’t keep up with everything. But I promise I’ll spend more time with you this weekend.”
“But I won’t –“
“Hersch!” It’s Willie. Sounds like he’s in the doorway.
“You look so weak, Daddy, I hate to leave you but… Where are the girls?”
Arnie’s sneakers scuff closer. “They went to the Coke machine, Mom.”
“Oh, my God!” Miriam’s high heels click down the hall.
Poor Miriam. “Your Mom was too old to have twins.”
“I know, Grandpa. I’ll help more with the brats.”
“Start right there! No more teasing!”
“All right, all right.”
“You’re almost a man, Arnie. Grow up!”
“Okay, Grandpa!”
“I mean it.”
“Okay.”
“Okay… how’s the Buick running?”
“Great. I’m taking good care of it for you.”
“It’s yours. My next ride out of here will be in a her –”
“Hersch!”
“Jesus, Willie.” What a noodge he is.
“Grandpa, do you remember Rule Number Four yet? I gotta go.”
“Not yet. I’ll leave a note for you if I think of it.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll check on you Saturday. Mom forgot that the brats — the little darlings — have a swim meet Saturday and a horse show Sunday.”
“Busy, busy. Ask the nurse to come in, will you?”
“Okay, see you Saturday.”
“Right, Saturday.”
It’s quiet now, but I give Willie maybe a half-minute to start his lecture.
“You almost told them.”
Right on schedule, Willie.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“It would have ruined everything. They’d put a special watch on you.”
“I know.”
Willie takes a breath, winding up for a big finish. But he’s too slow.
“I’m going to talk to Sadie now, Willie.”
That stops him. Willie’s a hypochondriac, and he’s afraid I’m slipping out of my gourd, talking to my dead wife. Might be contagious.
But I do talk to Sadie, to her image sitting ramrod-straight inside my forehead, with an all-knowing expression on her face. She never answers, but I write lines for her anyway, in case she wants to use them in our little chats. Like now.
“Big accomplishment, Herschel. Turning old folks home into a fraternity house.”
Not bad, but I put in too much of Miriam’s “dead toad” accusation into it.
“Lightens the mood around here, Sadie dear, keeps their juices flowing.”
Now that’s a good opener for a joke about bodily fluids. But Sadie would just respond with, “Don’t be coarse, Herschel.”
Being witty is getting harder.
The sound of pantyhose stretched over fat thighs announces the arrival of the night nurse.
“And how are we tonight, Herschel?”
Now what I should say to the dumpling is: “Crappy! Shitty! And I don’t want to get washed, inserted, checked and adjusted!”
But I’m as spineless as Willie with this sweetheart and say, “I’m doing good nurse.”
Even her fruity cologne seems to be smiling as she says, “New tubes and clean ports, a nice sponge bath, clean sheets. We’ll feel soo much better.”
“I’m a little tired for all that, nurse. Why don’t you treat Willie to a bath?”
Her answer’s not so innocent. “Waste of time. He’ll just play with himself and get all sticky.”
While she has her way with me, I prepare for my absolute final bit. Inhale … one, two. Exhale … what’s the damn punchline?
I must have nodded off because the next thing I know, Willie’s got his ear wrapped around my nose.
“Hersch! You’re still alive!”
“Jesus, Willie, what the hell you doing?”
“That’s how I check if you’re still breathing. Your chest doesn’t go up and down anymore.”
“The Committee here already?”
“Ten more minutes.”
“I’m tuckered out.”
“Don’t sleep, Hersch. I’ve got a confession to make.”
I’m dying, and the Irish putz wants to make a confession. “Okay, my Son. How long has it been since the last time you lied to me?”
“That’s it. All this time you thought I was whacking off.”
“Yeah, so?”
“It’s a lie. I’ve been faking it.”
“What the hell for? Everybody thinks you’re disgusting?”
“Yeah? You know how many old ladies want to limp into the solarium for a quickie? And the looks the fellas give me, real envious, especially your pompous-ass replacement on the Committee?”
“It’s a full life, Willie. You’re a stud, and you’ve got a bed in Room125.”
Willie’s been a twerp all his life. Now he’s a big shot because he acts out a lie.
Oh, oh! Heeeere’s Sadie, back in my forehead. “As if you’re so much better, Herschel Leibowitz, embarrassing people so you can look like you’re better than they are!”
“Sadie, this is going to be one crummy afterlife if you turn into a cricket named Gemini and keep being my conscience… Wait a minute, darling. Willie’s blathering about something.”
“… unless you die in here, Herschel. Then the magic’s gone.”
“Magic? My turn to confess. I made up the Legend of Room 125; it’s one of my gags.”
“How can you say that,” Willie whines. “Everybody knows it’s true.”
“The big lie, Willie. I told it over and over. When newbies like you moved in, you accepted it as fact.”
“Maybe it’s not a lie? Wanting to get into this room keeps people alive.”
“Whatever you say, Willie.”
“Hersch, the Committee–“
Here they come, clumping down the hall like the American Legion wearing bedroom slippers. One by one, six crumpled faces replace my view of the ceiling tiles.
“Hi, fellas!”
“You’re awake, Hersch. Good,” the new chairman says. “We’ve never sent anybody off with a crazy stunt like this. It’ll cost us more than privileges if we get caught.”
Is the bastard bailing on me? “Yeah, it’s too risky. I’ll die right here.”
“Not in Room 125!” says the grouch that’s got next dibs on my bed.
“Herschel’s just kidding–“
“Yeah, he’s a real card–“
“A great kidder.”
That stirred up the whole bunch… Oh damn, it’s getting hard to breathe again. “Let’s get this over with,” I wheeze. “What have you got for me?”
“All we could scrape up are some Paxil and a little morphine derivative for a kicker.”
He waves a baggy of meds filched from pill cups left on bedside tables.
“Swallowing’s… tough, you know.”
“I’ll dissolve them in chocolate milk. They’ll slide right down.”
“Or drown me.”
“But not in here,” Willie’s new roommate shouts.
“Who’s going to distract the nurse?” I whisper, barely able to push out air.
“I’m doing my Grand Mal in the dayroom,” one of the Committeemen says.
“Didn’t you do that last time?” another asks.
“That was only a Petit Mal. Anyway, a new nurse is on tonight.”
“The coast is clear,” the watcher at the door calls and the seizure specialist leaves for his venue.
“This gives us four minutes until we can roll him out of here,” the chairman says.
“What about the note, Herschel?” Willie whispers.
“What note?” The chairman doesn’t sound too happy.
“My… ‘Spiritual… Declaration.’
I can hear Willie slide the drawer of his bedside table open. “Here, in the story of Lazarus.”
The chairman holds Willie’s Gideon above my face and slips out a single sheet of pink stationery with deckle edges. “Why the sissy paper?”
“So they won’t suspect us,” Willie answers and his hand comes into view. “See, I cut the letters from magazines, like a ransom note in old-time movies.”
The chairman intones my Declaration, which sounds pretty good.
Like the Original People in days of yore,
My Brothers have left me in the Wilderness
Where I can die with dignity, under the Moon and the Stars,
With my fellow Creatures at slumber, nearby.
Herschel Leibowitz
“Whifty crap, Hersch. Anyway, you can’t leave a suicide note. The scam is you died of natural causes after somebody wheeled you out of the room to keep the legend alive.”
A warning buzzer sounds at the nurse’s station.
“Right on schedule,” the chairman says and rips my Declaration into quarters. “Let’s roll, gentlemen.”
And away we go. Look at the ceiling tiles whiz by. I didn’t think these duffers could move this fast. Now what? Ah, come on, Willie. Don’t argue with your new roommate about the best route to the solarium. Just get me to the nearest ‘wilderness, where I can die with dignity under the moon and… whatever. Here we are. Moonlight on the fichus trees; stars twinkling through the pachysandra. Beautiful.
“I’m going to crank the bed up, Hersch, so you can swallow,” the chairman says. “Leave us, gentlemen.”
Five old faces lean in to say good-bye. Amazing. Two of them have tears in their eyes.
“Are you ready, Hersch?” the chairman says.
“Pour away.”
Forget about drowning; I can’t get it down. Oh, Christ. The bastard’s massaging the muscles
around my esophagus like I used to do when one of the dogs had to take… Well, I’ll be damned. It works.
Oh not again! Sadie, come on, so I said a couple of curse words… Huh?… Yeah, that’s it, but it’ too late, I can’t talk… Okay, I’ll try.
“Stop.”
The chairman leans in, and his face blocks the moon and the stars.
“Yes, Hersch?”
“Tell, Arnie… ”
“Your grandson?”
“Rule Number Four… ”
“Speak louder, Hersch.”
“Rule Number Four is “Life’s Short. Eat… Dessert… First.”
“Hersch, I didn’t hear you. Herschel!”
— End –
May 6, 2017
WC: 3076