As Far as You Can Go (34 page)

Someone hauled him to his feet, but he could still see only the blazing whiteness, a hot mist of stars. Voices were
shouting. Someone pushed something into his face. He came to, thrusting off the oxygen mask, seeing again, but not quite right, everything bleared and difficult, his head aching as though someone had hit him with an iron bar.

He was among fire-trucks. Hoses were soaking one side of the road. Men were bending over Mrs Washburn. She was trying to push them away. There was no sign of Diane and the car.

“You’re lucky you’re alive,” said the fire-officer.

“Lucky?” said Harold. “I think I’m going to die.”

“I told you to come back down here, didn’t I? What in Christ did you think you were doing?”

“There was something I had to fetch.”

“You were risking men’s lives beside your own,” said the officer. “I could book you for that.”

“Do what you like,” said Harold. He felt the miniature in his pocket, took it out, looked at it. It was undamaged.

“Well, your house has had it,” said the officer.

Harold looked up the road. The flames had not yet set the house alight, but they were all round it, on the roof, in the trees. It didn’t seem anything to worry about.

“What happened to the girl in the car?” he said.

“She went on down to the bottom.”

“Is the old woman all right?”

“I don’t know,” said the officer. “That’s your problem, not mine. Now will you get out of here?”

“It’ll be a pleasure,” said Harold. “Do you think you can stop it now?”

“It looks kind of interesting,” said the officer. “If the wind keeps blowing over the edge and not down the canyon, then we’ll be able to hold it, I guess. It looks O.K. now. So long as the wind doesn’t change we should be able to hold it.”

“Well, good luck,” said Harold.

“Thanks a lot,” said the officer. “Now git, will you?”

Harold went over to Mrs Washburn. There was an
ambulance
standing by the edge of the road, and they were putting her on a stretcher.

“Will she be all right?” he asked.

“Should be,” said the driver. “She’s kind of old, though. It’s a broken hip, I reckon, but at her age you can get
complications
. How old is she?”

“Eighty-one,” said Harold.

“Christ. I put her at about seventy. She’s not bad for her age, is she?”

“She’s bad for any age,” said Harold. “Is she conscious?”

“She’s conscious all right,” said the driver. “She scratched that stretcher guy right across the face. She’s like a wildcat. I guess they’ve given her some sedation.”

“What hospital will you take her to?”

“Do you want to come along?”

“Would you take me to the end of the canyon? There’s her granddaughter around here somewhere.”

“O.K. You want to get in the back? You don’t look too good yourself.”

“I’ll come in front, if I may. It might start the old lady off again if she sees me.”

“O.K. Are you feeling all right?”

“No. But I’m O.K. for now.”

“Is she some relation of yours?”

“No, no relation,” said Harold. “Do you think she’ll die?”

“Hey, wait a minute,” said the driver. “Don’t you talk like that. You’re a kind of hero, I guess, you saved her life. You’re all excited. Let me get you a shot of something.”

“I could do with a Scotch,” said Harold.

The driver rummaged in a small box beside his seat. The doors of the ambulance were shut, and one of the stretcher men came to the front and said, “Let’s go, Charlie.”

“Right,” said the driver. “Here, you, what’s your name? Come here a minute.”

Harold went over to him. The driver produced a
hypodermic
and said “Roll up your sleeve.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“C’mon, this won’t hurt you. Just calm you down a little. Roll up your sleeve.”

Harold rolled up his sleeve and accepted the shot. It didn’t seem to make any difference to his headache or to his general feelings: his body felt as though it had been through a cement-mixer.

“What are you guys waiting for?” said the fire-officer coming over to the ambulance. “Why don’t you get out of here and let us fight this fire, huh?”

“We’re going,” said the driver. “Get in, you.”

Harold got in. The ambulance drove slowly down the hill. When they reached the police-block at the bottom, Harold said, “I’ll get out here, please.”

“No, you won’t,” said the driver.

“But I’ve got to find the old lady’s granddaughter.”

“Yeah, so you do. I’ll wait for you.”

Diane was standing by the car. When she saw Harold she ran towards him, and said, “Is she all right?”

“Yes. A broken hip, they suspect. What are you going to do? The house is going to be a total loss, I’m afraid.”

“The house?” she said. She looked at him as though he was a lunatic. “Grandma,” she said, explaining as though he was a child. “Is she all right? Where are they taking her?”

“I don’t know. Let’s go and find out.”

The ambulance driver asked Diane if she was next-of-kin.

“That’s right,” said Diane. “Is she O.K.?”

“Sure, she’s O.K.” He told her the name of the hospital.

“Thanks,” said Harold. “Thanks for everything. Diane, would you like to go with her, in the ambulance? I’ll take the stuff over to your uncle’s in the car.”

“No, you won’t,” said the driver, “not after what I gave you. You’ll come to the hospital, too. You’re suffering from shock.”

“Rubbish,” said Harold. His headache was getting worse, but he felt very light-headed, as though the ache was
reverberating
in a hollow space. “She must have shock, too,” he said, indicating Diane. She didn’t look at all well.

The driver looked at them, then went over to the police lieutenant. They talked for a while, then came over to Diane and Harold. They had not spoken to each other.

“I told you not to stay up there more than twenty minutes,” said the lieutenant.

“How long were we?”

The lieutenant took the piece of yellow paper which Harold had put in his pocket and now produced, looked at his watch and said, “Twenty-five. I could book you for that.”

“Aw, c’mon,” said the driver. “I want to take these two kids to hospital. What are you going to do about that car?”

“Where do you live?” asked the lieutenant.

Harold gave him the name of the hotel.

“Right. The car will be there when you get back,” said the lieutenant. He walked away.

“Get in,” said the driver.

“Can I see Grandma?” said Diane.

“Sure.” He went to the back of the ambulance, opened the doors, and said, “Another passenger for you, fellows.”

When they reached the hospital things seemed to happen very quickly. Mrs Washburn was taken out of the ambulance, put on a trolley and wheeled away somewhere. Diane was taken off by a starched white nurse. Harold was taken off by a starched coloured nurse. She took him into a room and told him to lie down on the bed. He lay down and felt very sick, so sat up again. She said that that was all right, the doctor would be in in a minute. She sat with him, took his pulse and his temperature and chatted amiably. Harold found himself replying in monosyllables. His head was getting worse. At last he said, “I feel really awful.”

“Don’t you worry,” said the nurse. “You haven’t broken anything, anyway. You’ll be all right.”

“But I feel absolutely terrible.”

“Are you English?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. That accent, it’s kind of funny.”

“So I’m told.”

A doctor came in. He was short and bouncy and made Harold strip, then gave him a pill, and said, “Now lie down again, and see if you still want to be ill.”

Harold lay down and went fast asleep.

When he woke it was noon. His head still ached a little, but otherwise he felt all right. He looked for his clothes and found them in a cupboard. Then he went to look for someone who might want to know how he felt.

The coloured nurse met him in the corridor and said, “Hey, you’re not supposed to be walking around.”

“I’m quite all right, now, thank you.”

“You go back to your room. I’ll get the doctor.”

The doctor came and made the usual checks.

“O.K.,” he said, “you can go.”

“How are the others?” said Harold.

“What others?”

“The old lady, Mrs Washburn. And her granddaughter, Miss Washburn.”

“Miss Washburn’s fine. She’s upset, though, naturally.”

“And Mrs Washburn?”

“Was she some relation of yours?”

“No.”

“Well, she died a couple of hours after we brought her in here. Shock kills people that age, you know.”

“Oh, my God,” said Harold. “Does Diane know?”

“The granddaughter? Not yet. She’s still sleeping. She was real upset when we brought her in. She’ll be all right by the evening, though. We’ll discharge her tomorrow, I guess.”

Harold wondered why the doctor kept sayíng “we” had brought her in. He said, “Well, I can go, can I?”

“Yeah, you can go.”

“Do I have to pay someone?”

“Sure you do. You think this is England?”

“No,” said Harold. “That’s one of the few
misapprehensions
I’ve never been under.”

“No socialized medicine here, thank God,” said the doctor.

Harold went down the corridor with the coloured nurse. She took him into an office and said, “It was nice meeting you.”

“Thanks for everything,” said Harold.

“All part of the day’s work,” said the nurse. She gave a wide smile, and went out.

“Jesus,” said the girl behind the desk when Harold asked whom he should pay and how much. “We haven’t even got a card for you yet. Here, fill this up.”

“No,” said Harold. “Either I pay now, or I don’t pay at all. I am not going to fill in any goddam form.”

“Watch your language,” said the girl. “Hey, are you English or something?”

“Yes,” he said, wearily.

“I thought there was something wrong with the way you said ‘goddam’,” said the girl, with an air of triumph.

“All right, all right,” said Harold. “How much do I owe?”

“I’ll have to go and ask. Why don’t you fill in the form and let us send you a bill?”

“Because I’m about to leave the country.”

“O.K. But fill in the form, anyway.”

She went out. Harold filled in the form, marking his sex as F and his age as two.

The girl came back and said, “We can’t give you a bill now. When are you leaving?”

“Now.”

“Well, let’s say ten dollars and forget about it,” said the girl. “I’ll put you down as a charity case.”

Harold gave her ten dollars, then went into a phone booth in the corridor and ordered a taxi. When the taxi came he told the driver to take him to his hotel. He felt very hungry, and suddenly remembered that he hadn’t eaten since he was in San Diego. It seemed several light years ago.

He had a large lunch, and thought about what happened next. It seemed as though everything had suddenly come right. He had the miniature in his pocket, Mrs Washburn was dead, might God condemn her to everlasting fire, and Diane was free. It had taken an act of God to arrange
everything
, but there it was, all arranged, and he might as well take advantage of it. Of course Diane would be very upset about her grandmother’s death, but she would get over it. The future would look after itself.

For what, after all, did the future matter now? He had finished his business in America, he had completed his work for Dangerfield, he had fallen in love, he had been through fire, he was ready for anything, could take anything on. Whatever the future might throw at him, he could throw right back. No one starved these days, anyway. And he had his credentials, his exams passed, his experience of America: he would be in great demand.

He took the miniature out of his pocket and looked at it. The insolent young man stared back. He was a talisman, a token of good luck. You had to earn your good-luck token, you had to struggle with old women and the elements, but if you won through, then you were blessed for life. Nothing would go wrong now. There would be no more Helens, no more Blacketts, no more dreariness.

He decided he should call Henry Washburn and tell him what had happened. Then he would call the hospital and sec how Diane was. Then he might go down to the beach and lie in the sun. He had deserved it.

On his way through the lobby he saw Chuck, dressed in a suit instead of the hotel uniform.

“How are you, Chuck?” he said.

“Whatever happened to you?” said Chuck. “What’s all that sticking-plaster?”

“Good God,” said Harold, looking at himself in a mirror. He had quite failed to realize that he had a piece of plaster on his forehead. Then he vaguely remembered the coloured nurse saying he had a nasty cut.

“I got it in a fire,” he said. “I fell down.”

“Gee,” said Chuck, “is that right?”

“What are you all dolled up for?”

“It’s Eddie’s inquest. I have to go and give formal
evidence
of identification. It’s this afternoon. I’ve fixed for the cremation right afterwards.”

“I’d quite forgotten about all that sort of thing,” said Harold. “Would you like me to come with you?”

“No thanks,” said Chuck. “I guess I’d like to do this by myself. But thanks all the same. Look, how about tomorrow for going to see these Towers? I have the afternoon free.”

“All right,” said Harold. He wanted to say something about Eddie, to say he hoped it would be a nice service, but knew that it would be absurd and inadequate. “Yes. Two o’clock?”

“Thanks, Harold,” said Chuck. He smiled and went away, walking slowly but without any conscious heaviness, a young man, Harold thought, resigned to hiding his feelings now and always.

He went to his room and called Henry Washburn.

“I heard,” said Henry, when he started to tell him the news. “They called me.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” said Harold. “Is there anything I can do? I was going to call the hospital to see how Diane was.”

“I guess she’ll want to come and stay here,” said Henry. “Of course she must.”

“My car is full of things from the house,” said Harold. “We managed to save a lot.”