Kate Wilhelm in Orbit - Volume Two (9 page)

“Fourteen,” he said and signed, and moved on.

The baby hated the park. It wailed and wouldn’t be propped up. Tillich picked it up and for a time it was silent, staring at the bushes. Children were swinging, shouting, laughing, screaming. The spring sun was warm although the air still had a bite. Forsythias were in bloom, yellow arms waving. The baby stared at the long yellow branches. Soon it grew bored and started to cry again.

“I’m cold.” Norma clung to his arm, her gaze shifting nervously, rapidly, very afraid. “I want to go home.”

“You need some sun. So does the baby. Let’s walk. You’ll get warm.”

He put the screaming child back in the baby carriage. The carriage was older than Tillich; it squeaked, one wheel wobbled, the metal parts were all rusty, the plastic was brittle and cracked. He knew they were very lucky to have it.

He wheeled the yelling baby and Norma clung to his arm. No one paid any attention to them. “I’m cold. I want to go home!” Soon she would be crying too. He walked a little faster.

“We’ll go home now. This is the way.” He didn’t look at the people. The trees were leafing out, bushes in nearly full leaf, blooming. The grass was richly green. White clouds against the endless blue. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes a moment. For four weekends they hadn’t been able to get out because of rain, or cold weather, or Norma’s sniffles. Always something.

“I want to go home! I want to go home! I’m tired. I’m cold.
I want to go home!
” She was beginning to weep.

“We’re going home now. See? There’s the street. Just another block, then onto the street and a little more…” She wasn’t listening. The baby screamed.

He saw the girl from the dispensary. She was wheeling a chair-bed, with a very old, frail-looking man on it. His face was petulant, half-turned, tilted toward her, talking. She was walking slowly, looking at the trees, the flowering shrubs, the grass. A serene look on her face.

Tillich turned the carriage to a path that led out of the park. The baby screamed. Norma wept and begged to be taken home.

Mrs. De Vries was in the hall outside his apartment. He thought she had been waiting for him.

“Mr. Tillich, is your wife better? Such a pretty girl.”

“Yes, yes. She’s coming along.”

“I heard her screaming. Couple nights ago. Poor child-”

He started to move on. She caught his arm. “Mr. Tillich, I’m only thirty-three. Would you believe that? Thirty-three.” She looked fifty. Her fingers on his arm were red and coarse. “I… You need a woman, Mr. Tillich, I’m around. Wouldn’t charge you much.”

“No. Mrs. De Vries, I have to go in. No. I’m not interested.”

“What am I to do, Mr. Tillich? What? They won’t give us more money. I have two jobs and my kids are in rags. What’m I to do?”

“I don’t know.” He moved forward a step. She motioned and her daughter approached.

“She’s a virgin, Mr. Tillich. Been having periods for six months now. All growed up inside. Five dollars, Mr. Tillich. Five dollars and you can keep her all night.” She motioned the child closer. The girl pulled up her shift. Pale fuzz covered the mound. She turned around to show her round buttocks. They were covered with hives.

Tillich pushed Mrs. De Vries aside. “Bitch! Bitch! Your own daughter!”

“What’m I to do, you bastard? You tell me that. What’m I to do?” He saw her yank the child to her and slap her hard. “Go get some pants on. Pull down your dress.”

Tillich got his door open and slid inside. He was breathing hard. Norma didn’t look up. She was watching TV. The baby was on the floor with the smooth blocks.

“Mr. Rosenfeld, don’t you have any relatives?”

“None able. Brother’s been in a house for twenty years.”

“No children?”

“Son’s dead. Cancer of the larynx. They didn’t have a bed for him. He had to wait almost two years. By then it was Katie bar the door.” He looked thoughtful. “Two daughters, you know. Don’t know where they are. Their husbands won’t let them come around. First one shows up, state says I’m hers.” He chuckled.

“Mr. Rosenfeld, don’t you read the newspapers?”

“Watch it on TV.”

“They miss some things, Mr. Rosenfeld. Starting next month there won’t be any visiting nurse service. Too expensive. Not enough nurses.”

Mr. Rosenfeld looked frightened. After a moment he said, “Not the necessary visits.”

“All of them, Mr. Rosenfeld.”

“But… Look, son, I’ve got a tube in me that has to be changed every day. Y’know? Every day. Takes someone who knows how. Good clean tubes. Dressings. Who’s going to do all that except a nurse?” He picked at his sheet. “And change that? And give me a bath? Who?”

They stared at each other.

“Not you. Not you. I didn’t mean that,” Mr. Rosenfeld said. “You’ve been good to me. But you’re not qualified for the tube job. Takes special training.” He was paralyzed from the waist down.

“You’d better apply for a home,” Tillich said finally.

“Did. Four years ago. I’m on the list.”

“Well,” Tillich said, “I have to go. I’ll be by in the morning.”

“Sure. Sure. Good night. Good night.” Before Tillich got out he asked, “Your wife? I guess she wouldn’t be able to have the training?”

“No. She’s ill. Impossible.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” He was staring fixedly at the ceiling when Tillich left.

“Do you walk here often?”

“When I can. That isn’t very often.” She looked at him. “How about you?”

“Not often enough. Not enough time.”

“I’ve seen you a few times. Your wife is very pretty.”

He didn’t reply. There was nothing he could say. They were getting near the exit path that he would take. “Do you suppose you’ll have time tomorrow to take a walk?”

She was silent so long he thought she hadn’t heard. Then: “I think I will tomorrow.”

“Maybe we’ll see each other. I always come in at path number one-oh-two.”

“That’s near where I enter. Ninety-six.”

“I’ll wait for you at ninety-six.”

She crouched in the doorway staring at him and shrieked. She didn’t close her eyes. He could see her stomach muscles tighten, her hands clench, then the shriek came. There was a glistening streak across her white thigh. Her legs were beautifully shaped. She shrieked. He pulled the cover over his head, pressing it against his ears. Twice or three times he had tried to comfort her, to quiet her, and it had been worse. He pressed harder on the covers. When she fell asleep on the couch, he covered her. She was thinner than she had been in the winter.

“Please verify fourteen…”

“You weren’t in the park all week.”

“Please sign. I was busy.”

“When do you get off? I’ll wait for you.”

“Ten. Your wife and child. They need you. Who will make their dinner? Please, you must sign the forms and move on. Don’t wait for me. I don’t want to see you. I’m busy.”

He signed and moved on.

The waiting room of the pediatrics center was an auditorium with all the sections filled to capacity. Tillich had to stand with the baby for half an hour before there was a vacant seat. The din in the hall was constant, very much like the sound of a high-powered motor. The loudspeaker was on steadily: “UN three seven four two A one twelve. UN two two nine seven A/C seven nine seven. UN one two nine six A/F seventeen. UN three nine one six D two thousand.”

The smells of formula, vomit, urine, feces hung in the air, combining and recombining. The baby’s screams were hardly noticeable here.

“Please refresh your memory regarding your child’s identification number. You will be admitted to the doctor’s examination rooms by number. Please refresh your memory regarding your child’s identification number.” “UN six nine four A/D four nine two one. UN seven one two nine A/F one nine six eight.”

He had to wait nine hours before he heard his number. He started; he had dozed; holding a screaming baby in the stinking auditorium amidst the bathroom and sickroom odors, he had dozed.

“Please strip the child and place it on the table. Keep on the far side of the table. Do not ask any questions, or give any medical detail at this time. Thank you.” It was a recording, activated by the closing of the door.

Tillich had barely finished undressing the baby when the second door opened and a woman came in. She was stooped, white-haired, with a death’s-head face. The baby was screaming more feebly now, exhaustion finally weakening him. He was revived by her approach.

She held him with one hand and did a rapid and thorough eye, ear, nose and throat examination. She went to his genitals, studied his feet. She pushed his legs up to his chest, then spread them apart. She sat him up and felt his back, then tried unsuccessfully to stand him up. Finally she made notations on his card. Only then did she glance at Tillich.

“We must make other tests. You will wait outside, please?” She pressed a button. The door she had used was opened and an orderly motioned for Tillich to follow him.

“Why? What’s wrong? What is it?”

The orderly touched his arm and wearily Tillich followed him. The baby wailed. This waiting room was even more crowded than the auditorium had been, but there was only a scattering of children; most of them were somewhere inside undergoing specialized diagnostic procedures. His head ached and he was very hungry.

He didn’t know how long he waited this time. Finally the orderly motioned for him to come.

“Please dress your child as quickly as possible and exit through the door marked
B
. An attendant on the other side will be happy to answer any questions. The time for your next appointment is indicated in the upper right-hand corner of your child’s identification card. Thank you for your cooperation.”

He carried the baby into the other room. The baby was listless now, no longer crying. Overhead a light sign flashed on and off. “If you have any questions, please be seated at one of the desks.” He sat down.

“Yes, Mr. Tillich.” It was a young man, an orderly, or nurse, not a doctor.

“Why has his classification been changed? What does the new number and designation mean? Why is his next appointment a year from now instead of six months?”

“Hm. Out of infant category, you see. There will be medication. You can pick it up at pediatrics dispensary, a month’s supply at a time, starting tomorrow. Twenty-three allergens identified in his blood. Anemic. Nothing to be alarmed about, Mr. Tillich.”

“What does the ‘R/MD one nine four two seven’ stand for? He’s retarded, isn’t he? How much?”

“Mr. Tillich, you’ll have to discuss that with his doctor.”

“Tell me this, would you expect a P/S four two nine eight MC to be able to care adequately for an R/MD one nine four two seven?”

“Of course not. But you’re not …”

“His mother is.”

“Why did you decide to come, after all?”

“I don’t know. I guess because you look so miserable. Lonely, somehow.” She stopped, looking straight ahead. A young couple walked hand in hand. “You do see people like that now and then,” she said. “It gives me hope.”

“It shouldn’t. Norma was twenty-two before she… She was as normal as anyone at that age.”

She started to walk again.

“What’s your name?”

“Louisa. Yours?”

“David,” he said. “Louisa is pretty. It’s like a soft wind in high grass.”

“You’re a romantic.” She thought a moment. “David goes back to the beginning of names, it seems. Bible name. Do you suppose people are still making new names?”

“Probably. Why?”

“I used to try to make up a name. They all sounded so ridiculous. So made-up.”

He laughed.

“You turn off here, don’t you? Good-bye, David.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Norma slept. The baby lay quietly; he didn’t know if it was asleep. He remembered laughing in the park. The sun shone. They walked not touching, talking fast, looking at each other often. And he had laughed out loud.

“No one came,” Mr. Rosenfeld said. His voice rose. “No one came. They know I need a nurse. It’s on my card. I signed over my pension so they’d take care of me. They agreed.”

“Can I do something?”

“No!” he said shrilly. “Don’t touch it. You know how long I’d last if an infection set in? Call them. Give them the numbers on my card. It’s a mistake. A mistake.”

Tillich copied the numbers, then went out to make the call. The first phone was out of order. He walked five blocks to the next one. Traffic was light. It was getting lighter all the time. He could remember when the streets had been packed solid, curb to curb, with automobiles, trucks, buses, motorbikes. Now there were half a dozen vehicles in sight. He waited for the call to be completed, staring toward the west. One day he’d make up a little back-pack, not much, a blanket, a cup, a pan maybe, a coat. He’d start walking westward. Across Ohio, across the prairies, across the mountains. To the sea. The Atlantic was less than five hundred miles east, but he never even considered starting in that direction.

“Please state patient’s surname, given name, identification number and purpose of this call.”

He did. There was a pause, then the same voice said, This data has been forwarded to the appropriate office. You will be notified. Thank you for your cooperation. This is a recording.” So no one would argue, he knew. He stood staring westward for a long time, and when he got back to his building, he went directly to his own rooms.

“And so he died.”

“He didn’t just die. They killed him. I killed him. They were smart. They saw to it that he had a full week’s supply of those pills. He took them all.”

“I guess most of them had saved enough pills or capsules, same thing.”

“So now they can claim truthfully that everyone who needs home nursing gets it” He kicked a stone hard. She walked with her head bowed.

“If they had known about you, your daily visits to the old man, probably they would have discontinued his nursing service sooner.”

“But I’m not trained to insert a drainage tube.”

“You learn or you lose whoever needs that kind of care.”

He looked at her. She sounded bitter, the first time he had heard that tone from her. “You had something like that?”

“My husband. He needed constant attendance after surgery. On the sixth night I feel asleep and he hemorrhaged to death. I had learned how to change dressings, tubes, everything. And I fell asleep.”