Requiem for a Dream (30 page)

The radio continued to play, but the car was quiet,
Harry continually rubbing his arm trying to soothe it. Tyrone leaned
the elbow of his left arm against the door and stroked his chin with
his hand. Neither one of them had ever left the state of New York
before, and the only time Harry had left the city was when he was a
kid and he went to the Boy Scout camp. They were becoming more and
more overwhelmed by the strangeness of the countryside. They became
increasingly quiet. The uppers and the heroin fought for control. The
area around the highway seemed to be getting closer somehow. They
squirmed, trying to find a comfortable spot in their seats. They
stared through the windshield. They tried to numb their minds with
the uppers and heroin, but still the desperateness of the situation
forced itself upon them. Separately they each felt increasingly aware
of the fact that what they were doing was insane. They were half a
world away from the neighborhood. They were strung out, a fact that
they pussy footed around for a long time, but now it thrust itself
right in their guts. They were strung out and they were driving
through some asshole fuckin state trying to get to Miami and find the
big connections. They could smell them. They knew they were following
the connections. But what the fuck were they going to do when they
got there? What the fuck was goin on? They squirmed. Adjusted. Harry
soothed his arm. The fuckin pain was suddenly so bad he was goin
blind. They were scared shitless. But they were just as scared to cop
out in front of the other one. They both wanted to turn around and go
back. Scufflin those fuckin streets in this mutha fuckin panic was
like death man, but it was better than this. Where the fuck were they
goin fa krists sake? What was comin down? Suppose they run outta shit
before they got back? Suppose they got busted down here in the fuckin
South? Each almost prayed, or came as close to praying as they knew
how, that the other one would suggest turning around and going back,
but they just continued to stare through the windshield and squirm as
the car continued going straight ahead. Tyrone stopped looking at the
odometer. Harry was unable to sit still for more than a few minutes.
From time to time he was almost doubled over with pain. He rubbed his
arm, trying to soothe the pain away. I dont think Im gonta make it
man. This fuckin arm is killin me. He squirmed out of his jacket and
rolled up his sleeve and blinked a few times as he looked at his arm.
Tyrone glanced at it from time to time, frowning, Sheeit, that really
looks bad baby. Around the hole in Harrys arm a huge greenish white
lump had formed with red streaks spreading out toward his shoulder
and wrist. I can hardly move the son of a bitch. Im gonta have ta do
somethin man.

Big Tim told Marion he would arrange for her to pick
up a nice taste for a few hours work, Though its more like play baby.
What do you mean by a nice taste? Big Tim laughed his Santa laugh,
Damn, you sure is greedy for scag. Marion smiled and shrugged. They
be six of you cutting up a piece. An its good, and he smiled as
Marions eyes widened and sparkled. When? His smile broadened,
Tomorrow night. He waited for a moment, wondering if she would ask
what she had to do but he was sure she wouldnt. Its a little party
for some people ah know. AMI take you there. Who will be cutting up
the piece with me? Five other bitches. Youll be the entertainment . .
. you know, kind of enjoy each others company, you dig? and he smiled
then laughed his Santa laugh as he saw what he meant register on
Marions face. And the men? They come later, and Tim laughed so hard
Marion started chuckling. What time? You be here by eight. Marion
smiled and nodded and Big Tim laughed his Santa Claus laugh.

Harry and Tyrone pulled into a small gas station and
got out of the car and stretched. The attendant was in the back
talking to the mechanic. They looked at Harry and Tyrone for a
moment, then the attendant put down his bottle of Coke and strolled
out to them. Harry was leaning against the car holding and soothing
his left arm, Fill it up with regular, eh? An wheres the mens room?
We're fresh out of gas. O shit. Thas alright jim, we got enough for a
while. Harry nodded at Tyrone, May just as well use the mens room.
The attendant stared at Harry, Its out of order. Harry looked at him
for a moment and noticed the hostile expression on the guys face. A
car pulled up to the other pump and the attendant went over to it,
Good morning Fred, filler up? Yup. The attendant started pumping gas
into the car and the mechanic came out from the back and leaned
against the wall and stared into Harrys face provokingly and spit.
Harrys pain and confusion started to turn to rage and Tyrone opened
the door, Lets cool it baby. Harry looked at Tyrone for a moment,
then got into the car. The mechanic continued to stare at them, and
spit, as they drove away. What the fuck was that shit, man? Thas the
solid South baby. Jesus krist, its like a bad fuckin movie. I thought
the fuckin Civil War was over. Sheeit, not to these muthas. They both
looked at the gas gauge. What the fuck we gonta do man? How the fuck
ah know jim? We jus be cool an get us some mutha fuckin gas, what the
fuck else we gonna do? Harry nodded his head and clutched his arm
closer to him and they drove in silence, each holding on tight, not
wanting to blow his cool and wishing to krist they were somewhere
else. The time seemed to drag as they stared ahead, not noticing the
trees and poles rushing by. They kept glancing at the fuel gauge and
then ahead at the horizon where the sides of the road pinched
together and remained unreachably ahead of them. Harry rubbed his arm
and, from time to time, Tyrone reached up and rubbed and scratched
his head, then leaned his left arm against the door and rested his
chin in his hand. Theres one. Yeah. They became increasingly aware of
the sweat running down their backs and sides as they pulled into the
station. They stayed in the car and Harry leaned out slightly and
told the guy to fill it up. Regular. The guy leaned against the pump,
ignoring them, as the gas was pumped into the car. When it was full
Harry paid him and they drove off, the silence unbroken for many long
minutes until Tyrone turned on the radio. The tension started to ease
from their bodies along with the sweat. Damn, I could sure use a
tase. Yeah, you aint shittin. Theres gotta be a diner pretty soon.

They stopped at a small roadside place and went into
the mens room one at a time, the other one sitting at the counter
watching carefully. After getting off they relaxed and thought theyd
get something to eat, as well as coffee, and Harry called to the
waitress who was standing at the other end of the counter talking to
a customer, but she ignored him. He called again and the cook jammed
his head out and told him to shut up. Harry closed his eyes for a
moment, breathed deeply, exhaled slowly, then looked at Tyrone,
shaking his head. Tyrone shrugged and they got up and left.

Sara finished her series of shock treatments. She sat
on the side of her bed and stared out the window, through the gray
glass at the gray sky, the gray ground and bare trees. From time to
time she would twist off the bed and shuffle, in her paper slippers,
to the nurses office and lean against the wall opposite the door and
stare. Do you want something? Sara blinked and stared. Do you want
something Mrs. Goldfarb? Saras face twisted slightly and she almost
smiled, then she blinked a few times before resuming her staring. The
nurse shrugged and went back to her work. Sara slid down the wall and
crouched on the floor, still trying to get, and keep, a smile on her
face. Her cheek muscles twitched, the corners of her mouth trembled.
Eventually she stretched her mouth in a tight, torturous looking
wide-eyed grin. She fumbled to her feet and shuffled across to the
door of the nurses office and stood grinning until the nurse looked
at her. Thats very good, now go back to your bed, and she once more
turned her back on Sara and continued working. Sara turned and
shuffled back to her bed and sat on the side and stared through the
gray windows.

Sara was put in a wheelchair and taken from the ward,
down an elevator, through a long, gray tunnel to a waiting room where
other patients docilely sat, their attendants in a corner smoking,
joking, keeping an eye on their patient. Sara looked at those in
front of her and blinked a few times, squinted, then stared. From
time to time someone would open a door and call a name and one of the
attendants would wheel the patient through the door, and they seemed
to disappear, yet there always seemed to be just as many people in
front of Sara. Time continued to be time and Saras name was called.
Her attendant wheeled her through the door and Sara tried to smile.
In front of her a man sat behind a desk. There were others in the
room. The man behind the desk was called your honor. Someone stood up
and opened a folder and read some things to the judge. He looked at
Sara. She tried to smile and her face started to stretch in her
wide-eyed grin as little bits of spittle dribbled down her chin. He
signed his name to a piece of paper and handed it back to the man.
She was committed to a State Mental Hospital.

Sara was awakened early and hustled out of bed and
taken to the basement of the hospital where she was put on a bench to
wait. And wait. She asked if she could have something to eat and was
told it was too early. When she asked again they said it was too
late. Eventually she was checked through one line, then she waited.
She sat on the bench and stared. She went to the next line. And
waited. She was given her clothes. She looked at them a long time.
They told her to dress. She stared. They put some clothes on her. She
struggled into the rest. They led her to another bench. She waited.
They put her on a bus and she sat and stared ahead as the others were
placed in their seats. They drove through the streets with a lifetime
of familiar sights and sounds and Sara stared in front of her.

They were led off the bus and their names were
checked off a list and then they were led through a gray, moist and
freezing tunnel that connected with other tunnels and eventually to a
building on the remote part of the grounds and locked in a ward
jammed with others shuffling, sitting, squatting, standing, staring.
Sara stood still and stared at the gray walls.

Ada and Rae made a visit. They sat in a corner of the
visiting room and stared at Sara as she shuffled toward them. They
knew it was Sara, yet they didnt recognize her. Bones stuck out
everywhere. Her hair hung dead from her head. Her eyes were clouded
and didnt see. Her skin was gray. Sara sat and Ada started taking
food out of a large shopping bag. We got some lox and cream cheese
and bagels and blintz with sour cream and some danishes and pastrami
and chopped liver on rye with mustard and onions and a container hot
tea and. . . . How are you dolly?

Sara continued to stare, Yes, and tried to smile and
took a big bite out of the sandwich and made a grunting clacking
sound as she chewed, the mustard oozing out of the corners of her
mouth. Ada blinked and Rae gently wiped the mustard, and spittle,
away. They looked at their friend of so many years, trying hard to
understand. They stayed for an endless hour then reluctantly, but
with a sigh of relief, left. They stared at the gray walls and
lifeless trees and grounds as they sat waiting for a bus, tears
flowing from their eyes. They hugged each other.

Harry and Tyrone stared silently through the
windshield, their fear and apprehension increasing with each mile.
Harry was almost doubled in a fetal position. The pain and panic had
almost cut off his breath. The closer they got to Miami the more
deeply the distance between them and the neighborhood was drilled
into their minds. They still had plenty of stuff and uppers, but the
fear was so intense that it was a tangible substance in the car.
Harry would try to close his eyes and forget everything except the
fact that the connections were in Miami, but as soon as he did he saw
his arm, a naming red, then green, and he could hear someone sawing
his arm off and he jerked himself up in his seat and grabbed his arm
and tried rocking back and forth as much as he could. Man, I cant cut
it. I gotta get some penicillin, or somethin, for this fuckin arm.

They parked the car around the corner from a small
medical building and went into the first office they saw. There were
a few people in the waiting room and Tyrone went over to the nurse to
tell her about Harry. Yawl have an appointment? Tyrone just shook his
head, No. Its an emergency. Why dont yawl go to the hospital? Ah doan
know where it is an he— Harry came over, I got a bad infection in
my arm and Im afraid I'll lose it. Cant the doctor see me? Please.
Harry shoved his arm forward and she glanced at it for a moment, then
at them, Sit down. After a few minutes the nurse came back and opened
the door to the examination room and called Harry, This way.

Harry paced back and forth, holding his arm, trying,
from time to time, to sit, but couldnt stay still for more than a
minute. Eventually the doctor came and looked at Harry for a minute,
Whats your problem? My arm, its killin me. The doctor grabbed Harrys
arm roughly, Harry wincing with the pain, and glanced at it then
dropped it. I'll be back in a minute. The doctor left the room and
went to his office, closed the door, and called the police. Hello,
this is Doctor Waltham. Over to Russell Street? Ive got a young man
here I think you should see. Hes got an infection in his arm that
looks to me like it came from a needle, and his pupils are dilated. I
think hes a drug addict. He sounds like a gawd-damn New Yawk bum and
hes with a nigga. He hung up then buzzed his nurse and told her the
police would be there in a few minutes, so just keep your eye on that
New Yawk nigga. The doctor waited a few more minutes before going
back to Harry. He roughly grabbed Harrys arm again and twisted it,
Harry gaggin and his knees bending from the pain. This is going to
take time to clean out. Ah have one more patient to treat, then ahll
be able to take care of you. He left before Harry could say a word,
or even catch his breath.