Read The Laying on of Hands: Stories Online
Authors: Alan Bennett
Tags: #Humorous, #Short Stories (Single Author), #Fiction, #Literary, #Great Britain, #General
The Laying on of Hands: Stories (13 page)
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‘I went in,’ she said in the canteen later, ‘and there was one of them pulling a patient’s leg about. He had hold of his foot. It’s an uphill battle.’
UNCLE ERNEST’S SON Hartley came with his wife Jean and their children, Mark (14) and Elizabeth (10). Hartley hated hospitals, hence his demand for full family back-up. He was actually surprised that Mark had condescended to come: a big 14, Mark had long since passed beyond parental control and only appeared with the family on state occasions. The truth was that Miss Pollock, who took him for Religious Knowledge and who was known to be fucking at least one of the sixth form, had pointed out only last week how rare were the opportunities these days of seeing a dead person, and thus of acquiring a real perspective on the human condition. Mark was hoping this visit might gain him some status in the eyes of Miss Pollock. Sensitive to the realities of birth and death, he hoped to be the next candidate for ‘bringing out’.
They were all going up in the lift.
‘Think on,’ said Hartley. ‘It’s quite likely your grandad’ll be here. I don’t want you asking for all sorts in front of him.’
‘No,’ said his wife. ‘We don’t want him saying you’re spoiled.’
‘Though you are spoiled,’ said Hartley.
‘Whose fault is that?’ said Jean.
The steel doors folded back to reveal Denis saying goodbye to Uncle Ernest.
‘Now then, Dad,’ said Hartley. ‘Hello, Denis. This is a bad do.’
Jean kissed the old man.
‘Give your grandad a kiss, Elizabeth.’
The child did so.
‘Come on, Mark.’
‘I don’t kiss now,’ said the boy.
‘You kiss your grandad,’ said Hartley and the boy did so and a nurse, passing, looked.
‘How is he?’ said Hartley.
‘Dying,’ said his father. ‘Sinking fast.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,’ said Hartley, who had hoped it would be all over by now.
‘And how’ve you been keeping?’ said Jean, brightly.
‘Champion,’ said Uncle Ernest. ‘Is that one of them new watches?’ He took Mark’s wrist.
‘He had to save up for it,’ said Jean. ‘You had to save up for it, didn’t you, Mark?’
Mark nodded.
‘He didn’t,’ said the little girl.
‘I never had a watch till I was 21,’ said the old man. ‘Of course, they’re 21 at 18 now, aren’t they?’
Denis pressed the button for the lift.
‘We’d better get along to the ward if he’s that critical,’ said Jean.
‘I’ve had the receiver in my hand to give you a ring once or twice,’ said Hartley as they waited for the lift, ‘then a client’s come in.’
‘I was thinking of going to Barnard Castle next week,’ said Ernest.
‘Whatever for?’ said Jean, kissing him goodbye.
‘I’ve never been.’ He shook Denis’s hand. The lift doors closed. Hartley and his family walked ahead of Midgley down the long corridor.
‘I’ll give you such a clatter when I get you home, young lady,’ Jean was saying. ‘He did save up.’
‘Only a week,’ said the child.
‘When we get there,’ said Hartley, ‘we want to go in in twos. All together would be too much of a strain.’
‘What’s he doing going to Barnard Castle?’ said Jean.
‘He can’t be short of money taking himself off to Barnard Castle.’
Midgley caught them up.
‘You’d no need all to come,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t let Joyce bring ours.’
‘They wanted to come,’ said Jean. ‘Our Mark did especially, didn’t you Mark?’
‘It’s more handy for us, anyway,’ said Hartley. ‘What did we do before the M62?’
Mark was disappointed. The old man was quite plainly breathing. He could quite easily have been asleep. He wasn’t even white.
‘He’s not my uncle, is he, Dad?’
‘He’s my uncle. He’s your great-uncle.’
Hartley was looking at the screen.
‘You see this screen, Mark? It’s monitoring his heartbeats.’
Mark didn’t look, but said wearily, ‘I know, Dad.’
‘I was only telling you.’
Hartley touched the screen where the beep was flickering.
‘You want to learn, don’t you?’ his father said as they came out.
‘Dad.’ The boy stopped. ‘We made one of those at school.’
Jean now led little Elizabeth in. (‘Bless her,’ said Aunty Kitty.)
They stood hand in hand by the bedside, and Jean bent down and kissed him.
‘Do you want me to kiss him?’ said the child.
‘No. I don’t think so, love,’ and she rubbed her lips with her hanky where they had touched him.
‘Are you crying, Mam?’ said the child.
‘Yes.’
The little girl looked up at her.
‘There aren’t any tears.’
‘You can cry without tears,’ said her mother, looking at the monitor. ‘You can cry more without tears.’
‘I can’t,’ said the child. ‘How do you do it, Mam?’
‘It comes when you’re grown up.’
‘I want to be able to do it now.’
‘Listen, I’ll give you such a smack in a minute,’ said her mother. ‘He’s dying.’
Elizabeth began to cry.
‘There, love.’ Her mother hugged her. ‘He doesn’t feel it.’
‘I’m not crying because of him,’ said the child. ‘I’m crying because of you.’
‘I wouldn’t have another Cortina,’ said Hartley. ‘I used to swear by Cortinas. No longer.’
Midgley was watching an Indian man and his son sat in the corner. The father’s face ran with tears as he hugged the child to him so that he seemed in danger of smothering the boy.
‘You still got the VW?’
Midgley nodded.
‘I think I might go in for a Peugeot,’ said Hartley. ‘A 604. Buy British.’ There was a pause, and he added:
‘He was a nice old chap.’
Jean and Elizabeth returned and Mark, who had been in the corridor, came in to ask how long they were stopping.
Hartley looked at Jean.
‘I think we ought to wait just a bit, don’t you, darling?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Jean. ‘Just in case.’
Aunty Kitty came in. ‘I’ve just had one coffee and a wagon wheel and it was 45p. And it’s all supposed to be voluntary.’
‘There isn’t a disco, is there?’ said Mark.
‘Disco?’ said Jean. ‘Disco? This is a hospital.’
‘Well. Leisure facilities. Facilities for visitors. Killing time.’
‘Listen,’ Jean hissed. ‘Your Uncle Denis’s father is dying and you talk about discos.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Midgley.
‘Here, go get yourself a coffee,’ said Hartley, giving him a pound. Aunty Kitty looked away.
HARTLEY AND HIS family were going. They were congregated outside the lift.
‘You’ll wait, I expect,’ said Hartley.
‘Oh yes,’ said Midgley, ‘I want to be here.’
‘You want to make it plain at this stage you don’t want him resuscitating.’
‘That’s if he doesn’t want him resuscitating,’ said Jean. ‘You don’t know.’
‘I wouldn’t want my dad resuscitating,’ said Hartley.
‘Denis might, mightn’t you Denis?’
‘No,’ said Midgley.
‘You often don’t get the choice,’ said Hartley. ‘They’ll resuscitate anybody given half a chance. Shove them on these life-support machines. It’s all to do with cost-effectiveness. They invest in this expensive equipment then they feel they have to use it.’ He pumped the lift button. ‘My guess is that it’ll be at four in the morning, the crucial time. That’s when life’s at its lowest ebb, the early hours.’
‘Miracles do happen, of course,’ said Jean. ‘I was reading about these out-of-body experiences. Have you read about them, Denis? It’s where very sick people float in the air above their own bodies. Personally,’ Jean kissed Midgley, ‘I think it won’t be long before science will be coming round to an after-life. Bye bye. I wish it had been on a happier occasion.’
Midgley went down the long corridor.
‘MONEY’S NO GOOD,’ said Aunty Kitty. ‘Look at President Kennedy. They’ve been a tragic family.’
The Indians slept, the little son laid with his head in the father’s lap.
An orderly came in and tidied the magazines, emptied the waste-bin and took away a vase of flowers.
‘Oxygen,’ he said as he went out.
‘The Collingwoods got back from Corfu,’ said Aunty Kitty. ‘They said they enjoyed it but they wouldn’t go a second time.’
It was after ten and Midgley had assumed she was going to stay the night when she suddenly got up.
‘If I go now I can get the twenty-to,’ she said. ‘I’ll just get back before they’re turning out. I never go upstairs. It’s just asking for it.’
‘I’ll walk down with you,’ said Midgley.
She tiptoed elaborately past the sleeping immigrants, favouring them with a benevolent smile.
‘They’ve got feelings the same as us,’ she whispered. ‘They’re fond of their families. More so, probably.’ They came out into the corridor. ‘But then they’re less advanced than we are.’
He phoned Joyce.
She and Colin were watching a programme about dolphins that had been introduced by the Duke of Edinburgh. Her mother was asleep with her mouth open.
‘What’re you doing?’ asked Midgley.
‘Nothing. Colin’s watching a programme about dolphins. How is he?’
Midgley told her.
‘I’ve got to stay,’ he finished.
‘Why? You’ve done all that’s necessary. Nobody’s going to blame you.’
Midgley saw that somebody had written on the wall ‘Pray for me.’ A wag had added ‘OK.’
‘I must be here when he goes,’ said Midgley. ‘You can understand that.’
‘I understand you,’ she said. ‘It’s not love. It’s not affection.’ Colin looked up. ‘It’s yourself.’
She put the phone down.
‘Dad?’ said Colin.
She turned the television off. ‘He’s hanging on.’
‘Who?’
‘Your grandad.’ She got up. ‘Wake up Mother. Time for bed.’
MIDGLEY WENT BACK and sat with his father. While he had been out the night nurse had come on. She was a plump girl, dark, less pert than the others, and, he thought, more human. Actually she was just dirty. The hair wasn’t gathered properly under her cap and there was a ladder in her stocking. She straightened the bedclothes, bending over the inert form so that her behind was inches from Midgley’s face. Midgley decided it wasn’t deliberate.
‘Am I in the way?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Why? Stop there.’
She looked at the television monitor for a minute or two, counting the jumps with her watch. Then she smiled and went out. Five minutes later she was back with a cup of tea.
‘No sugar,’ said Midgley.
‘May I?’ she said and put both lumps in her mouth.
‘Slack tonight,’ she said. ‘Still it just needs one drunken driver.’
Midgley closed his eyes.
‘I thought you were going to be a bit of company,’ she said. ‘You’re tired out.’ She fetched a pillow and they went out into the waiting room. The Indians had gone.
‘Lie down,’ she said. ‘I’ll wake you if anything happens.’
Around five an alarm went off, and there were two deaths in quick succession. Midgley slept on. At eight he woke.
‘You can’t lie down,’ said a voice. ‘You’re not supposed to lie down.’ It was a clean, fresh nurse.
Two women he had not seen before sat watching him.
‘The nurse said she’d wake me up.’
‘What nurse?’
‘If anything happened to my father.’
‘Whose is that pillow?’
‘Midgley. Mr Midgley.’
‘It’s a hospital pillow.’ She took it, and went back inside to her desk.
‘Midgley.’ Her finger ran down the list. ‘No change. But don’t lie down. It’s not fair on other people.’
Midgley went and looked at his father. No change was right. He felt old and dirty. He had not shaved and there was a cold sore starting on his lip. But with his father there was no change. Still clean. Still pink. Still breathing. The dot skipped on. He walked out to the car park where he had left his van and wondered if he dared risk going out to buy a razor.
He went back in search of the doctor.
He cut across the visitors’ car park, empty now except for his van, and took a path round the outside of the hospital that he thought would take him round to the entrance. The buildings were long and low and set in the hillside. They were done in identical units, every ward the same. He was passing a ward that seemed just like his father’s except where his father should have been a woman was just putting her breast to a baby’s mouth. A nurse came to the window and stared at him. He looked away hurriedly and walked on, but not so quickly as to leave her with the impression he had been watching. She was still staring at him as he turned the corner. He experienced a feeling of relief if not quite homecoming when he saw he was now outside Intensive Care. He picked out his father’s room, saw the carnations on the window sill and the head and shoulders of a nurse. She was obviously looking at the bed. She moved back towards the window to make room for someone else. Midgley stood on tiptoe to try and see what was happening. He thought there was someone else there in a white coat. The room was full of people.
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