Under the Cypress Moon (32 page)

Shylah sighed such a deep sigh of relief that it only fueled Mark into another fit of intense laughter. 

"Boy, don't do that to me!  I really did think you were serious for a minute!  Anyway, you think I should tell anybody?"

"Give me a... ugh ugh... second... to stop... laughing.  Oh!  Man, was that funny!  No.  You shouldn't tell anybody, not yet, not until we know for absolute sure.  Give it just a little while, and maybe we'll tell everybody together."

"What about your dad? Are we ever gonna tell him?"  Shylah felt as though it was a cold thing to even think of not informing Thomas of the impending continuation of his line.

"Yeah.  At some point, we'll tell him, but I don't think he'll understand."  A part of Mark felt as though it did not care about Thomas or letting him know, feeling far too threatened and belittled as of late, but the serious side, the calm, collected, and truly loving side of Mark could not allow it.

"It's awful he won't be around to see his first grandbaby," Shylah remarked, a look of true sadness stripping away the joy that she had only so recently displayed.

"Yeah.  I know," Mark agreed.  "It is truly a bittersweet occasion."

"I didn't even tell you the horrible things he was sayin' to me while you were gone.  I don't know if you'd even wanna hear 'em, and I know what you said about how it's not really him; it's the sickness.  It's hard, though.  I care about your dad, though.  I kinda started to grow close to him.  Ya know?  I pity him really.  But I don't know what else we can do but just be here for him and pray for him."

"Yeah."  Mark did not know at that moment whether to cry or to let it all go and forget it.

All of a sudden, screams could be heard, screams permeating the entirety of the house and carrying all the way through the thick front door and out into the wind adorning the abounding property. The screams were likely to be heard by anyone that might pass by.  They were of a magnitude that seemed only to match those emitted by victims of tremendous duress and torture.  Thomas Crady was under pain of both.  Mark jumped from his seat to tend to his father but was completely unprepared for what lay ahead.

Chapter 15

Thomas was in such obvious and excruciating pain that it filled Mark with absolute fear for his father, unsure of how to proceed, what could be done, or how to even ease just a little bit of it all.  Mark feared the worst, feared that perhaps, Thomas would go a lot sooner than had been predicted.  Mark had not thought much about his father's pain until this point, as he slept so often and said little that was intelligible. 

Immediately, Mark called the hospital to find Dr. Alsedaa.  The doctor, unfortunately, had been called away for emergency consultation in Atlanta, leaving Mark to wonder if his father would ever get the proper care necessitated by the moment.  After several hours of enduring the painful screams and both Mark and Shylah praying unendingly for some sort of relief for the old man, a call came in response to Mark's request for aid.  Dr. Alsedaa had been reached and gave word, through the hospital, that he would be driving back from Atlanta very soon.  Unbeknownst to anyone involved, Dr. Alsedaa would not make it back in one piece, driving so fast to reach his dying patient that he veered down a concrete embankment and into a nearby lake, nearly drowning.  The doctor was found by two fishermen and rescued from his submerging vehicle but would be laid up for some time.

Mark and Shylah did all that they could to make things better for Thomas, cleaning and replacing his catheter, spending time with him, Mark speaking and Shylah sometimes singing to him softly, making all attempts to feed the man, though most were fruitless, and giving him occasional extra doses of morphine.  Thomas' morphine drip was rigged with a button to allow for more to be given, but only to a certain extent before it would stop.  No matter how much was given, Thomas seemed to still be in unbearable pain, something which caused Mark and Shylah a great deal of grief and worry.  They sat with Thomas throughout the rest of the day and well into the night, eventually taking shifts with him. 

With no word from the doctor or the hospital, Mark grew impatient and quite worried.  By midnight, Mark gave up and voiced his thoughts to Shylah that the two of them should begin to take night watches, sleeping in small shifts.  Mark offered for Shylah to take the first rest.  She reluctantly agreed and headed off to bed, falling to sleep almost immediately.  Mark agreed that he would wake her at three o'clock.  When that time came, however, Mark decided that since he had slept a little himself, Thomas rested well on his own now, and that Shylah greatly needed her rest in order to care for herself and her unborn child, she should not be woken. 

At nearly five a.m., Shylah wandered into Thomas' room, bleary-eyed and stumbling.  "Honey, what's goin' on?"

"What do you mean, Beautiful," Mark replied, rubbing his own eyes, nearly falling over in his chair.

"You were supposed to wake me like two hours ago.  Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I figured you needed your sleep.  There's nothin' really goin' on here.  Just go back to bed, Baby.  You need it."

"No.  You have a lot goin' on, too.  You need your sleep just as much as I do."

"Babe, just please go back to bed," Mark nearly screamed.  "I got this.  I'll be alright.  Just go.  But come here, and give me a kiss first."

As Shylah pulled her lips away from Mark, she had a look of utter sadness in her eyes that Mark could not bear.  "You... you gotta work today, don't you, Mark?  Why don't you get a little bit of sleep, at least?  You're gonna be a zombie at work."

"Yeah.  I gotta go in later, but I'll be alright.  I slept a few minutes here and there.  I'll drink a gallon of coffee before I go.  I can sleep when I get home, maybe, or when I'm dead, I guess."

"Ok, Baby, but I'm worried about you," Shylah sadly replied, her lips pouting, her eyes almost wet with tears.

"I know, Baby, and I love you for that and for so many millions of other things.  I'll be ok.  I worry about you, too.  And now, I worry about the baby, so please just do this for me, and go get some sleep.  You're gonna have to be here all day with my dad.  You got a lot, too."  With that, Mark puckered his lips as if he were kissing Shylah from a distance, after which, Shylah put her hand in the air to pantomime catching the kiss, putting her fingers to her lips to suggest that she placed the kiss upon her lips.

"Ok, Baby.  I'll see you in a while then, but it won't be so bad today.  The nurse is supposed to be back.  As far as I know, she's gonna be here every couple of days."

"See ya in a while, Baby," Mark whispered as Shylah turned to leave the room.  "I'll at least wake you up before I go to work."

The next thing that Mark knew, he was waking to the sounds of his father mumbling something incoherent and mildly agonizing in pain.  Mark jolted himself out of his chair and over to his father's bed.  Thomas was still fast asleep.  Mark wondered if his father were only dreaming or if he really had been in brief pain.

Mark glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearing eight o'clock.  The first volley of employees would likely be showing up at the plant any minute, if they had not already, and Mark wanted to be there to supervise the best that he could and speak some words of encouragement to all.  Hurrying about the house, downing coffee so quickly that it burned his mouth, finally getting the shower that he had not been able to take, and waking Shylah with a few passionate kisses and kind words, Mark darted out the door, once again forgetting his pills.

The day seemed to go off without a hitch, at least, for a while.  Eight employees showed up first thing and vowed to stay all day.  All were happy not only to be working but that they would receive triple pay, as Mark had offered not only regular pay to all for their off time but double pay for any hours spent cleaning the plant.  While the place was being cleaned by the employees, OSHA inspectors arrived and ordered everyone to stop what they were doing.  None of the employees, Darius and T.L. included, minded very much.  Mark told them that they could stay on the clock while he straightened things out, meaning that they would receive double overtime pay to sit in the break room and drink coffee.

By eleven a.m., the entire place was swarming with various people.  OSHA inspectors buzzed around like the very annoying bees that they were while carpenters and construction men inspected the building to estimate what the repairs would cost, not to mention the cost of adding onto the building.  CATOX men had also arrived to give an estimate of their costs for a new filtration system while a man from a furnace manufacturing company made his own inspection.

Mark felt so exhausted that he questioned his ability to remain at the plant, but he knew that Don could not handle everything himself, or, at the least, that allowing Don to attempt such a thing would be unfair.  If not for constant trips to the coffee machine and numerous treks outside to smoke, Mark might have collapsed, he told himself over and over.  He felt the occasional dizziness rearing its ugly head but found sustenance in guiding himself along walls and railings, and sometimes, guided by the arms of other people.

After the busy buzzing of inspectors and company men began, Mark stole away for yet another smoke, running into T.L. just outside the front door.  T.L., cigarette in hand, shot Mark a look of deep concern at seeing Mark's troubled gate.

"You o.k., Man," T.L. snappily asked, grabbing Mark by the arm to steady him.

"Yeah.  Just head stuff.  Speaking of which, when are you goin' to the doc?  And when did you start smokin' again?"

"You saw me smokin' that night in the bar.  Remember?"

"Yeah, I guess.  That seems like years ago now.  I don't really remember everything from that night anyway, but it kinda rings a bell.  Anyway, what about the doctor, T.?  You better tell me you went!"

"I went."

"And?"

"The doctor said I got a very small fragment of metal in the lower corner of my eye.  It probably won't cause any lasting damage, but it could.  Don't know.  Gotta go back beginning of next week.  Happy now, Mommy?"  T.L. laughed at his own remark, hoping that Mark would, too.

"Yeah, well I ain't your mama, but I'll beat you like I am, smartass!  I'm about out of smokes."  Mark pulled his pack from his shirt pocket and realized that he was not "about out" but was completely diminished of cigarettes, much to his chagrin.  "Nope.  I'm completely out.  Got one for a friend there, T.?"

"I don't know.  You just threatened me, and now you want a smoke off of me.  That just don't sound too nice.  I don't think I can share with ya.  Mine, all mine."

Mark cocked his head a little sideways toward T.L., showing that he was perplexed and taken aback.  "You gonna deny your boss a cigarette?  I'm payin' you triple time, and you won't share one smoke?  Tisk tisk tisk.  Shame on you.  Maybe I'll  have to just give your pay to somebody else.  I think there'd be somebody inside willin' to make quadruple time for today." 

"Oh, well, by all means then, Sir.  Here you go.  Take the whole pack."

"Do you think I'm serious, Man?  I'm messin' with ya.  Hell, I'll buy a smoke off you if you want.  It was just a joke."

"Naw.  I'm messin' with you back.  I know, Man.  We've been friends for what, like twenty... twenty-one... two... three... twenty-three years?  You think I don't know you?  I know you better than you know you.  Just take a cigarette, and shut up.  You're startin' to sound like my sister.  I think maybe you been 'round her too long."

Mark happily indulged T.L.'s offer and pulled a cigarette from the offered package, lighting it with such joy that it brought a deep and lasting smile.  "Ah.  The sweet smoke of freedom!  America in
a tube of glory."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," T.L. replied.  "Whatever you wanna call it.  I don't even think I'm gonna stick with this very long.  I quit for so long that doin' this just feels kinda weird.  And the last time I was smokin', I heard so much grief from my parents that I couldn't take it.  I had to sneak outside and hide behind the trees or out by the pond or in the barn.  I've been smokin' mostly in my truck just to not be seen.  I don't really enjoy it like I used to.  Plus, and no offense here, but maybe you can't understand this, but I had to pay higher insurance rates until I quit.  If the insurance finds out I started again, my rates are gonna go up so high I won't be able to afford it."

"What do you mean I couldn't understand?  I understand just fine."

"Mark, I love you, Man, but no, you don't understand.  You grew up with money.  I grew up without money.  I grew up livin' in a house where everybody had to work their asses off just to be able to barely scrape by.  I know what it's like to have to go without food and to only pray that you might have somethin' like a half a hot dog or a half a bologna sandwich.  I know what it's like to be happy to go to school cuz it means you get to eat.  You never had that.  Your family always had money, and if you think about it, your family got their start by makin' money off the backs of my family, off of their labor, their sweat, their blood, their tears."  Upon finishing, T.L. let out the biggest sigh of his life and took a long, almost lung-burning puff of his cigarette.

Mark's mouth lay agape in awe.  He had no idea that his friend felt such a way.  "T., I... I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything.  I didn't know you felt like that.  I hope you know that that's not me.  That's not who I am.  Maybe I don't really understand, and I'm sorry.  I can't help bein' who I am and havin' what I have.  What my family did to your family a long time ago... that... that wasn't me. That might've been my people, but it's not me.  I didn't do it.  I'm sorry it happened.  I really am.  That's not even the kinda person I am.  That was people a really long time ago doin' bad things to other people, but you're talkin' about so many generations ago."