When the Legends Die (26 page)

It was easier the next morning, still easier the next. She exclaimed at his determination, his growing strength, and his quick skill with the chair. “You’ve still got a long way to go, but you just don’t know what it is to give up, do you?”

“I never did. Why should I start now?”

She laughed. “I suppose you’ve always been this way, tough and determined. But you would have to be. It takes courage and determination to ride a bucking horse, doesn’t it? Did you always know how, or is it something, like learning to walk again, that you have to learn?”

He was resting between sessions with the chair. “Look,” he said; “broncs are mean. They’re outlaws. You either learn how to ride or you get hurt. I learned by riding broncs.”

“Oh. Didn’t you ever have a pet bronc, as you call them?”

“A pet bronc?” He laughed at her. “I just told you broncs are mean. They’re not like dogs. Give them half a chance, they’ll kill you.”

“I had a dog once. I was just a little girl and it followed me home and I had it all afternoon and I wanted to keep it and take care of it, but my mother said it was just a dirty mongrel. And when my father came home he called the dog warden to come take it away. I cried all night.”

“Over a stray dog?”

“Don’t you know what it’s like to grow up without anything or anyone to love and take care of? No, I guess not. I guess only girls feel that way.”

“Didn’t you ever have another dog?”

She shook her head. “I finished school and went into training, and—“ She shrugged. “Some get married, some turn into sour, cat-loving old maids, and some just try to help people. I guess I’m that kind.” She laughed self-consciously. “Besides, I don’t like cats. They’re too independent.”

He wheeled the chair away, down the room, and resumed his exercise. He was going to walk out of here, and he wasn’t going to wait too long. He wheeled himself up and down the room, making plans.

Tuesday came, Mary Redmond was off duty, and he called another nurse to bring the chair and help him into it. They went to the sun porch and he dismissed her, said he would be all right alone. When she had gone he moved the chair to a place where he could grasp a window frame and lift himself out of the chair and onto his feet. He stood there for several minutes, then sat down and rested and did it again. His legs were weak and his hip joints stiff and painful, but he took a few tentative steps, holding to the window frames. He rested again, then made his way with halting steps halfway down the room and back. He almost fell twice, but caught himself, holding to the window frames. Then he returned to the chair, sweating with the effort, and was staring out the window when the nurse returned.

The next morning he managed a dozen steps without holding on to anything, balancing carefully on his weak legs. He could walk again.

Mary Redmond came back after her days off and said, “You look pleased with life today, Chief. As though something nice happened.”

“I’m getting well.”

“Of course you are.” She gave him a frowning look and started making his bed. “You begin to get well and you get impatient. You feel better and you think you’re all well. Even though you’re not.”

“I’m going to walk again,” he said. “And ride again.”

“Not right away. You will need taking care of for a while, even after you leave here. You know that, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer and she asked. “Was Dr. Ferguson in to see you yesterday?”

“No.”

“I thought maybe he said you could try the walker in another week or so.” She finished the chores and left, and came back half an hour later with the chair. “Now you go for your ride, your daily dozen.” She helped him into the chair, even more solicitous than usual. They went to the sun porch and she sat and waited while he wheeled the chair to the end of the room and back. She wanted to talk, but he shook his head. “Just leave me alone a while. I’ll be all right. Go give somebody an enema, or a massage, or something.”

Reluctantly she left him. As soon as she was gone he got out of the chair, walked carefully down the room and back. He rested for a few minutes, then walked again. He was halfway down the room, taking his third walk, when Mary Redmond came back.

“What are you doing?” she exclaimed, running toward him.

“I’m walking.”

“You can’t! You’re not supposed to leave the chair!” She tried to take his arm. He shrugged her off, almost lost his careful balance, caught himself and slowly walked back to the chair. She hovered beside him, wanting to take his arm but afraid he would lose his balance and fall if she tried. He reached the chair and let himself down into it.

“You mustn’t do that! You mustn’t!”

“I did it.”

“You,” she said severely, “are going right back to your room. You’re not ready yet to walk. You are still weak. Suppose you had fallen.”

“I’d have picked myself up.”

She angrily piloted the chair back down the corridor and ordered him into bed.

“Who do you think you are, ordering me around?” he demanded. But he let her help him back into bed and lay there, expecting her to calm down, give him a massage and admire his achievement. Instead, she took the chair and left the room, bristling with indignation. Fifteen minutes later she was back, with Dr. Ferguson.

They came in and the surgeon looked at Tom, appraising. “So,” he said gruffly, “you pulled a Lazarus.” Then he smiled. “Knowing you, I’m not surprised.”

“But he isn’t—” Mary Redmond started to speak, then bit her lip as Dr. Ferguson glanced at her with a frown. He looked at Tom again. “All right, let’s see you do it again. Think you can get out of bed and walk over to the window?”

Tom threw back the covers and carefully moved his legs over the edge of the bed. Mary Redmond hurried toward him, but Dr. Ferguson waved her away. “Let him do it alone.” To Tom he said, “Go ahead. If you’ve done any damage to those bones, a few more steps won’t make it any worse.”

Tom felt for the floor and stood up. He was still tired from his walk on the sun porch, but by watching each step and balancing carefully he crossed the room to the window, turned, and came back to the bed. His forehead was beaded with sweat from the effort, but there was both triumph and defiance in his eyes.

Dr. Ferguson nodded. “Not bad. Not bad at all. You’re a week ahead of schedule.”

“How soon can I get out of here?” Tom demanded.

“That depends. If you tried to walk out of here today you’d fall flat on your face in ten minutes. Your muscles are still weak. Right now you’re walking on sheer will power and your sense of balance. But you are walking, no question about that.” He considered. “Before I can release you I want some X rays and I want to run a few tests. That will take a few days. Meanwhile you can get those muscles toughened up and those legs working a little better. Just being in bed as long as you have takes a lot out of anyone.”

“How long?” Tom insisted.

“Well, let’s plan on next Tuesday or Wednesday. Unless die pictures or the tests show something. How does that sound?”

“All right.”

“After you leave here, though, you’ll have to take it easy for a while. You’re not well yet. You’ll need a few weeks in some place like a convalescent home. Where you can walk and rest and be well taken care of. We have a list of good places at the office. I’ll tell them to send a list up.” He held out his hand. “Stout fellow.”

They shook hands and Dr. Ferguson started to leave, then turned back and said, “I’ll set up the X rays for tomorrow. Then we’ll set up the other tests.”

Mary Redmond was still there after the surgeon left. She looked at Tom almost accusingly, seemed about to say something. Then she changed her mind and left him alone. He lay back in bed and every muscle in his body seemed to scream as the tensions began to let down.

H
E WAS LOOKING AT
the list of convalescent homes the next morning when Mary Redmond came in. He didn’t like the sound of any of them. She came in, bright as always, and said, “Well, stout fellow! I expected you’d be up, have your bed made and be out taking a constitutional.”

“Where is White Plains?” he asked.

“Out in Westchester. Why?”

“Where’s Stamford?”

“Connecticut.” She looked over his shoulder, saw the list and said, “Oh, those places.” Then she said. “You won’t want to walk this morning, I guess. There won’t be time after you’ve eaten your breakfast. You are scheduled for X rays at a quarter of ten.”

“I had breakfast early so I would have time. Bring the chair and I’ll go out on the sun porch while you straighten things up in here.”

“You can’t rush things that way. Maybe this afternoon—”

“Go get the chair,” he ordered.

She brought the chair and would have gone to the porch with him, but he said firmly, “I’m going alone.”

“You heard Dr. Ferguson say you’d fall on your face in ten minutes.”

“If I do, I’ll get up again.” He wheeled the chair into the corridor and went to the sun porch alone. He alternately walked and rested for twenty minutes before Mary Redmond returned. When he sat down again she said, “Those homes on that list—some of them are pretty terrible. And the really good ones have long waiting lists.”

He didn’t answer.

“What you really need,” she said, “is just a quiet place and somebody to look after you and see that you get good meals and plenty of rest. And you should continue the massages. That’s what really got you on your feet this soon. I hope you realize that.”

He wheeled his chair back to the windows and resumed his walking, slowly, carefully. He still had to concentrate on every step. He had never tried it, but he imagined walking a tight wire was something like this, demanding almost as sure a sense of balance. He walked and he rested again, and Mary Redmond said, as though there had been no interruption, “You need a place where you can walk several times a day, too. Oh, I wish you had a place like my apartment! It’s just two blocks from the Drive. Did you ever walk along the river and look at the water and watch the gulls?”

“Gulls? Those birds that never sing, just squawk and fight over garbage?”

“They don’t squawk. They cry, like lonely children.” She looked at her watch. “It’s after nine and you’d better rest before your X rays.”

“One more walk,” he said, and went back to the windows and walked to the end of the room and back. Then they returned to his room, she helped him into bed and gave him the daily massage. Her hands seemed even more deft and gentle than usual and she gave him a long, thorough rub before the orderly came and took him to the X ray laboratory. That afternoon, after Mary Redmond had gone off duty, he called for the chair, and a strange nurse took him to the sun porch. He walked, rested, and walked again for almost an hour.

The next morning Mary Redmond came in triumphant about something, but she kept it to herself till they were on the sun porch and he had walked his first round. Then she said, “I’ve found just the place for you.”

“Where?”

“Near Nyack.”

“What’s Nyack? It sounds like a fish or a disease.”

“It’s a town, just up the Hudson. This place is out in the country and you’ll love it. I know the woman who runs it. I used to work for her. I called her last night and she has a room she’ll save for you.”

“Oh.”

“Isn’t that wonderful?”

“I’ll have to think about it.” He wheeled the chair away and started walking again. Something in this situation added up wrong. He tried to puzzle it out, forgot to concentrate on his walking, lost his balance and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught hold of a window frame. Mary Redmond was watching and ran to take his arm, steady him. He shrugged her off and snapped, “Leave me alone. I’m all right.” He was angry at himself, not at her; but when she said, “You’re tired. You’d better rest,” he flared, “Leave me alone, I said. I know what I’m doing.”

He walked, and rested, and refused to talk, and walked again, driving himself. And finally he sat down in the chair and ordered, “Take me back to my room.”

She took him to his room, but before she had a chance to massage him an orderly came to take him for the other tests.

It was noon before they finished with the tests. He ate a late lunch. Then, worn out, he slept. He had just awakened when Mary Redmond came in, about to go off duty. “I have to call my friend in Nyack this evening,” she said. “Do you want me to tell her to hold that room for you?”

He had to think for a moment to remember what she was talking about. When he didn’t answer she said, “I’m not trying to talk you into anything. It’s just for your own good.” She hesitated, then hurried on. “When I mentioned my apartment yesterday I didn’t mean a tiling. I was just thinking of you and a nice place to walk. So don’t get any wrong ideas. If you go to Nyack I may go up there on a day off to see that you are getting the right kind of massage. But beyond that—“

Then he remembered and the whole pattern fell into place. Blue Elk, Benny Grayback, Rowena Ellis, Red Dillon—they had trapped him, every one of them, tried to run his life, make him do things their way. And now Mary Redmond.

“Tell your friend,” he said, “I’ve made other plans.”

“But—but what happened?” She stared at him, then asked, “Did Dr. Ferguson find a place for you?”

“No. I found it all by myself.”

“Oh. … Well, I hope it’s what you need.”

“It is.”

There didn’t seem to be anything more to say. She turned and left the room.

When she had gone, he got pencil and paper and set down figures and added them up. He knew how much he had in the safe at the hotel, the money he had left with the clerk for safekeeping. He estimated the surgeon’s bill and the hospital charges. He made a guess at what he could get for his car. He hated to sell the car, but he had to pay the bills, and he could get another car when he was in the money again.

He added and subtracted and decided that after he had paid train fare and bus fare he would have a hundred and fifty, maybe even two hundred dollars. Enough for a while. At least, he wouldn’t be flat broke. Then he smiled wryly. “Heroes die broke.” Well, he wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t broke. Not quite.

That evening he sat for a long time in the chair beside the window and he remembered another night, long ago, when he sat beside the window in a shabby little Texas hotel, waiting for Red. Red didn’t come in. Red was drunk. And the next day, when Red tried to tell him what to do, how to ride, he had knocked Red down, twice, then walked out because he knew he would kill Red if he had to, to get free. He had only one regret now, about Red. Red never saw him ride on the big circuit.