Chapter 4 no pain at all

Myra straightened up in the back seat of the car, pushed Jack's hand away, and smoothed her skirt. "Okay baby," he whispered with a smile, "relax." "Just relax, Jack," she told him. "I mean it, let go!" His hand was drawn back and lay there powerlessly, but his arm was still languidly around her shoulder.Myra ignored him and just stared out the window in a daze.It was a Sunday evening in late December, and the streets of Long Island looked filthy; crusted snow piled up on the sidewalks, looking filthy.In a closed tavern, a cardboard Santa Claus squints outside.

"I'm sorry for asking you to drive me all the way," Myra said loudly to Marty, who was driving.She wants to be polite. "It's nothing," Marty muttered.He then honked his car horn and yelled at a slow-moving truck ahead, "You son of a bitch, get out of the way." Myra was a little uneasy—why was Marty always so whiny? — but Marty's wife, Erin, curled up in the front seat, smiled friendly. "Marty doesn't care," she said. "It's also good for him. It's better to go out for a walk on Sunday than to lie at home." "Ah," Myra said, "thank you so much." She'd rather have come by herself, as usual, by bus.For four years, she has always come here to visit her husband every Sunday, and she is used to walking this long road.She liked to stop at the little café in Hempstead, have a coffee and a cake, and then change trains home from there.But today, she went to Eileen and Marty's house for dinner with Jack, and it was already late after dinner. Marty offered to drive her to the hospital, and she had to agree.Of course, Eileen had to come, and so did Jack, and they seemed to be doing her a huge favor by doing so.So you still have to be polite. "That's really nice," cried Myra, "to get there in a trolley instead of—don't, Jack!"

Jack said, "Shh... take it easy, baby," but she shook his hand away and turned away.Erin looked at them both, biting her tongue and giggling, and Myra felt herself flushing.It's really nothing to be ashamed of - Eileen and Marty both know Jack and all about them; so do many of her friends, and no one blames her (she's no different than a widow, after all) - it's just that Jack should be more sensible some.Can't he be serious and control his hands now?It's been like this all the way. "Okay," Marty said. "Now we can save time." The truck that was in the way turned the other way, and they picked up speed, leaving the streetcar tracks, the shops behind, the alley into the main road, and onto the highway .

"Want to listen to the radio, guys?" Erin called.She turned on the radio, and someone on it was urging everyone to sit at home and watch TV tonight.She changed the channel and another voice said, "Yes, you get more for your money at the Crawford Mall!" "Turn that son of a bitch off," Marty said, and started honking again, and the car pulled into the fast lane. As the car pulled into the hospital, Erin turned around from the front seat and said, "Hey, this place is beautiful. Really, isn't it beautiful here? Oh look, they have a Christmas tree with There's a little light or something."

"Okay," Marty said, "where to go?" "Go straight ahead," Myra told him, "to the disk, where the Christmas tree is. Then turn right, around the administration building, to the end of that road." Marty did as she said. They turned the corner, and as they approached the long, low TB building, she said, "Here we go, Marty, this is the building." The magazines brought by the husband got out of the car.There is a thin layer of snow on the ground. Eileen shrank her shoulders, put her arms around her body tightly, and turned around. "Oh, it's cold outside, isn't it? Look, honey, how long will you be done? Eight o'clock, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Myra said, "but listen, why don't you guys go home first? I can take the bus back, as I always do." "Who do you think I am, crazy?" Erin said. "You think I'd like to drive back with Jack moping in the backseat?" She giggled, winking at Myra. "He's never happy when you're in the car, let alone let him go home on his own. No, listen, honey, we'll hang around, maybe get a drink or something, and be back here at eight o'clock sharp Come pick you up." "Well, well, but I'd really rather—" "Here it is," Erin said. "At eight o'clock sharp, we'll be waiting for you in front of this building. Now hurry up and close the door, we're freezing to death."

Myra laughed and slammed the car door hard.But Jack was still there unhappy, not looking up, not smiling at her, or waving or anything. The car moved slowly and Myra walked along the road and up the steps of the TB building. The small waiting room smelled of steam and wet overshoes, and she rushed through it, past the door marked "Nurse's Office - Cleaning Area," and into the large, noisy central ward.There are thirty-six beds in the central ward, which are divided into two halves by a wide aisle in the middle, and then divided into small open cubicles by a shoulder-high screen, with six beds in each cubicle.All the sheets and hospital gowns were dyed yellow to keep them separate from the other uncontaminated clothes in the hospital laundry, a yellow that combined with the grey-green walls was disgusting, and Myra was still not used to it.And the noise was unbearable. Each patient had a radio, and it seemed like everyone was listening to it at the same time, and not on the same channel.There were quite a few visitors sitting by the beds—a new male patient was lying on the bed with his arms around his wife and kissing—the men on the other beds looked lonely, some were reading books, some were listening to the radio .

Myra had gone to the bed before her husband noticed.He sat cross-legged on the bed, frowning and staring at something on his lap in a daze. "Hello, Harry," she said. He looked up. "Oh, hi honey, didn't see you coming." She bent down and kissed him quickly on the cheek.Sometimes they kiss on the lips, but that's not really allowed. Harry glanced at his watch. "You're late. Is the car late?" "I didn't come here by bus," she said, taking off her coat. "I hitchhiked. The girl from our office, Erin, remember? She and her husband drove me here."

"Oh, that's fine. Why didn't you invite them in?" "Oh, they can't stay long—going somewhere else. But they say hello to you. Here, I've brought these." "Oh, thanks, that's great." He took the magazines and spread them out on the bed: Life, and Popular Science. "Great, dear. Sit down and wait." Myra threw her coat over the back of the chair by the bed and sat down. "Hi, Mr. Chains," she greeted the tall black man on the next bed, who nodded and grinned at her. "How are you, Mrs. Wilson?" "Very good, thank you, how about you?"

"Oh, it's no use whining," said Mr. Charnes. She glanced at Reid O'Mara on Harry's other side, where he was lying on the bed listening to the radio. "Hi, Red." "Oh, hi, Mrs. Wilson. Didn't see you coming in." "Is your wife coming tonight, Red?" "She's coming to see me on Saturday now, she was here last night." "Oh," Myra said, "well, tell her I say hello." "Of course I will, Mrs. Wilson." Then she smiled at the old man in the cubicle opposite.She could never remember his name, and no one ever visited him.He smiled shyly at her too.She sat down on the small steel chair and opened her handbag for cigarettes. "What's that on your knee, Harry?" It was a log-colored wooden ring, about a foot wide, with woven blue wool hanging from the small teeth on both sides.

"Oh, this one?" said Harry, holding it up. "They call it rake knitting. I learned it in occupational therapy." "What knitting?" "Rake knitting. Take this little hook and, like a rake, hook the wool thread up and down each of the tines, and just like that, go round and round this loop until you've got a scarf, Or a woolen hat—or something like that. Got it?" "Oh, I see," Myra said. "It's like what we used to do when we were kids, except we used a regular little spool of spool with little teeth on it. You wind the thread around the little teeth, thread it through the spool, and you're done. Pretty much." "Oh, is it?" said Harry. "Using a spool, huh? Yeah, I think my sister used to do that too, now that I remember. Using a spool. You're right, it's the same principle, just bigger." "What are you going to knit?" "Oh, I don't know, I'm just bored to pass the time. I think I might knit a beanie or something. I don't know." He examined the rake fabric, turned it over, and leaned up. , and threw it on the bedside table. "Just looking for something to do." Myra handed him the pack of cigarettes, and he took one out.When he bent over to face the fire, the collar of the yellow hospital gown was open, and she saw his chest, unbelievably thin, dimpled on the side where the ribs had been removed, showing the last surgery The scar that had just healed after that was extremely ugly. "Thanks, honey," he said, the cigarette flickering in his mouth.He leaned back against the pillow, his socked feet stretched out on the bed. "How are you feeling, Harry?" she asked. "fine." "You look better," she lied. "It would look better if I put on a little more weight." "Close the bill," came the voice over the blaring radio, and Myra looked around to see a small man in a wheelchair coming down the middle aisle.He was sitting in a wheelchair, but he was slowly moving the wheelchair with his feet.Turning the wheel by hand involves the chest and should be avoided by tuberculosis patients.He made a beeline for Harry's hospital bed, showing all his yellow teeth in a grin. "The account is cleared," he repeated, as the wheelchair stopped beside Harry's bed.A rubber tube protruded from his chest bandage, looped over the top of his hospital gown, secured with a safety pin, and ended in a small, rubber-stoppered vial in his breast pocket , appears heavy. "Quick, quick," he said, "clear the bill." "Oh, yes!" Harry laughed. "I forgot all about it, Walter." He took a dollar from the nightstand drawer and handed it to the man, whose thin fingers folded the money and pocketed it with the bottle. "All right, Harry," he said. "We're done, aren't we?" "Yes, Walter." He tipped the wheelchair back and turned it around and Myra saw his chest and back and shoulders crumpled and deformed. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, smiling faintly at Myra. She smiled. "Nothing." When he returned to the aisle, she asked, "What did you mean?" "Oh, we bet on Friday night's boxing match. I'd forgotten about it." "Oh. Have I seen him before?" "Who, Walter? I think you did, darling. You must have seen him when I was just out of surgery. Old Walter had surgery about two years ago; they sent him back last week Yeah. The guy's had a rough time. What a man." "What's on his hospital gown? What's that bottle for?" "That's the drain," Harry said, leaning back on the yellow pillow. "Old Walter's a good fellow; I'm glad he's back." Then he whispered, in a low voice, "Actually, there aren't many good people left in the ward, and the old ones are dead. , or the operation is complete and we are gone.” "Don't you like these new guys?" Myra asked in a whisper, too, so that the newcomer Red O'Mara wouldn't hear. "Looks like they've been nice to me." "Oh, I think they're not bad," said Harry. "I'm just saying, well, I'm used to being around people like Walter. We've been through a lot of things together. I don't know. These new guys can get on your nerves sometimes, especially the way they talk .Like, they all think they know a lot about tuberculosis, they know everything; I mean, you can't talk to them, it just annoys you." Myra said she thought she understood him, but it seemed better to change the subject. "Eileen thinks the hospital is very beautiful, and the Christmas tree is also very beautiful." "Oh, is it?" Harry leaned forward cautiously, flicking his cigarette into the spotless ashtray on the bedside table.Since his long illness in bed, he has become very meticulous and tidy. "How's work, honey?" "Ah, I think it's all right. I told you about a girl named Janet who got fired for taking too long to eat out at noon, remember? People were so scared they were going to crack down on the half-hour lunch time .” "Oh, yes," said Harry, but Myra could tell he didn't remember at all, and wasn't listening. "Well, it seems to be all right now, because Erin and three other girls were out for about two hours last week, and no one said anything. One of them, Ruth, has been worried for months that she will be killed. Fired, this time no one said anything to her." "Oh, is it?" said Harry. "Well, that's fine." Then there was a pause. "Harry?" she said. "What, dear?" "Did they tell you anything new?" "What's new?" "I mean, did I tell you to have surgery on the other side too?" "Oh, no, dear. I told you it was going to be a long time before we expected to hear anything - I think I explained it to you before." He narrowed his eyes and smiled slightly, showing that he thought This is a very stupid question.long, long ago.When she asked, "When do you think they'll let you go home," he always gave the same look at first.Now he says, "The problem is I'm recovering from this latest surgery. You can only do one thing at a time; you have to rest for a long time after surgery before you're really out of harm's way, especially as I've been doing recently—how long ——Four years? People who have records of failure. No, they didn’t say anything, all they did was wait, I don’t know, maybe six months, maybe longer, depending on the recovery here. Then It's only when they decide that the other side won't move. Maybe another operation, maybe it won't. You don't have anything to hope for in that, darling, you know." "No, of course, Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ask such a stupid question. I just said, well, how are you feeling. Are you still in pain?" "It doesn't hurt anymore, it doesn't hurt anymore," Harry said, "I mean, as long as I don't lift my hands too high or anything. It hurts a little bit when I do it, and sometimes when I roll over on my side in sleep." It hurts, but as long as I'm - you know - in a normal position, well, it doesn't hurt at all." "That's great," she said. "Anyway, I'm glad to hear that." For a long time the two of them had nothing to say, and the blaring of the radio, the laughter from the other beds, the coughing made their silence seem eerie.Harry began flipping through Popular Science with his thumb.Myra's eyes wandered around until they settled on a photo frame on the bedside table, a zoomed-in snapshot of the two of them before they got married.It was shot in her mom's backyard in Michigan.She looks very young in the photo, wearing a skirt from 1945, with long legs.At that time, she didn't know how to dress at all, or even how to stand. She didn't know anything, and she could only welcome everything with a child-like smile.And Harry—strangely Harry looks older in the picture than he does now, probably because of his big face and stocky figure, and of course the clothes also played a role—he was wearing a dark, shiny, of boots.Oh, he used to be good-looking, square-jawed, dark gray eyes--better than average, much better than that stocky Jack, for example.But now he is so thin that his lips and eyes are soft, making him look like a thin boy.The face shape has also changed, which matches the hospital gown quite well. "I'm so glad you brought this to me," Harry said, referring to Popular Science, "there's an article in it I'd like to read." "Okay," she said.But she also wanted to say, "Can't we watch it after I leave?" Harry flicked the cover of the magazine, resisting the urge to read it, and said, "What about the rest, dear? I mean outside of work." "It's fine," she said. "I got a letter from my mother that day, it was a Christmas card. She said hello." "Okay," said Harry.In the end the magazine won, and he opened the magazine again to the article he wanted to read, read a few lines at random—as if just to make sure it was the one he wanted—and then got stuck in the article. in the article. Myra lit another on the butt of her last cigarette, picked up a copy of Life Weekly, and began flipping through it.From time to time she looked up at him; he lay there, chewing the knuckles on the back of his hand, reading a magazine, with the toes of one foot curled up and scratching at the heel of the other. They spent the rest of their visit in this way.About eight o'clock came a group of people from the other side of the aisle, laughing and pushing a piano on rubber casters-the group was the Sunday night Red Cross show crew, Mrs. Balachek led, She's a nice, stocky woman in uniform, and she's going to play tonight.A tenor followed behind pushing the piano. He was young, pale, and his lips were always wet.Then came a bloated diva: a soprano in a taffeta top that looked taut under her arms;They pushed the piano on wheels close to Harry's bed, which stretched almost across the length of the ward.Mrs. Balachek opened the playlist. Harry looked up. "Good evening, Mrs. Balachek." Her glasses sparkled. "How is tonight, Harry? Would you like to hear some Christmas carols tonight?" "Okay, ma'am." The radios were turned off one after another, and the conversation died down.Just as Mrs. Balachek was about to hit the keys, a squat nurse stepped in, stomping the floor of the aisle with her rubber-shoeed foot, while she held out her hand to block the music, so she could make an announcement.As Mrs. Balachek sat down, the nurse craned her neck and yelled first one way down the aisle, "Visiting hours ended!" Then she turned and yelled the other way, "Visiting hours ended!" Mrs. Rachek nodded, smiled slightly behind the sterilized linen mask, and stomped away.After a moment of whispered deliberation, Mrs. Balachek began to play the opening song "Jingle Bells" with trembling cheeks, masking the confusion caused by the departure of the visitors, the singers resting and coughing softly; they waited for the audience to be quiet Come down and start the show. "Yeah," said Harry, "I didn't realize it was so late. Come on, I'll walk you to the door." He sat up slowly, his feet dangling over the edge of the bed. "No, don't bother, Harry," Myra said. "Lie down and don't move." "No, it's fine," he said, putting on his slippers. "Can you pass me that robe, honey?" He stood up, and she helped him into the corduroy VA bathrobe, which was too short for him. "Good night, Mr. Chains," Myra said, and Mr. Chains grinned at her and nodded.Then she said goodnight to Red O'Mara and the elderly man.She said goodbye to Walter as they passed Walter's wheelchair on the aisle.Myra took Harry's arm, horrified at how thin his arm was, and followed his slow pace cautiously.A small group of clumsily dressed visitors lingered in the waiting room, standing face to face among the visitors. "Now," said Harry, "take care of yourself, dear. See you next week." "Oh, oh," said a mother with her thick shoulders out, "it's cold tonight." She turned and came in, waved to her son, took her husband's arm, and walked down the steps and up the snow-covered path .Someone held the door open to let the other visitors out, and the cold air flooded the room, and then the door closed again, leaving only Harry and Myra inside. "Okay, Harry," Myra said, "you go back to your music and sleep." He stood there with his bathrobe open, looking very frail.She came up, covered and adjusted for him, covered his chest, and fastened the belt hanging around his waist.He smiled at her. "Now you go back, don't catch a cold." "Okay. Good night, honey." "Good night," she said, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. "Good night, Harry." She stood at the door and watched him walk towards the ward in a tightly tied high-waisted bathrobe.Then she went outside and down the steps, turning up her collar in the sudden cold.Marty's car hadn't arrived yet; the road was deserted, except for the sparse backs of a few visitors trudging toward the station near the administration building under the streetlights.She wrapped her coat tighter and stood close to the building, trying to avoid the strong wind. Inside "Jingle Bells" ended, faint applause was heard, and after a while the show officially started.Several solemn chords were played on the piano, and the singing came over: Myra's throat was suddenly blocked, and the streetlight flashed past her eyes.She stuffed half of her fist into her mouth, sobbing pitifully, and the hot air she exhaled drifted away in the darkness.It took her a long time to stop, and every time she sniffed, she made a loud noise that could be heard several miles away.Finally, she calmed down, or almost calmed down.She tried her best not to shake her shoulders too much, then blew her nose, put away her handkerchief, and closed the bag with a solemn snap. Then the headlights flashed at the end of the road.She ran to the road and stood in the wind and waited. There was a warm smell of whiskey in the car, a few cherry red cigarette butts flickering, and Erin yelled, "Ooooh! Come on, close the door!" As soon as the car door closed, Jack's arms came around, and he whispered hoarsely, "Hello, baby!" They were all a little drunk; even Marty was in high spirits. "Hold on, everyone!" he yelled.They turned around the administration building, passed the Christmas tree, and the car came out the gate, straight and smooth, accelerating. "Everyone, hurry up!" Erin's face was shaking, and the voice of chatter drifted from the front seat. "Myra, honey, listen, we found the cutest little place just down the road, sort of like a roadside hotel or something, and it's cheap as hell! So listen, we want to take you there again Have something to drink there, okay?" "Okay," said Myra, "of course." "I mean, we've been there, but I want you to go and see there anyway... Marty, can you be careful!" she laughed. "Honestly, you know what? I'd be scared to death with someone else, drank so much of him, and drove this car! But you never have to worry about old Marty. He's the best old man in the world." Driver, I'm not worried about whether he's drunk or not." But they didn't hear it.They were kissing passionately, and Jack's hand slipped into her coat, moved expertly around, and then under the clothes until he took her breasts. "Don't be mad at me again, okay, baby?" He put his mouth against hers and murmured. "Would you like to have a drink?" She wrapped her arms around his solid back, holding on, and turned herself around so his other hand could sneak into the base of her thigh. "Okay," she whispered, "we'll just have a drink and—" "Okay baby, okay." "—and then, dear, we'll go home."

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