An Event at City Hospital |
Issue 16
|
|
Two City Hospital orderlies maneuvered the gurney from the corridor into the room. The doctor followed in. “Easy now,” he said. Gently, they lifted the invalid onto the bed. With a wave, he dismissed the attendants.
The young physician pulled over a chair, sat down, and spoke softly. “Sir, can you hear me?” The middle-aged man opened his eyes and raised a hand. “Yes…even though I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone.” “That’s expected, but be assured, you’re improving. However, we had to place you in a shared room because of the overcrowding. Leaving you in a corridor was not an option for our governor.” “I don’t have my own room?” The doctor patted the man’s hand. “Don’t worry, you have the best care.” It had only been a couple of hours, but the governor recalled bits and pieces of what happened: a gunshot, people screaming, his guards pushing him to the ground, an ambulance siren. In the emergency room, lying on his back with the ceiling lights blinding him, nurses and doctors, all in PPE gowns and masks, scrambled and shouted over him. The governor, himself a film buff, was reminded of movies in which the populace flees the zombies. “As I was saying,” continued the doctor, “it’s a shared room.” He pointed to a curtain that hung between the beds. “Instead of the usual fabric, we’re using plastic to reduce the possibility of transference.” The other side was dark, but one could make out a white sheet covering a person. “He was struck by the bullet that went through you.” “Oh no.” The governor tried to rise. “Let me see him.” “Sir,” the doctor said, placing his hand on the man’s chest. “Please remain as still as possible. The bullet missed your heart by millimeters; I need a day to confirm that all is good. Tomorrow, we'll get you walking, and you should be out a day later. You were lucky in how you were spared.” “Then I’ll talk with him.” “You can’t. He’s comatose. The reality is that he won’t make it. It’s a matter of hours, if not minutes.” The doctor checked the wall clock: 2:05 PM. “There’s nothing you can do?” asked the governor. “There’s nothing I can do.” “You’re very matter-of-fact about this.” “It is what it is.” The physician showed a smile of reassurance. “However, for you, it’s a second chance, but I need you to stay in bed. I want to make sure everything is fine so you can return to your duties.” The governor felt remorseful. Someone had tried to kill him as he campaigned for re-election, and now, a few feet over, was a total stranger, about to die for him. “What did he do?” “Oh, I don’t know. With all that’s going on, there’s little time to get into someone’s background.” The doctor leaned closer and spoke gently. “I’m going to speak out of line. I hope you agree that this incident, in its random way, can be fortuitous.” “Incident? You call being shot an ‘incident'? Such a trivial word! Someone tried to assassinate me! This is an event, not an incident.” The doctor sat back. “You’re right, it’s an event, a major event. And there are reporters downstairs clamoring to see you. Due to the virus, we can keep them out.” “I understand.” The governor seemed satisfied. “But it’s good that they're out there.” “Sir, it's not my business to give opinions unless they are medical. But what I'm going to say is related to your health. “I disagree with many of the things you stand for. I won’t get into specifics, but consider this: in essence, you’ve been reborn. This can be an opportunity for you to redirect your energies in a positive manner. Instead of anger, embrace humility. Rather than tear down, build up. Instead of dividing—” the doctor clasped his hands “— bring together. Don’t waste this chance.” “Are you getting spiritual with me?” “Oh no, not me,” the doctor laughed. “I’m strictly science, but think about what I said. And please try to sleep and stay as still as possible.” He stood. “I’ve assigned our best RN to keep tabs on you.” He shook the man’s hand and departed the room. Whenever the governor heard suggestions as the doctor gave, he usually lashed out, becoming loud, calling the others names, and belittling their intelligence and ethnic origins. But now, he felt conflicted. The physician’s points were valid, but if he took the advice, he would have to explain his transformation to his legion of admirers. They supported him exactly for what the doctor criticized him for. If he reversed his position, his followers no doubt would desert him and find a new leader. If he did a 180 on his promises, he needed to come up with excuses. He would not be able to blame others as he usually did. No, a complete about-face of policies would be political suicide. His guard detail, a man and a woman, both wearing masks, stood outside the door. They knew their governor. Sooner or later, he would castigate them for the security lapse. The RN approached them, pushing the monitor unit. The female guard did a quick search while the other inspected the machine. “Hello, sir. I’m here to take your vitals.” Despite the gown, mask, and gloves she wore, her body took his mind off his ambivalence. He recalled porn movies with nurses. Even better, he remembered compliant women from over the years. She placed her stethoscope on his chest. When she finished listening and began to step back, the governor took hold of the round piece. “After you finish, may I take your vitals?” “Not a good idea,” she laughed. She was used to handling these situations. “Your wife is due any moment from her trip. I’m sure she won’t approve. I hear she’s a saint—” Realizing she was getting personal, she stopped and, instead, said. “Besides, in a tussle, I could do bad things to you, like accidentally remove the IV in your arm or knock your bedpan out.” “Won’t you reconsider? The guards know the drill.” The nurse stood up straight. “I’m married, I keep my commitments.” He changed tactics. “Nurse, do you know anything about the gentleman over there?” “I heard that he managed a soup kitchen.” The governor contemplated the different histories between them. He, born rich and well connected, and the soup kitchen guy, probably a poor slob who spent his time with the even less fortunate. Heck, they both did what they thought was best for the common good. “Nurse, if you won’t take this opportunity with me, could you at least open the drapes and let in some light?” “That I can do.” Pulling them back, the view revealed a multi-story apartment building across the avenue. Hanging from the third-floor balcony was a large banner with the painted words, “Don’t Let This Incident Change Your Goals.” A small group waved from behind the sign. Incident? The governor scowled and made a fist. “On second thought, they need to be shut.” “Those are my people! I can acknowledge them.” “Sorry, for your security, they have to be closed. It’s ironic. According to the cops, the gunman has confessed to being one of your supporters who felt you were soft on your issues.” “What do you mean?” The RN read the monitor on the machines. “Your signs are improving. Try to relax and sleep.” “Nurse, I asked you a question. What do you mean, ironic?" She stopped entering the data. She wanted to berate this man, but understood she should not, but what the hell. Lately, the hospital felt like the end of the world. “Somehow—” the nurse placed her hands on her hips. “—one can summarize your policies into equations like, ‘More guns equal less violence. Vaccines spread disease. Do you know how crazy that is?” “That’s enough!” He slammed his hand down on the bed. “Sir, don’t strain yourself.” As much as she despised him, the last thing she wanted was to make him worse. “I’m sorry. I’ll shut up.” Besides, the sooner he left, the quicker another patient could get a bed. He reached out to her. “Come, take my hand. Sit on the bed and be nice to me, and I’ll pardon your comments.” “Sir, there’s too much going on. Try prayer; they can prevent the rust that is building in your soul.” “Oh, you’re the spiritual one.” “I need to check your roommate and get to the other cases.” The nurse rolled the machine to the other side. She took the man’s wrist and counted to 60. She placed the stethoscope on the chest. She checked the pupils and, with tears in her eyes, whispered, “This man has passed.” The RN made the sign of the cross and pulled the sheet over the man’s face. She looked at the clock: 2:25 PM. Quickly, she pushed the unit and passed the governor. “I heard you say he’s dead.” “Yes, but a doctor has to make it official.” She hurried out of the room. He tried to look through the plastic barrier, but it was too thick, the section too dark, to make out any details except for the outline of the body and the white sheet over it. Whoever he was, the governor would pay for the funeral and exalt the victim as a martyr. He would use the innocent bystander’s death to double down on his agenda. He was tired and knew he should try to sleep. The governor shifted slowly and tried to nod off, but could not. He found himself staring at the dead man. As if his head was frozen in position and his eyes would not shut. He felt his throat dry up. With a rasp, he called for one of his guards, and the man stepped in. “Chuck, the guy in the bed has died. See what’s taking so long for the doctor to get back so he can be removed. It’s creeping me out.” Of course, as soon as they remove him, they’ll bring another patient in. “Sir,” he answered. “The staff is overloaded. They’re trying to move other victims out, but they’re debating where to take the bodies.” Feeling the floor rumble as the machines and gurneys were wheeled along the corridor, the governor peered at the curtain. Against his will, his thoughts began to flood with scenes of old horror movies where the dead come to life. His mind saw hands break out of graves, bodies emerge and rise, and, like wide-eyed sleepwalkers with arms extended, stalk the living. What was happening? “Chuck, no excuses, do something about it!” The guard ran out. The governor stared at the clock. Ten minutes went by, fifteen, and still no one came in. A man’s voice, high-pitched but weak, as if something was caught in his throat, spoke from the other side. “The bullet was meant for you, not for me.” “Huh?” The startled governor focused on the curtain separating him from the dead man. “The bullet—it was meant for you. But it got me.” The governor tried to move but could not. “Um…yes, I know. But it’s not my fault. The bullet almost got me. It could have been me. I got lucky.” “I sure wasn’t,” said the voice, taking deep breaths and becoming clearer. “And now you’re going to pay for my funeral and make me some kind of martyr? My death is supposed to get you re-elected?” “How can you know my thoughts?” He gripped the call button, pressing it repeatedly. “How can you know that?” The body did not move. However, it continued to speak. “Governor, I’m no angel, but compared to you, I was a Boy Scout.” The governor shook his head. “Stop it. This can’t be.” With the strange voice and memories of horror films overtaking him, he reached for the remote and clicked on the TV. It was the news, and it was about him. Turning the volume up, he watched crowds scream at each other and shake signs with opposing messages. “I forgive you,” said the man, his voice rising. “Forgive what?” “I forgive you for the lies you have spread throughout your life.” “Chuck, get in here!” The governor tried to holler, but his voice faltered, lowering to a whisper. No answer. The governor kept pressing the call button. He heard people run in the halls, shout, and call for help. The voice changed and became a woman’s. “I forgive you for all your philandering.” My god! It’s my wife. Starting to pant, his head snapped back and forth: she was not there. The voice became masculine again, this time sounding much older, like a man critically ill, barely able to get a word out. “Son…forgive me for instilling in you…all the wrong values. I’m so ashamed for instructing you…on how to cheat your way through life. But you were smart. You should have known better.” Through the curtain, he saw the body, a shadowy silhouette, rise. A hand lifted the curtain halfway, enough for legs to come over and hang over the side of the bed. The governor saw the white hem of the gown fall between the knees and ankles. The other hand reached to the side of the curtain and began to pull it back. The governor’s body jerked. He trembled, he shook, and, trying to make himself sit up and get out, he instead heaved over, rolling off and crashing onto the floor, dragging the IV stand down onto him. The nurse and doctor rushed in. The physician dropped down and began striking the man’s chest. “Damn it! I told him to stay put. What the hell possessed him?” “The TV’s on,” said the RN, “and the news is all about him. Maybe it agitated him.” “He started talking and shouting questions,” announced the voice, now younger and resonant. The medic’s head popped up. “He was out of control. Suddenly, I heard a crash.” The doctor rose, and the RN knelt, their eyes widening upon seeing the man in the white hospital gown, sitting up. The doctor looked down. “Didn’t you say he was—” “I swear, there was no pulse, no signs,” she shouted. “I don’t understand!” The physician whispered. “My God, how do you feel?” “At first, like I was on death’s door,” he answered. He raised his arms, the sleeves of the gown pulled up, and laughed. “But now, I feel vigorous. I feel reborn.” The nurse took the governor’s hand and clasped it in hers. Closing her eyes, she held it for a moment and then let go. She made the sign of the cross and, tears in her eyes, gazed at the doctor. He glanced at the clock. “Time of death, 3 PM. Inform the staff that we have two free beds.” _____
|
Joe Del Castillo lives on Long Island, New York and is member of the Long Island Writers Guild. He has been published in New Pop Lit, Home Planet News, October Hill Mania, Arts for the People and Macrame Literary Journal.
|