sk.everythingseventual-第95节

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。　Let　me　see　what　I　can　do。'　She　picked　up　the　phone　and　punched　a　couple　of　buttons；　no　doubt　calling　the　nurses'　station　on　the　fourth　floor；　and　I　could　see　the　course　of　the　next　two　minutes　as　if　I　really　did　have　second　sight。　Yvonne　the　Information　Lady　would　ask　if　the　son　of　Jean　Parker　in　487　could　e　up　for　a　minute　or　two…just　long　enough　to　give　his　mother　a　kiss　and　an　encouraging　word…and　the　nurse　would　say　oh　God；　Mrs。　Parker　died　not　fifteen　minutes　ago；　we　just　sent　her　down　to　the　morgue；　we　haven't　had　a　chance　to　update　the　puter；　this　is　so　terrible。
　　The　woman　at　the　desk　said；　'Muriel？　It's　Yvonne。　I　have　a　young　man　down　here　at　the　desk；　his　name　is'…she　looked　at　me；　eyebrows　raised；　and　I　gave　her　my　name…'Alan　Parker。　His　mother　is　Jean　Parker；　in　487？　He　wonders　if　he　could　just　。　。　。'
　　She　stopped。　Listened。　On　the　other　end　the　nurse　on　the　fourth　floor　was　no　doubt　telling　her　that　Jean　Parker　was　dead。
　　'All　right；'　Yvonne　said。　'Yes；　I　understand。'　She　sat　quietly　for　a　moment；　looking　off　into　space；　then　put　the　mouthpiece　of　the　telephone　against　her　shoulder　and　said；　'She's　sending　Anne　Corrigan　down　to　peek　in　on　her。　It　will　only　be　a　second。'
　　'It　never　ends；'　I　said。
　　Yvonne　frowned。　'I　beg　pardon？'
　　'Nothing；'　I　said。　'It's　been　a　long　night　and…'
　　'…and　you're　worried　about　your　mom。　Of　course。　I　think　you're　a　very　good　son　to　drop　everything　the　way　you　did　and　e　on　the　run。'
　　I　suspected　Yvonne　Ederle's　opinion　of　me　would　have　taken　a　drastic　drop　if　she'd　heard　my　conversation　with　the　young　man　behind　the　wheel　of　the　Mustang；　but　of　course　she　hadn't。　That　was　a　little　secret；　just　between　George　and　me。
　　It　seemed　that　hours　passed　as　I　stood　there　under　the　bright　fluorescents；　waiting　for　the　nurse　on　the　fourth　floor　to　e　back　on　the　line。　Yvonne　had　some　papers　in　front　of　her。　She　trailed　her　pen　down　one　of　them；　putting　neat　little　checkmarks　beside　some　of　the　names；　and　it　occurred　to　me　that　if　there　really　was　an　Angel　of　Death；　he　or　she　was　probably　just　like　this　woman；　a　slightly　overworked　functionary　with　a　desk；　a　puter；　and　too　much　paperwork。　Yvonne　kept　the　phone　pinched　between　her　ear　and　one　raised　shoulder。　The　loudspeaker　said　that　Dr。　Farquhar　was　wanted　in　radiology；　Dr。　Farquhar。　On　the　fourth　floor　a　nurse　named　Anne　Corrigan　would　now　be　looking　at　my　mother；　lying　dead　in　her　bed　with　her　eyes　open；　the　stroke…induced　sneer　of　her　mouth　finally　relaxing。
　　Yvonne　straightened　as　a　voice　came　back　on　the　line。　She　listened；　then　said：　'All　right；　yes；　I　understand。　I　will。　Of　course　I　will。　Thank　you；　Muriel。'　She　hung　up　the　telephone　and　looked　at　me　solemnly。　'Muriel　says　you　can　e　up；　but　you　can　only　visit　for　five　minutes。　Your　mother's　had　her　evening　meds；　and　she's　very　soupy。'
　　I　stood　there；　gaping　at　her。
　　Her　smile　faded　a　little　bit。　'Are　you　sure　you're　all　right；　Mr。　Parker？'
　　'Yes；'　I　said。　'I　guess　I　just　thought…'
　　Her　smile　came　back。　It　was　sympathetic　this　time。　'Lots　of　people　think　that；'　she　said。　'It's　understandable。　You　get　a　call　out　of　the　blue；　you　rush　to　get　here　。　。　。　it's　understandable　to　think　the　worst。　But　Muriel　wouldn't　let　you　up　on　her　floor　if　your　mother　wasn't　fine。　Trust　me　on　that。'
　　'Thanks；'　I　said。　'Thank　you　so　much。'
　　As　I　started　to　turn　away；　she　said：　'Mr。　Parker？　If　you　came　from　the　University　of　Maine　up　north；　may　I　ask　why　you're　wearing　that　button？　Thrill　Village　is　in　New　Hampshire；　isn't　it？'
　　I　looked　down　at　the　front　of　my　shirt　and　saw　the　button　pinned　to　the　breast　pocket：　I　RODE　THE　BULLET　AT　THRILL　VILLAGE；　LACONIA。　I　remembered　thinking　he　intended　to　rip　my　heart　out。　Now　I　understood：　he　had　pinned　his　button　on　my　shirt　just　before　pushing　me　into　the　night。　It　was　his　way　of　marking　me；　of　making　our　encounter　impossible　not　to　believe。　The　cuts　on　the　backs　of　my　hands　said　so；　the　button　on　my　shirt　said　so；　too。　He　had　asked　me　to　choose　and　I　had　chosen。
　　So　how　could　my　mother　still　be　alive？
　　'This？'　I　touched　it　with　the　ball　of　my　thumb；　even　polished　it　a　little。　'It's　my　good…luck　charm。'　The　lie　was　so　horrible　that　it　had　a　kind　of　splendor。　'I　got　it　when　I　was　there　with　my　mother；　a　long　time　ago。　She　took　me　on　the　Bullet。'
　　Yvonne　the　Information　Lady　smiled　as　if　this　were　the　sweetest　thing　she　had　ever　heard。　'Give　her　a　nice　hug　and　kiss；'　she　said。　'Seeing　you　will　send　her　off　to　sleep　better　than　any　of　the　pills　the　doctors　have。'　She　pointed。　'The　elevators　are　over　there；　around　the　corner。'
　　With　visiting　hours　over；　I　was　the　only　one　waiting　for　a　car。　There　was　a　litter…basket　off　to　the　left；　by　the　door　to　the　newsstand；　which　was　closed　and　dark。　I　tore　the　button　off　my　shirt　and　threw　it　in　the　basket。　Then　I　rubbed　my　hand　on　my　pants。　I　was　still　rubbing　it　when　one　of　the　elevator　doors　opened。　I　got　in　and　pushed　for　four。　The　car　began　to　rise。　Above　the　floor…buttons　was　a　poster　announcing　a　blood　drive　for　the　following　week。　As　I　read　it；　an　idea　came　to　me　。　。　。　except　it　wasn't　so　much　an　idea　as　a　certainty。　My　mother　was　dying　now；　at　this　very　second；　while　I　rode　up　to　her　floor　in　this　slow　industrial　elevator。　I　had　made　the　choice；　it　therefore　fell　to　me　to　find　her。　It　made　perfect　sense。
　　
　　The　elevator　door　opened　on　another　poster。　This　one　showed　a　cartoon　finger　pressed　to　big　red　cartoon　lips。　Beneath　it　was　a　line　reading　OUR　PATIENTS　APPRECIATE　YOUR　QUIET！　Beyond　the　elevator　lobby　was　a　corridor　going　right　and　left。　The　odd…numbered　rooms　were　to　the　left。　I　walked　down　that　way；　my　sneakers　seeming　to　gain　weight　with　every　step。　I　slowed　in　the　four…seventies；　then　stopped　entirely　between　481　and　483。　I　couldn't　do　this。　Sweat　as　cold　and　sticky　as　half…frozen　syrup　crept　out　of　my　hair　in　little　trickles。　My　stomach　was　knotted　up　like　a　fist　inside　a　slick　glove。　No；　I　couldn't　do　it。　Best　to　turn　around　and　skedaddle　like　the　cowardly　chicken…shit　I　was。　I'd　hitchhike　out　to　Harlow　and　call　Mrs。　McCurdy　in　the　morning。　Things　would　be　easier　to　face　in　the　morning。
　　I　started　to　turn；　and　then　a　nurse　poked　her　head　out　of　the　room　two　doors　up　。　。　。　my　mother's　room。　'Mr。　Parker？'　she　asked　in　a　low　voice。
　　For　a　wild　moment　I　almost　denied　it。　Then　I　nodded。
　　'e　in。　Hurry。　She's　going。'
　　They　were　the　words　I'd　expected；　but　they　still　sent　a　cramp　of　terror　through　me　and　buckled　my　knees。
　　The　nurse　saw　this　and　came　hurrying　toward　me；　her　skirt　rustling；　her　face　alarmed。　The　little　gold　pin　on　her　breast　read　ANNE　CORRIGAN。　'No；　no；　I　just　meant　the　sedative　she's　going　to　sleep。　Oh　my　God；　I'm　so　stupid。　She's　fine；　Mr。　Parker；　I　gave　her　her　Ambien　and　she's　going　to　sleep；　that's　all　I　meant。　You　aren't　going　to　faint；　are　you？'　She　took　my　arm。
　　'No；'　I　said；　not　knowing　if　I　was　going　to　faint　or　not。　The　world　was　swooping　and　there　was　a　buzzing　in　my　ears。　I　thought　of　how　the　road　had　leaped　toward　the　car；　a　black…and…white　movie　road　in　all　that　silver　moonlight。　Did　you　ride　the　Bullet？　Man；　I　rode　that　fucker　four　times。
　　Anne　Corrigan　led　me　into　the　room　and　I　saw　my　mother。　She　had　always　been　a　big　woman；　and　the　hospital　bed　was　small　and　narrow；　but　she　still　looked　almost　lost　in　it。　Her　hair；　now　more　gray　than　black；　was　spilled　across　the　pillow。　Her　hands　lay　on　top　of　the　sheet　like　a　child's　hands；　or　even　a　doll's。　There　was　no　frozen　stroke…sneer　such　as　the　one　I'd　imagined　on　her　face；　but　her　plexion　was　yellow。　Her　eyes　were　closed；　but　when　the　nurse　beside　me　murmured　her　name；　they　opened。　They　were　a　deep　and　iridescent　blue；　the　youngest　part　of　her；　and　perfectly　alive。　For　a　moment　they　looked　nowhere；　and　then　they　found　me。　She　smiled　and　tried　to　hold　out　her　arms。　One　of　them　came　up。　The　other　trembled；　rose　a　little　bit；　then　fell　back。　'Al；'　she　whispered。
　　I　went　to　her；　starting　to　cry。　There　was　a　chair　by　the　wall；　but　I　didn't　bother　with　it。　I　knelt　on　the　floor　and　put　my　arms　around　her。　She　smelled　warm　and　clean。　I　kissed　her　temple；　her　cheek；　the　corner　of　her　mouth。　She　raised　her　good　hand　and　patted　her　fingers　under　one　of　my　eyes。
　　'Don't　cry；'　she　whispered。　'No　need　of　that。'
　　'I　came　as　soon　as　I　heard；'　I　said。　'Betsy　McCurdy　called。'
　　'Told　her　。　。　。　weekend；'　she　said。　'Said　the　weekend　would　be　fine。'
　　'Yeah；　and　to　hell　with　that；'　I　said；　and　hugged　her。
　　'Car　。　。　。　fixed？'
　　'No；'　I　said。　'I　hitchhiked。'
　　'Oh　gorry；'　she　said。　Each　word　was　clearly　an　effort　for　her；　but　they　weren't　slurred；　and　I　sensed　no　bewilderment　or　disorientation。　She　knew　who　she　was；　who　I　was；　where　we　were；　why　we　were　here。　The　only　sign　of　anything　wrong　was　her　weak　left　arm。　I　felt　an　enormous　sense　of　relief。　It　had　all　been　a　cruel　practical　joke　on　Staub's　part　。　。　。　or　perhaps　there　had　been　no　Staub；　perhaps　it　had　all　been　a　dream　after　all；　corny　as　that　might　be。　Now　that　I　was　here；　kneeling　by　her　bed　with　my　arms　around　her；　smelling　a　faint　remnant　of　her　Lanvin　perfume；　the　dream　idea　seemed　a　lot　more　plausible。
　　'Al？　There's　blood　on　your　collar。'　Her　eyes　rolled　closed；　then　came