His father was sick and in hospital. The
voice on the other end of the phone said it was serious and he should come. He
cancelled his week and caught the next plane over.
The man in the bed looked small, smaller
than the man who was his father. And paler he looked, too, as though he was
made of crumpled paper. And old; old like trees look old when they are stripped
of their leaves and they lean crookedly to one side and one half of the tree
looks to be rotting. The man in the bed, his father, had few words at first and those he
had were all spittle threads and those threads all twisted and tangled.
The nurse pointed him to a hostel that was
something to do with the hospital. Her English was broken and imperfect. He’d
have a room there and breakfast if he wanted, she told him. And he could come
and go at the hospital as he pleased. ‘Under the circumstances,’ she said in a
whisper, as though it was some secret serious sin she spoke of.
He phoned his wife to tell her he had
arrived safely. The room was basic, he said, like a church retreat. But the
girl on the desk was nice and the nurses in the hospital all nice, too. He
would speak with the doctors in the afternoon, but his father did not look
good. He said he’d phone again once he knew.
His father seemed then to perk up and he
was sitting up in bed and drinking tea when he next visited. Of course, he had
something to say about the tea. It was not the way he liked it. It was weak as
piss and the milk tasted sweet and there was a something to the water, too,
something clean and antiseptic.
They talked about little and nothing; about
the flight over and the weather on the other side of the glass, and the price
of a taxi from the airport, and the hostel where the son was going to stay till
his father was recovered. There’s a church somewhere near, he told his father.
He heard the bell calling the people to midday prayers, a single bell and the
ringing clear and bright and like something he'd heard before as a child.
The doctors stopped by and they said they
were doing what they could to keep the father comfortable. They said it was
something with his heart and they used their own words for what it was, not
quite able to translate it into his words. They shook his hand and they said it
was good that he could come.
On the second day he bought puzzle books,
and postcards for his father to write, and some fruit and real milk for his
tea. They talked a little, about the family and what everyone was doing. The son did
most of the talking, and his father listened and nodded and smiled. His father
had to be helped from the bed to the bathroom and he was not allowed to lock
the door, just in case.
On the third morning, he woke to the sound
of the church bell ringing. It was so near it felt as if it was in the room
with him. He breathed deeply and enjoyed the being alone in a strange place.
Quickly there developed a routine to his days. He breakfasted on toast and apricot
conserve, and coffee with sugar. He wiped his hands on a clean white napkin and sat in
silence, not knowing anyone else in the room. Then he left for the hospital,
stopping at a small Tabac to purchase yesterday’s English newspapers. He stayed
at the hospital all morning and after a sandwich lunch in the town he returned
for the afternoon, remaining there until early evening, till his father had
eaten and was drifting into sleep again. His father joked and laughed and was
silent, all in equal measure, and the days spilled over into a second week. On
the way back to the hostel in the evening, he phoned his wife and he said each time that he
was fine and his father fine, too.
His father talked of getting out and what
he would do when he did. All this fussing over his health embarrassed him, but
he was glad that the son had come. It was good to spend a little time together.
The doctors visited twice a day and they shook hands with the father and the
son, and they nodded and they spoke in words that were never full sentences.
And they smiled when they left the room and nodded again.
Then one day, it was the last day, but you never do know that is. The
church bell woke him same as before and he breakfasted the same, too, and the girl
at the desk wished him a nice day. He arrived at the hospital with the
newspaper and some stamps. The bed was empty. The nurse hurried through and she
said in her broken English that they had been trying to telephone. A senior
administrator came down from upstairs and there were forms to sign and
arrangements to be made. They were very sorry, they said, and it was good that he came.
Outside he felt for the first time lost and
far away and he felt alone. He called his wife, but the phone was engaged. He returned to the hostel and he lay down on the bed.
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