At The Hospital

At The Hospital         

by Joseph Registrato







            The first thing the boy heard after the door slammed shut was a screaming curse word, “Bastard.” It was his sister's voice, loud, angry, out of control; then something hit a window and he heard it shatter, broken glass skittered across the wooden floor; then either his sister, or her husband, or both of them, he imagined, circling around in something like a bear hug, crashed into the closed bedroom door and he thought the careening bodies would come right through it, but no, it held.  Something hit a wall, maybe a dresser or a chair, then flesh-on-flesh slapping or punching, and finally his sister crying, sobbing, it quieted down, then it was over.  This is how it was.

          Eddy and Rosie kept the fights out of sight.  The boy, Billy, wished it would stop, wished he could do something.  But he was 9, it was their house, and it seemed impossible.

          Billy lived with his sister and brother-in-law on and off for the next ten years, babysitting the two children they produced.  He was their uncle, people exclaimed, even though he was only ten or eleven when they were born.  Despite the differences between Eddy and his sister, the boy grew as close to his sister's husband as a brother, in some ways closer because Eddy introduced the boy to things he never had experienced, like shooting shotguns at rabbits and deer out in the woods on Long Island, selling expensive furs, guns and other valuables obtained from shady characters; and watching pornography, none of which would have been tolerated by the boy's father.  But it was these very illicit, very illegal activities, taught by the man to the boy, that brought the two of them closer, and it proved the truth of an old saying:  a kind of honor tends to develop among thieves. 

            But the boy lost faith in his new brother when he realized the man had been cheating on his sister. It went too far, crossed a line of honor that the boy could not tolerate.  He was prepared to step in right then and make it right, somehow, get it straight, lay down the law.  But he was too late.  By the time he determined to step in, Eddy had disappeared.

          The last memory he had of his sister before shipping off to the Vietnam War was of her and the two children huddled under a thin blanket on a ratty gray couch, no fuel to heat the little house and the temperature dipping down into the twenties, no food in the fridge, no money in the bank. It was so cold he couldn't feel his toes.  The story was that Eddy had run off to Florida with the other woman and to hell with Rosie and the kids.  He had no choice but to leave his sister there on the couch because the U. S. Marines did not make exceptions for ugly family circumstances and required his presence in the war. 

            Five years later, in a hot little room busy with teletype and encryption machines, and other more or less secret devices developed especially for spying, William, nobody called him Billy anymore, discovered the exact location of his former brother-in-law on a list he did not even know existed, a registry of patients waiting for a heart transplant.  The list was supposed to be available only to a certain network of doctors and hospitals, but among the things that William had learned in the Marines was how to break codes.   

            When he first found the name, Edmundo Carelli, William pumped a closed fist and said the word "yes,” but shook his head because it looked like God or nature or just rotten luck would kill the bastard before he got the chance to do it himself. 

            The following day, William signed papers, picked up his last paycheck as a United States Marine, then visited a Navy doctor and dentist, both of whom declared him well enough to be discharged from military service. He also turned in to the armory his M16 and enough ammunition to kill several dozen people.  If he would do any violence to Eddy Carelli, it would be with his hands, and he wanted it to hurt.   

            William jumped into his old Buick and headed for the critical cardiac care unit in a hospital in Tampa, Florida, right around 2,800 miles from Camp Pendleton, California. 

            In the beginning, Rose and Eddie had an idyllic romance. Rose was a proper and pretty 19-year-old and Eddy and interesting and good looking 22-year-old, just discharged after a three-year hitch in the U. S. Army with not much formal education but plenty of street smarts and lots of hustle.  He inherited half of a neighborhood grocery store, which did a brisk business in all the usual stuff, sausage and steak, meat and eggs, milk and beer, but received a much higher profit margin on other merchandise Eddy and his brother obtained from various characters who had no names and lived at vague addresses you didn't need to know.  This stuff sold for extremely discounted prices at the back door of Carelli's Neighborhood Market to only select, well known customers.  It was common for a $20,000 sable coat, for example, to sell for $1,000 or even $500; a $5,000 outboard motor for $500; shotguns and handguns sold in lots for $50 each.  Easy money.  Just make sure you know who the buyers are.     

          The betrayal of his sister ate at him, as did the memories of keeping quiet and being unable to help her when Eddy beat the hell out of her.  He never got over how he could not feel his toes on that last day, his sister's eyes a desperate shade, the children hanging on to her as their last refuge, hungry and cold and not smiling the ways those kids usually did. 

            William found the brightly lit critical cardiac care unit of Doctor's Hospital on the eighth floor of a brick building that smelled vaguely of alcohol or bleach or some other strong disinfectant.  It was cold as hell.  They'd cranked the air conditioner down to its lowest setting.  The floors were some sort of stone or composite made to look like stone, highly polished and glistening clean.  The walls were muted pastels of blue and yellow and orange.  William walked a few corridors to get a feel for the place, and finally found the door to the unit.  It was locked.

            He found a serious woman who did not seem to be bothered at all by the freezing temperature and who looked old enough and tough enough to be in charge.  A brass plate pinned to her crisp green scrub said her name was Debra King, R.N. 

            "Hello, Nurse King,” William said, smiling broadly.  My name is Christian Diaco and I'm a priest at Christ the King Catholic Church, where Mr. Carelli worships." 

            "Really?" The nurse looked surprised.  "He never mentioned anything about a church.  Neither did the wife."

            "Yes, well, his mother, Catherina Maria, a regular saint, asked me to see him, make sure he has a chance for confession.  It's an Italian family, very religious even if Edmundo was not."  William had practiced telling this lie for just such a circumstance, and the delivery was convincing. 

            "I see," the nurse said, looking resigned to the intrusion.   

            "It might take a bit of time," William said kindly, and made a little bow, apologetic to the last.

            She took a breath, waved a hand casually and said, "You know, Father, people do call you Father?  I mean, you look so young.”

            William smiled.  “Yes, well, I was called early.  I knew in high school.  And you can call me anything you like.  We believe the Almighty doesn't care for pretensions or titles."

            She almost smiled at that, nodded and said, “It's just that regular visitors are not allowed up here.  He's extremely critical and any little thing that upsets him could bring on a crisis."

            “I understand completely. The Lord will be with me, as always, so if any harm comes it will be at the command of God himself.”

         She said only, “Mmmm, I see,” and turned to open the door.  She led him through to the room where Eddy was kept.  He went in and said, “Thank you so much, Nurse King.  Please, may I close the door?  It’s confession, you know.”

            “Sure, she said, and closed it herself as she walked out.

         William made a fist again, then turned to look at his old friend.  Eddy did not look good.  His face was pasty white, no longer robust and chubby.  He'd turned into a skinny guy, frail and at least half asleep.  His body was connected to a complex apparatus, tubes and wires and blinking lights.  He waited for Eddy to open his eyes.

            "Hey, buddy, it's me, Billy."

            Eddy brightened immediately.

            "My God, Billy.  I heard you were in the Marines.”

            “I just got out.  Separated at Pendleton a week ago."

            Eddy twisted in the bed slightly, a movement of only a few inches, but it seemed he had to struggle to accomplish it.  He was closer to death than William expected; he thought, it would not be a surprise if he died right then and there.

            "I want you to know, Ed, telling me about being in the Army, how you lived on C-rations and K-rations, living out in the field, it made me want to get in the Marines, it really did.

            “That makes me feel good, Billy.”  Eddy winced getting out the words. 

            “Absolutely.”

            They were silent for a while, then William said, “You helped me grow up, Ed, because you treated me like an adult when everybody else, my father and brother and sister, treated me like a kid.  I was only what, 9 or 10, but you treated me like an adult.”

            “God, Bill,” Eddy said, twisting again a few more inches.  “That really makes me feel good.”

            “Yeah, it did. All those adventures.  I'll never forget it, Ed.  It really grew me up."

            "Remember the boat, Billy?  The times out in the boat?"  Eddy brightened again. 

         William thought of the trips out on the boat.  He and Eddy and Rosie and the kids would get out on the clam beds of Great South Bay off Lindenhurst in waist deep water and use their toes to dig up clams from the sandy bottom, then open the clams with a pocket knife and swallow the slimy creatures and wash them down with beer. 

            William said, “I was thinking more of the time we went to Brooklyn and parked on that goddamn dark ass back street that looked like it was out of a horror movie and walked about ten blocks to that butcher shop where we got the fireworks.”

            “That was Salvatore DiStefano's place.”  Eddy smiled and looked away for a second, as though he was recalling the trip. 

            “Salvatore, he was talking Italian the whole time so I never caught on to what was going on, but then he came out with the fireworks, and that goddamn sable coat he said was worth around what, $50,000?  He wanted to give it to you for $2,000.  I will never forget the feel of that sable.  What a coat.”

            Eddy waved his hand at that.  “Salvatore may have said $50,000, but actually it was worth maybe $20,000.  But at the back door, we probably could have unloaded it for five grand.  That would have been a pretty profit.”

            “So he said in English, he said, 'Your wife,' now he's talking about Rosie, right, 'Your wife is a skinny minny and she'll look great in it, like Marilyn Monroe, and only the jacket right, nothing else.'  I swear, I saw your eyes light up when he said that.”

            “I know,” Eddy said, coughing and laughing at the same time.

            A different nurse peaked in and looked at them harshly, but William waved at her and said, “I'll be good.  We're doing fine.”  She shook her head and closed the door.

            “What about the time we went deer hunting but all we found were those tiny ass rabbits and shooting at them in the middle of the night, I swear I thought the law would get is for sure,” Joe said.

            “Those rabbits were good eating, Billy, you gotta admit.”

            “I never even get close to them.  I watched you skin them on that brace you put up in the backyard of the old house and then dip them in that damn vinegar.  But eat that stuff?  Not me.”

            “It was good, Billy, you just didn't have the stomach for it.  That vinegar, it gets the wild taste out of them.”

            “I remember you telling me that.  I still wouldn't get near them."

            They were silent for a few minutes, then William said, “Remember the night you set up the movie projector with the porn movies?  You set it up so I could watch without my father knowing I was there.”

            “Your father would have killed you.  So it was best to hide.  The movies were not that great, Billy, I'll have to confess.”

            “That was the first time I'd ever seen it.  I thought they were unbelievable.  I'll never forget it.”

            They both laughed.  Then William became serious.

            “Then along came Faye.  I knew about it the whole time.  You couldn't hide it from me, Ed.”

            “Billy, listen.  It was innocent the way it started.  And you and I, we were friends. I knew you wouldn't say anything to your sister.  It was just a fling.”

            “You were right.  I did not say a word.  I guess I figured you'd get over it or her husband would find out.  But that didn’t happen.  And then, hell, you just disappeared.”

            “I know,” Eddy said.

            They both fell silent then, and looked away from each other, a mutual embarrassment.

            “What about the fights, Ed?  You know I heard all that.  The banging and beating and slapping and all that?”

            “It was common in those days, not like today.  Anyway, your sister, she's strong as an ox and has all that fire inside her, she got it from your father, I guess. She's a real hellion.  Beat the shit out of me as much as I beat the shit out of her.”

            “That's what I thought back then,” William said.  “I thought because she never said anything about it, it couldn't have been so bad.  I told her a couple of times she ought to call the cops, but she never would.”

            “Shit, I thought about calling the cops myself,” Eddy said.  William closed his eyes. 

            “I don't think so, Ed.  If the cops would have come, you would have gone to jail.  No two ways about that.”

         “I suppose, Bill.  But really, it was mutual combat.  She beat me up, too.”          

         “Okay, Ed.  I hear what you're saying.  But look, if I would have been a few years older, it wouldn't have gone that way.”

         “If you would have been in there, you'd have a different opinion. She'd come at you like a bull, just like a bull.  She was tough.”

         “Eddy, please, man.  I heard everything through that door.  The slapping and punching and twisting arms and screaming, grunting and groaning.  She's a woman, Ed.”

            “What about my glasses flying off my face when she connected with a right hook.  You hear that through the door, Joe?”

            “I did, Ed.  I heard the whole fucking thing.”

            “God, Billy, that's why I had to get out of there.  I couldn't take it anymore.”

            Again they felt silent.  The machine Eddy was hooked up to beeped a few times and William thought he might have gone too far, but then that seemed to settle down.  William felt as though he had the man's life in his hands and he could end it right then and there.  He wouldn't even have to touch him, just get him a little excited, and that would be it.

            “I've never told anybody this,” William said.  “One night, before you married her, when I fell asleep in her bed and you came in there and screwed her right next to me, six inches away, and I heard you all go through the whole deal.  All that goddamn moaning and shit, moving into her, the way she cried out.  You hurt her, Ed, and you didn't care if you hurt her.  I'll never forget that night.  I couldn't let you know I was awake, of course, so I had to stay still and keep my mouth shut.”

            Eddy looked at him strangely.  “Billy, I'm sorry, man.  I'm really sorry.  But we were in love, Bill.  We were making love.  I didn't hurt her, man.  I didn't."

            “Yeah, you hurt her, Ed.  You hurt her right there in that bed and I was six inches away and couldn't say a goddamn thing.  I wanted to kill you that night, Ed.  But I couldn't.  I didn't know how then.”

            Eddie's eyes opened wide and his scalp stretched back on his head.  He tried to force a smile.  William could tell, his old friend finally saw what was coming, the purpose of this visit, and the fear showed in his eyes. 

         Eddy said, “Billy?  You okay, man?”

         William looked away, out the dull window into the gray clouds that stretched into infinite.  An airliner streaked across the sky at an incredible height, its nose pointing up, maybe full throttle, let's get going.

            “You remember, Ed, we talked about how to kill a person without getting caught?  You told me you learned it in the Army.  Remember?”

            Eddy nodded, but stayed perfectly still.

            “That was bullshit, Ed.  You were wrong.  I learned in the Marines, in Vietnam, how it's really done.  Not only that, but I practiced it, and it was perfectly legal.  In fact, it was encouraged,” William smiled but then became serious.

            “There are lots of ways to do it, but not getting caught, that's the trick. You have to find just the right spots on the body.”  William reached one hand over and touched the side of Eddy's neck.  “There a point over here, it's called the carotid artery.  But you've got to be careful with the pressure or you'll cause a bruise.  Don't want bruises.”

            Eddy moved one arm, looked for the button they'd given him to call for a nurse, but William had moved it out of his reach.   

            “It wouldn't do for you to call for help, Ed.  I don't want you to.”

            Eddy shook his head, did not say a word. 

            They were silent then.  William thought the machines would start beeping again because Eddy’s eyes were wide now, wide and black and his mouth hung open, but no, it stayed quiet. 

            Eddy choked up some fluid and wiped it from his mouth with his wrist.  He said, “I'm sorry, man.  I didn't know.”

            William nodded.  “You should have, Ed.  You should have known a lot of things.  A fucking lot of things.” 

            Neither man spoke.  William looked back out the window into the sky.  The airliner was long gone, probably a hundred miles away by then. 

            “I had to get out of there, Bill.  Just had to, man.”

            William thought about that last day in December when it was below freezing, so cold he couldn't feel his toes, and the two children huddled under that blanket with their mother, his sister, and Eddy gone to Florida with Faye where it was nice and warm and where he was out of reach of the child support enforcement agencies, and how there was no food in the house and no fuel in the tank and no money in the bank.  How would it make Eddy feel if he brought that up?  Maybe that would bring on the crisis Nurse King worried about.  Maybe that would make the machines start beeping.   

            But what had he done?  He left her there, too, left her and went off to a war that even then people suspected would not prove anything, because the government said he had to go; or was going off to war just an excuse for not caring enough about his own sister and her children?  Was it all Eddy's fault, or was he just as much to blame?  And where the hell was the rest of the world?  Where the hell were the Christians? Weren't people supposed to take care of each other?  What happened to “Love thy neighbor as ye love thyself?  What the hell happened to that?  Just let them lay there and freeze. But he, William, he should have stayed and to hell with the Marines. Wouldn't that have been the right thing? 

            Eddy choked up some more fluid and he wiped it away.  His voice quavering, he said, “You understand, right, Billy?  You understand I had to leave the way I did.”

            William said, “Sure, Ed, I understand."

            Three days later, Eddy died of heart failure, without the necessity of violence.  It was said to be a natural death, although there was no way to tell whether the visit from his old friend had accelerated the process.  He was buried in Tampa, Florida, in a public graveyard, in a grave marked with a brass nameplate.  Nobody noticed when the nameplate disappeared a few days later. 



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