Authors: Rachel Ingalls
*
When she landed, she telephoned the hospital. The nurse who answered went and got Elton for her. He said to hurry. She went to the head of the line at the cab rank and said she was sorry, but she had to get to the hospital to see her mother. She was crying. The people who were getting into the next taxi stood back to let her go first, but the ones behind them didn’t like having to wait. They began to quarrel. Alma got in. As the driver started up, two of the quarrelling people called something after her.
Elton was waiting at the front doors of the hospital. He gave her a hug. At that moment she realized that she wasn’t
dreaming
. She’d been awake ever since the bus had crashed: that was what had woken her up.
‘This way,’ he said. He led her to an elevator and afterwards out into a long corridor. A nurse came towards them. She took Alma by the arm.
They turned off to the left and straight into Bess’s room. Alma went up to the side of the bed. She leaned down and touched her mother’s face. Bess turned her head on the pillow; she opened her eyes. ‘Hi, Alma, honey,’ she said. She swallowed twice.
‘I came as fast as I could.’
‘It sure is nice to see you,’ Bess said. Her voice wasn’t much above a whisper. Alma touched her face again.
Bess sighed. ‘Did Bruce come with you?’ she asked.
‘He’ll be coming from Kentucky. I was still in California.’
‘That’s right. I forgot. I’m all mixed up.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
A nurse came from behind one of the screens and murmured, ‘Not too long.’
Alma said, ‘I guess they want you to rest a little.’
‘Where’s Bruce?’
‘He’ll be here soon,’ Elton said.
‘I couldn’t get hold of him,’ Alma said. ‘I’ll try again, just as soon as I can get to a phone.’
Bess smiled groggily.
They’ve
probably
given
her
a
lot
of
drugs,
Alma thought.
Because
she’s
in
such
pain.
‘Maybe you could phone from here,’ Elton said.
Alma asked the nurse if she could make a long-distance call. She told her parents, ‘I’ll be right back.’
Bruce must have been waiting by the phone because he answered before she expected it, saying, ‘Yes?’
‘Bruce, it’s Alma.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Home. At the hospital.’
‘How is she?’
‘Not good. You’ve got to come.’
‘I can’t, Alma. I can’t explain, but I can’t come.’
‘I came. My bus crashed on the highway and I had to climb over dead bodies to get out, but I did it. This is more important than whatever you’re doing. Bruce, if you don’t come home now, I’ll never forgive you. I mean it. She’s asking for you.’
He said again that he couldn’t. He hung up. She’d forgive him: she’d have to.
She went back along the corridor. Bess had died while she was out of the room. Elton was sitting with his head down on the body, his arms out.
*
Another
dream
last
night,
that
I
was
traveling.
Then
I
arrived
at
a
hotel
somewhere
in
Europe
where
the
people
were
French-speaking.
It
might
have
been
Belgium,
Switzerland
or
France.
The
hotel
was
a
large,
fine
old
place
in
a
spa
town.
I
signed
my
name
in
the
register
at
the
reception
desk,
but
after
I’d
done
it,
the
clerk
behind
the
counter
said,
‘And
now,
will
you
sign
your
real
name?’
I
said,
‘What
are
you
talking
about?’
And
he
turned
the
register
around
to
me
again,
saying,
‘We
need
your
real
name.’
I
looked
at
the
name
I’d
written,
and
realized
that
it
was
an
alias
because
I
was
an
espionage
agent,
working
on
a
case,
and
it
was
very
important
that
I
shouldn’t
give
my
right
name.
I
said,
‘I
lost
it
at
the
train
station
when
my
wallet
was
stolen,
but
I
should
be
able
to
let
you
have
it
in
a
couple
of
days.’
The
answer
appeared
to
satisfy
him.
*
After Alma came home from the hospital with Elton, she made some sandwiches and the two of them watched the news on television. There were pictures of the bus crash she’d been in and the aircraft accident she’d only just missed.
‘That was my bus,’ she said.
‘Which?’
‘That one there.’
‘Eight people died.’
‘That’s how I got the cut in front of my ear. And that plane crash: I wasn’t in it, but we were right near where it was. We drove by it.’ She tried to recall scenes from the past day but she couldn’t get them in sequence. She sat still, her eyes staring ahead until the program was over.
‘I think maybe you ought to get some rest,’ Elton suggested.
‘Just as soon as I make a couple of phone calls.’
She telephoned California. Tom answered. He sounded pleased to hear her. He called Rose to the phone.
Rose said, ‘We were so worried. There was that bus wreck, nearly everybody dead, and then a crash at the airport, too. The boys were going crazy. They kept saying that even if you’d missed one, you might have been in the other one.’
Alma told her that she’d been in the bus; and that she’d seen the accident at the airport. She was all right. But her mother had died, so she was going to stay on for a while. She didn’t know for how long. It might be a week. Or longer.
She phoned Bruce one more time.
As soon as he picked up the phone, he asked, ‘What’s happened?’
When she told him that Bess was dead, he said he was sorry. She gave him the date Elton had set for the funeral.
He said, ‘I won’t be coming.’
‘You’d better.’
‘How would that help her?’
‘It would help us. It would specially help Daddy.’
‘He’ll be all right. He’s got you there.’
‘Why did you give me your number, if it wasn’t for something like this? What could be worse than this?’
‘Jesus, Alma, don’t fold up on me now. I gave it to you so you could tell me what was going on.’
‘Well, I’m telling you. Come on home.’
‘No, I can’t,’ he said, and hung up again.
After that, she went to pieces. She cried for four minutes without stopping, and then collapsed on the front hall floor. Elton got Dr Mason over straight away; he told him about Bess’s death, the bus crash, everything. Dr Mason said it was possible that Alma was suffering from delayed shock, but as far as he could tell at the moment, she was actually just asleep.
They carried her up to her room, took off her shoes and put a blanket over her. Elton asked the doctor to stay and have a drink. Dr Mason looked at his watch and said: Yes, sure, there was time for a beer. They sat and talked for twenty minutes or so.
*
I
dreamt
that
I
was
getting
married
to
Alma.
We
were
standing
in
front
of
the
preacher
and
he
said,
‘Do
you,
Bruce,’
and
so
on.
And
I
said, ‘I
don’t
have
to.
We’re
already
married.
’
And
then
I
remembered
that
we’d
been
married
for
about
two
years.
Alma
said,
‘That’s
right.
We’re
just
doing
it
to
get
the
piece
of
paper.
’
We
went
through
the
ceremony
and,
at
the
end,
a
man
in
an
usher’s
uniform
came
out
of
a
back
room
and
handed
Alma
a
piece
of
paper
that
was
just
that:
a
tiny,
little
torn
scrap
about
an
inch
long.
But
she
seemed
very
happy
with
it.
She
put
it
down
the
front
of
her
dress
to
keep
it
safe.
*
Alma slept for fifteen hours. When she woke up, she
remembered
seeing blood and smoke, hearing children screaming. She saw the faces of the people she’d hit and kicked in order to get out of the bus first. In order to get to the mother who wasn’t her true mother, she’d been willing to kill innocent people, who were in the same trouble she was in. And when she’d managed to fight her way home, she’d found out that her mother was only really interested in seeing Bruce.
But that was the way it had always been. She shouldn’t be
disappointed or surprised any longer. She should accept things. She closed her eyes, but didn’t sleep. She was busy thinking. She thought and thought, and couldn’t remember what she was supposed to be thinking about. After a while she got up and went downstairs.
Elton met her at the foot of the stairs. He didn’t want to talk about the future, or even about the past. He had a cousin who could come visit him; and Bess had a widowed sister-in-law. There were other cousins, too.
‘I’ll stay as long as you like,’ she offered. ‘It’s only a job. I told them a week, just to let them know I’d be away.’
‘A week is fine.’
‘I don’t have to go back to California at all.’
‘I appreciate it, Alma. But I’d like to be alone for a while. To get things straight in my mind. Do some thinking.’
‘Who’s going to cook for you?’
‘Oh, I can handle that. Maybe if you could do some of the packing up – clothes, and that kind of thing.’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s hit me pretty hard,’ he said.
*
I
was
in
the
hospital
and
Alma
was
with
me.
She
was
holding
my
hand.
I’d
just
had
one
operation,
but
they
were
going
to
do
a
second
one.
I
said,
‘I
miss
my
fiddle.
I’d
like
to
hear
somebody
right
now,
playing
“Hearts
and
Flowers”
as
I
go
down
the
drain.’
Alma
said,
‘You
aren’t
going
to
get
out
of
things
so
easy.’
I
said,
‘I’m
dying.
’
‘Oh,
I
don’t
think
so,’
she
told
me.
‘Modern
medicine
is
pretty
good.
You’ve
got
plenty
of
years
left.’
‘Jesus,
I
hope
not,
’
I
said.
They
wheeled
me
away,
into
the
operating
theater.
Blood
filled
my
lungs,
my
throat,
my
mouth.
The
doctor
looked
down
at
me
and
said,
‘It’s
the
tide
of
history.’
The
nurse
standing
next
to
him
asked,
‘Is
it
twenty
to,
or
twenty
past?
They
go
out
with
the
tide,
like
ships.
The
moon
causes
it.
It
sets
the
cycle
of
blood
in
women.
It
controls
conception,
birth,
madness
and
death.
It’s
the
heavenly
body
of
lunatics.
How
can
we
hope
to
rule
the
world
when
the
most
important
influences
in
our
lives
are
faceless,
nameless,
hidden?’