Interstate (12 page)

Police
. Margo answered some of it but they wanted him. Doctor's hands cupped in front of her—clasped, he thinks he means, and at her chest, serious expression unchanged, takes a breath to speak. He looks away and says “I know she's dead, that's what you came over to tell me, let's keep it between us and not the kid, but isn't that so? Don't answer if it is, and notice I'm not looking at your face to see what your expression says. Or maybe she's alive. That you can tell me—no, don't answer that either, for now if you didn't tell me that'd mean she was dead, right? But if you just threw out that she was alive you'd see a man jump or rise but go clear up to the sky and take you and my daughter Margo here with him. Tell me she's saved,” still not looking at her, looking at the curb, road, doctor's shoes, even white eyelets for the white laces, car driving past, Margo still sleeping or resting or pretending to sleep or rest, not at the walk to the entrance where they were working over Julie on the run, or something they might have dumped or dropped on the ground along the way, a towel, tubing, syringe cap, bloody strip of gauze, but he doesn't look. “Or just still alive, that she is, but not out of danger and that I can speak to her, even if for now she wouldn't be able to hear. Too critical, but that can change, and it seems when people are critical, young people particularly, they always rally. Rally, what a word, Let's all rally around, really rally around. If only we could, and prayer helped, and so on. My father, the doctors used to say, was a goner I can't tell you how many times when we took him to the hospital in a coma, but he always, till he died at home in one—our home, a coma, meaning my home as a child, though I was a grownup when he died—managed to survive. I didn't make myself clear then and haven't been, but as I was telling myself before, something personal between me and me, I shouldn't be able to—expected to, is what I told myself. Another bad example. And he was old and she's so young, his body had gone through lots of drink and cigars and all that crap, while she hasn't even started—milk and English muffins are what she loves most to drink and eat, chocolate milk, even better, and the muffins buttered with real butter—so I don't have to believe in miracles regarding her survival. The young always have a greater chance of beating the odds or just surviving a tremendous body trauma, as they say, isn't that true? And they should too, for reasons of living and right and what ought to be and what's due them and also if there's a God in heaven or some place, just because they are young and haven't, so to speak—and not just the cigars and drink—lived, though there's a lot of life in six years, little that it is. You must know what I mean. And six years, that's how old she is; this one's nine, and that's it for my kids, meaning all there are. Anyway, I can believe anything you say so long as it's good and hopeful, and I'm not taking you away from her, am I? and please excuse me that I didn't go into the lobby to make it easier for you to speak to me and not have you come out so far, but there are people and police there I didn't want to see. Keeping you, I mean,” looking at her, “I'm not keeping you away from her where you can be an important part of her surviving?” “No.” “You are a doctor, yes?” “I'm a doctor. Doctor Jones.” “I can see that and I can believe anything you say if it's good or just a little hopeful, but I said that. I should say something I haven't said, but what? I'm obviously in bad shape, that's obvious, and you're obviously a doctor, I can see that as I've said, the tag, but she's dead, right? Don't say it or even give it away with your face, try not to, at least, but she is, isn't she, which is what you came over to tell me and I absolutely don't want to hear. No one wants to die before his kids do more than I.” “We probably shouldn't talk about it here, Mr. Fry.” “Frey, it's pronounced, Frey, but that's not important, so what is? Not my name.” “Mr. Frey, excuse me—but it's probably not a good idea to discuss this in front of your daughter unless you're sure she's asleep and can't hear.” “You mean this one.” “Yes.” “She's asleep. I can tell by her light breathing and easy way she's lying on me. But the other one. Don't say.” She bites her lips. “There was no conceivable way,” she starts to say. “No conceivable way,” he says. She nods, is talking, saying something, something's being said, thought he told her not to say anything, but she did, so what? Won't listen, or can't hear. No insides, nothing inside, so cold inside, no conceivable way she started to say, or said but it was part of something else she started to say that he missed, because nothing to hear with, everything's frozen, all of him's sick but he doesn't want to vomit, can't, if it's coming up, even feel it, though he is faint, so good, let me go. Screens coming down around him, bang-bang. Shields, really, sky to floor. She's talking, saying something, something's still being said, she's still standing, shaking her head now, commiserative look, though he told her not to look, whatever you do don't give it away, windows closing around him, thick, then door following door following door, slamming shut and closing him off, voice in his head saying “I've been cut short,” but not his, knows whose it is. He believes in quick spirits? Thinks he gets what the whole thing means. Hears a bird and there is one, at first thought, well at first thought, it was just in his head, but a bird in a tree near them, answered by another in a tree across from it or one not too far away, same call, back and forth, cheep-cheep, cheep-cheep-cheep, and so on, like Morse, saying in code “We're bell-like birds, knelling death.” Bellbirds, bell-bell-bell-birds. Grabs his ears, folds them over the holes and squashes them closed. It would be nice not to breathe now, not to breathe from now on in, just to instantly stop or disappear, right now and here the end, kaput for good. But Margo, his darling Margo, what would she do if he did and that sort of thing?
Mein licht
in heaven, huh? And Lee, for then there'd be two gone when she'd need him for Julie when that time comes, which it will, just wait. But Margo. Minor light in
nacht
,
nicht
in what, huh? Panic, her dead or disappeared dada stopped, run out into the driveway, under a car wheel, if one didn't get her before that: all the way back to the highway to die. What's he talking about? That plus the
nicht
what. She'd stay put but would never be the same. Hold her, stay, best thing, now you're talking. But so fucking co, so co, can't for the life of him stand it. And what's there? Body all bare, blank and hollow and wet with icy sweat but why wipe it? besides: can't. “Yes,” she's saying, which he can hear now, her head bent to one side to show sympathy, and that sympathetic puss, one of her hands taking his which he shoves off. Don't show, yes means death, show means no, co means what? can't she see that? but “Yes, yes,” he says, hates them: give life, take life, work with their picks and drills on life, don't be irrational, “that's right, no,” since she seems to have answered something he seems to have said and in a way where he'd made sense, but what, he doesn't know. “Yes, I'm afraid so,” she says, “I'm so sorry. I can't tell you how much. What in the world can be worse? Doctors know. We haven't seen it all, believe me. We're human beings first—mothers, fathers, just people. One doesn't have to have children to understand. I wish—we all do—some of them were crying when they were trying to revive her—it could have been otherwise. How much we do, honestly, sir, Mr. Frey. I'd have given anything. We all would have. But she wasn't breathing and her heart had stopped and rigidity was already setting in.” Tries closing her off by waving her away with both hands. Wants her to disappear. The whole scene to go except Margo, and Julie, of course, but hears her. “When she got here we couldn't do a thing. There was no conceivable way as I mentioned before. She arrived in an exanimate, unresuscitable, deceased state and we couldn't for anything get her around, what more can I say?” Nothing, none, thank you, he thinks, you've said everything inconceivable, go away. “Nothing, none, inconceivable,” he says, “I heard. Amazing, just amazing. I always thought kids were so strong and savable no matter what the obstacles, but of course up to a point. But that point way beyond our point and that they bounced back, like that, or sort of,” snapping his fingers or trying to but they don't snap. She's saying no, it's not always the case, that “up to a point” he said, though their reviviscent and recuperative chances are usually enhanced because of their youth, but again up to a point. Then he says “Injuries, not obstacles, and I want the truth. This some kind of ruse? I'm—even my other daughter here—are we being tested for some reason in this way? No of course not, why would anyone? no rest or ruse. Seeing is believing, hey? Feeling is. You feel and her skin's got the feel of slick dried leaves and things are hardening up in her limbs and there's no beat and nothing brings anything back and the rest of it, her breath and brain waves, and that's the reason for your belief? Well why not. Let's not just think of the poor survivors. She was dead coming here, dead down that road and along the way, over the overpass, under the under-something, onto the ramp and across the bridge, that's from an easy-reader book I used to read to her when she was even a littler kid and then she learned by heart and ended up reading on her own, under, over, by the, all prepositions I for some dumb reason only just realized, out of, into, down the path, between the rocks, along the lake, through the woods, up Spook Hill, probably the hardest words for a kid to comprehend the meaning of, wouldn't you say, for what are they? Nouns name things, verbs are active, even adjectives have a little more life or something to them. No,” and inside: all a lie. This, that, everything about her today. She wasn't in the car; yes she was. She's home, sleeping peacefully, missed her flight. Huh? There are drawings of hers at home. Oh boy there are. She loved to draw. “I like art best,” she used to say, for years. As a very little kid always scribbling pictures and recently subscribing them with titles and dialog. “The owl flies away.” (“Daddy, how do you spell ‘flies'? Not the flies that are pests but the ones where something flies away?”) “Mommy, Daddy, Margo, me and the Iguana I want them to buy for me.” (“Does ‘guana' start off with
w
or g? Do you think I drew him well? It's from memory.”) “Leave! Get out!! Help!!!” the princess demanded. “Someone, save me!!!!” All over the place and he knows he's going to worship them every time he stumbles on one which he'll do a lot unless he junks his entire library, for he's put them away in books and between them on bookshelves and in his work drawers at home and work. And what will he do when he finds one, which he's sure to: tear it up or throw it away? And the framed ones above his desk at home and on the walls at work and the big one of Demeter and Persephone in the living room, tear them down and smash the frames and glass and dump them in someone else's trash can or one of the ones in the men's room? There are things to attend to, nothing he looks forward to, and suppose Lee wants things to be left as they are? “No,” he yells and Margo's startled and sits up and grabs his arm and says “I think I heard what you were talking about before you screamed. I first heard it in my dreams, I think, or maybe I wasn't, but I've been listening in and out of them a long time, so I know. We have to call Mommy, Dada, we have to. I need her around.” “You're right, we have to, I'm not doing right by you or just what I should for you, soon. Because we can't just stay here like this bawling and screaming and acting babbly forever. But it just happened, dear, not even an hour ago. I didn't see the time then and I won't look at my watch now; I don't want to know even what time of the day around any of it took place, but do you really know what this all means?” “With Julie I do.” “It means that the worst possible thing that could ever happen, happened. No, it would've been worse if you had died too. And worse yet if Mommy had been in the car with us and she had died with the two of you. It wouldn't have been worse if I had died with all of you. That would have been better. Then I wouldn't know anything that happened, as I now do. It would, in fact, be better, if Julie died, that nobody died with her but me. Of course. But better yet, absolutely best of all, if somebody had to die in that car, though I don't know why anyone would, that only I had, that's true too. If only that had been the case. If only that could be made to be the case. How do we go about doing that? It would be bad for you all but not as bad as just Julie dying. Now that's a tragedy. So in moments like this, can't we all just crack up, or each to his own? Anyway,” to the doctor, “what happened is just about the worst thing that could ever possibly happen, don't you agree with me?” “I'm sorry, sir, what? I didn't quite catch all that or realize till late that you were talking to me.” He looks up at the sky. Hopes to see the bird from the tree again, cheeping. And then to sort of sweep down and pick him up some way and haul him off somewhere. In other words, death, to replace hers, a miracle, with him the most eager party to it, where she suddenly springs up wherever she now is and acts alive. No, doesn't want to see anything in the sky, and doesn't know why. No, hopes to see Julie in the tree but a little lower in it, waving at him. “Here I am, look at me, peekaboo, hide and seek, fooled you. It was a big trick, with the whole wide world in on it, even the two men on the road. They were actors. The gun was a phony. Mommy hired them. Don't ask us why. We have no answers for we didn't have a reason. Unless just having crazy fun and playing a joke on the old joker and maybe scaring him is one. Oh Daddy, I'm so sorry, did it upset you that much? We went too far. Margo, we'll have to tell Mommy. Doctor—for she is a real doctor, Daddy—do you think he'll be all right?” Keeps looking at the branches and leaves in the tree for some sign of her, then thinking if he thinks hard enough, and he'll have to close his eyes for this, and does, clenched tight, maybe she'll really appear in them. The power of something. He's become a believer. By all that's mighty and strong and so on, he means it. A great one, maybe never one better. He will give anything, he will do anything, his life, as he said, and how many are willing to give that? Well, for something like this, probably a lot, almost all fathers. Or just on the ground for her to appear, moving, even twitching. One little breath or twitch and he'll pounce on her and save her, he swears it, he doesn't know how but he will. Give him a chance. Give him this chance. Give her, give her, he means, just one, only one, and he also swears by everything he's Yours. He opens his eyes on the tree. Nothing there and he's not that surprised: too high for her to climb. Slowly moves his eyes downward to the walk on which they ran her in. “You should come inside with me,” the doctor says. Nothing's where she was; place has been emptied and cleaned, even the stuff that must have fallen out of his car when they grabbed her away from him to put her on that cart. Few people around anywhere, even; thing's over, other duties, next emergency or just to get the cart cleaned and equipment they used on Julie ready for one. “Margo and you both. There's a bit of business to do, I'm afraid, which only you can take care of, or your daughter's mother if she were here. Some signing, identification, nothing you'll like. What kind of coverage you have, for instance. I only want to prepare you. After you see her she'll be taken to the county medical examiner's office, which by the nature of the crime she's required to. After that you'll have to arrange for a funeral home to pick her up from there, of whatever kind you want. But I'll try to make everything as easy as can be for you here. We won't be asking for organs or parts. We're not that kind of facility for most of them and the ones we're usually interested in were mostly lost and it'd be too big a strain on you and also our facilities for her to be brought back here. Incidentally, I've been told to tell you there are several state troopers and other police people who want to speak to you some more. They're in the lobby and I'm sure by now are getting impatient and want to see you and inspect your car.” “Where is it? It's not here and I don't ever want to see it again, so good. But could you promise me, as one of the things you can do, to get rid of it for me? Sell it if you want, I'll hand over my registration, and use the money for the hospital.” He sticks his hand into his back pants pocket for his wallet. “We can talk about that later, Mr. Frey.” “Margo, was there anything you wanted in the car before we give it away?” “I'd have to see.” “It's possible they're already looking at it,” the doctor says, “but someplace else so they wouldn't have to do it in front of you and maybe they just needed better light. Judging from previous incidents here, they want to help and time's of the essence if they're to get your assailant. But give them only as much time as you wish. They understand what's occurred and the effect on you both.” “Me? What's to say? Two men, one drove, the other shot. I don't know their faces anymore. It's funny because that's what I was just telling myself before. Blurs. In a car, I don't know what kind and I'm not even sure if it wasn't one of those small wagon-trucks, a pickup that you always see on the road, sometimes driven by guys in ties. One of them had a red one, and wide.” “It was a regular car,” Margo says, “no wagon, new and white.” “That's right and I think what I already told them, no wagon and white, but you're sure new?” “I don't know.” “To me it looked recently washed and waxed. But what make and how many doors? These particulars are essential, dear, they'll need to know for sure. Windows, though, one to stick a gun out of, the right one, if you're standing behind the car and facing front, all the way rolled down. I told you I'm no good,” to the doctor. “I can tell you what his hands looked like—Mr. Killer. The fingernails were bitten down—but not the face, though he had big teeth, or at least that's what it seemed. I might be imagining that part of the horror. I see my youngest daughter's not around the area any longer, just like my car, any reason for that? Everything's getting lost. Today's minute is not tomorrow's, and so on.” “Excuse me, sir?” “May I please see her? This is important. I want to see her before she completely deteriorates.” Glances at Margo, no reaction to what he just said, she's staring at her arm and pulling up the shirtsleeve. “Daddy, there's a bad bloodstain here. Lots of them, little and big, and some on my pants. I don't want to wear them.” “I know, it's okay, we'll wash them out later and change soon as we can.” “There's clothes in the suitcase.” “It's in the car; we can't get it now. Please, dear.” “But if we wash out these clothes, they'll be wet. I can't wear wet clothes.” “Please, dear.” And to the doctor: “If there is something you can use of hers—Julie—sure, go on, take, why not? I'm talking about parts. I even like the idea that something of hers is walking around on or in someone else, and not clothes. Oh, that's an old thought, thousands must have had it. You look in someone's eyes—I'm being extreme now—and see your wife's corneas, when of course you couldn't. But what would you do—what would I if it was Julie's and I somehow knew—swoon? Ask that person to come home with us and put her up in Julie's room? Would I tell bedtime stories to just that person's eyes? The person could say, to make this possibility more plausible, that she got them from such and such hospital on such a day, today, and even give the donor's name. I in fact could first say, after meeting this person at a party, for example, what beautiful or more likely just clear eyes she has for someone her age, and that's when she could say ‘Well, some of it isn't mine.' But the hospital probably covers up records like that for insurance purposes or something else—to avoid the lunatic reactions I just gave, taking that person home for her eyes—and corneas don't have to be immediately transplanted to someone else, but you know what I mean.” Hears Margo crying, he went too far, and puts his arms around her head and presses her into him and says “I'm sorry, dear, so sorry. Is it still the bloodstains?” “No.” “So, I'm getting carried away, I know, forgive me, but what can we expect? This is what happens. If it happens to you, let it—shriek, crazy, cry—it's probably good. To us both, I don't know, let them straitjacket us. No, I'll come down, you go ahead, and I'll take care of you, I swear. But something else,” to the doctor. “I'd like a phone and a private room to call from, if you have one.” “For Mommy?” Margo says. “Oh, I don't know if I really want one. And we have time, dear, don't we?” to Margo. “Why rush her? She may just be sitting down now for dinner. Wouldn't that be nice if all were right. But we have to think about this hard. You and I and our brains and some advisors, like this doctor and maybe the police. They've been in situations like this or close to it and will know what to do and how to, what's the best time and so on. But I don't know if she has to know, ever. Really. No, that can't be. But why go so fast and how could we do it? Not when she just goes to sleep, not when she just gets up, and she'll call tonight if we don't, so we'll have to tell her then if we don't before and we're home, and think up what and how and words and then words after we tell her if they're needed. Can't just be on the phone, can we? Better she see it on our faces first, faces only, and then together we can all just die. But then how do we get there, and by the time we do you'll be asleep and she might be too, which could be good, and we're not going to wake her up, or I won't, because you'll be asleep. No, nothing will work and I'm in no shape to speak or help and don't know when I'll ever be and I don't want anyone else doing it for me but me. She'll need someone there when she hears. She has your grandparents but someone like me, I think, around, when we tell her, when we do. Or just I will, of course, but you beside me, if you don't mind.” “I don't.” “You don't mind, dear—you'd do it?” “It's not what I want but I will if you want me and it helps and to stay near you.” “Good, what a doll you are. But here I am, still doing nothing much good for you, isn't that true? It's awful,” and kisses her hand and heads inside holding it. “I'm going the right way, aren't I?” to the doctor as the first automatic door opens. “Though I don't know for what. My stomach's shriveling. Am I going in here to see her? She's in here, just wasn't a guess, right?” and the doctor nods, looks at her watch, says “If you could give us twenty minutes more, sir, I'll take you to her. Meanwhile, I've asked for the priest, who usually makes his rounds about now, to come down here, and also the resident psychiatrist, just in case you need them.” “Religion, the mind, what about a general?” “I don't understand.” “I'm not sure myself. What did I say? Something about war. Alluding to it, though I don't see where. Law of the jungle? Maybe I just meant law, and instead of a general I meant a judge. No, that can't be: mind, religion, law or war.” “Daddy, please stop it. You're making things worse.” “But why can't I go right now to see my younger one, Julie?” he says to the doctor. “What're you doing to her?” “Don't you want to continue, Mr. Frey?” for they've stopped in the entryway between the doors. “I only want to just touch her when she's not—you know…”