Requiem for a Dream (25 page)

The doctor gave the necessary instructions to the
charge nurse to have Sara transferred from psycho to medical, and
handed her the chart. She smiled, Reynolds again? Who else? He has to
be one of the biggest assholes medicine has ever seen. The nurse
laughed. According to him everybody needs shock treatment. Paranoid
schizophrenic. . . . The only thing wrong with that poor old woman
are the diet pills shes been taking.

Tyrone C. Love sat on the edge of the bed rubbing his
head, trying to figure out what was happening. He listened to the
fuckin wind rattling the windows and it was colderen a mutha fucka
out there and soon he be goin out there agin. Sheeit! It seems like
such a short time ago it was summer and they was jus easin across
town to the morgue and gettin high, and now its cold ass winter an
the days an nights jus seem to run all up on each other an each day
seem like a thousan years an like summer never was here an will never
be here agin. Somethin sure did fuck up somewheres. They was out
there wheelin and dealin and takin home the bucks an now theys out
there scufflin and scrappin just trying to hustle enough to keep the
sick off. Sheeit! An them muthafuckin streets a bitch jim, thats for
damn fuckin sure, a mutha fuckin bitch. He turned and looked at Alice
all curled up under the covers, jus the top of her haid stickin out
an she look so nice an warm an all together, but soon she be wakin up
an want a tase. Damn, that bitch sure can sleep. An if she aint
sleepin she be noddin. He smiled, but she sure be a fine woman, a
natural born fox. He kept rubbing his head, hearing the wind. All
that fine shit and them bucks an now ah caint make the mutha fuckin
raint. Sheeit. Where all them hassles come from? It used to be so
nice an cool an me an Alice would jus be layin up here with the
window open and the curtains blowin in the breeze talkin that trash
an finger poppin an now it soun like the mutha fuckin win like to
tear this goddamn apartment right the fuck down jim. Sheeit. Seem
like there be nothin but hassles now. Doan understan it. Jus doan
understan. Lease we got the braid to cop some stuff tonight. If they
be any stuff there. Might be that some dudes jus tryin to get a bunch
a cats together with some braid and ripem off. Doan know what the
fuck gonna happen out there jim, them mutha fuckin streets gettin
crazier every day . . . every fuckin day. Jus like the big fish eatin
the littler fish ... Sheeit! when you the little fish you in trouble
jim . . . serious trouble. An you have nothin but hassles. We jus
gotta be cool baby an hang tough. Lease we be able to stay cool for a
while we cop this shit. An then we doan have to be out there in that
mutha fuckin coal scufflin with our tight little asses, goddamn, ah
hate hassles. Sheeit! He got up and went to the bathroom and stood
over the bowl, leaning against the wall with one hand, holding his
joint in the other and sort of looking it over as he shook the final
drops, Sheeit, it damn near time for me to get mah ass out there in
that mutha fuckin coal agin. Ahm gonna git me some cock before ah
freeze the mutha fucka off. He sat on Alices side of the bed and
pulled the covers down some and rubbed her neck and pushed her over
on her back and kissed her hard on the mouth as he cupped a breast in
a hand, Comeon, woman, wake up. If ah want a daid piece ahll git me
back to the morgue. Alice blinked her eyes and stared at him dumbly
for a minute, Watch you wan? Sheeit, what you think ah want? and he
crawled over her onto the bed and pulled her close to him. Ah want me
some a that fine thang you got there woman, and he rubbed her stomach
and things and kissed her on the neck and Alice started to giggle and
try to blink her eyes open, Ah ain even awake yet or had me a tase.
Sheeit, your daddy gonna give you your fix woman, and Tyrone C. Love
did all he could to store the heat of love in his bones and muscles
and his head, and insulate himself from the cold and the
possibilities of what might happen this night.

It was the strangest night and the strangest scene
the city had ever seen. The captain of the precinct had been advised
days in advance of what area was to be used and that everything in
that area was to be absolutely controlled and calm-It was like
walking through the battlefield of a raging engagement and suddenly
turning the corner and finding yourself in a demilitarized zone. The
streets were empty. There werent even any fires in the abandoned
buildings. Not even a bum in a hallway or under a mattress. The
emptiness continued for five blocks in each direction from the
appointed area. There were no prowl cars within the area, but they
patrolled the border. The only points of entry were through one of
the various check points where guards with Thompsons and walkie
talkies checked everybody out before letting them pass. All weapons
had to be left behind. When dudes were told they couldnt carry a
piece with them they screamed and hollered. What the fuck yoe talkin
about? Yoe wan me to go in there with five hundred dollars an git me
some fuckin herron and walk all the fuckin way out here niked,
without mah muthafuckin piece? sheeit, yoe out yoe fuckin mind jim.
Then youre outta ya fuckin dope asshole, and he stuck the tip of the
Thompson in the guys face and the guy turned and stomped off,
muttering and spitting, and came back a few minutes later, clean. Ahs
niked, gawddamn it. They frisked him very carefully and finally
nodded him through, If ah gets ripped off ahm gonna be on yoe ass
mutha. Sue me. The guy continued grumbling, but continued to join the
line that was blocks long, and it was still only 8'30 and the dude
wasnt supposed to be there until ten.

Harry and Tyrone figured it would be best if they
took half the money each and stashed it all over, taping it to
various parts of their bodies, while they checked the scene out,
keeping just a couple of bucks in their pockets in case they did get
jumped they might take just that and split, figuring that that was
all they had. They got checked through easy enough, and kept looking
in every direction at once as they walked through the DMZ toward the
distribution point. Every half Wock there was a parked car with a guy
on the roof with a machinegun, and a guy on the ground with a walkie
talkie. Sheeit, you dig that action man? Yeah. I feel like I just
walked into one a those fuckin cartoons man. They both shrugged
deeper into their coats, Ah aint never felt so mutha fuckin creepy in
mah life jim. They walked through the rubble of the blown out
buildings, darkly silhouetting their broken bodies against the sky,
the silence weird and strangely piercing to the ears and eyes. They
approached the line which was hundreds long and the guys were half
huddled and half lined against the crumbling walls trying to keep
warm and not look at the machineguns staring down at them, trying to
be cool in their movements so nobody with all that fuckin heat got
the wrong idea, and so they stood as quietly as possible, shuffling
their feet in an attempt to keep them warm, their hands shoved deep
in their pockets, wiping their running noses with their shoulders,
standing with one foot on top of the other from time to time, the
guys with ripped sneakers wrapping newspaper around them, and their
bodies, to keep warm. Harry and Tyrone dug those dudes and shook
their heads, knowing they would never get that bad, that they would
never get strung out and live just for shit. Every few minutes
someone asked the time and occasionally one of the guards would tell
them and someone would always tell them to stop askin fa krists sake,
Ya make the fuckin time drag like that man. Cool it, eh? and they
went back to trying to think the time by faster and faster and ignore
the ice in their bones and on their flesh; and the guards just
watched them, saying nothing, warm in their arctic coats and face
masks, looking like something from a science fiction movie as they
moved stiffly, almost invisible with the dark background, the water
vapor from their mouths more visible than their faces, but less
visible than the machineguns. A few minutes after ten a large, black
Cadillac pulled up and stopped and two guys with Thompsons got out,
then two more, and a guy all wrapped up in a fur coat got out
carrying a large suitcase. He walked to what was once a hallway where
a portable heater had been set up. It was turned on and he stood on
the thick piece of wool rug near the heater. One by one the guys were
led up to the hallway and one guy took their money, counted it, put
it in a steel box and each guy passed on and was handed his half
piece wrapped in plastic, and told to move it. As soon as they left
the DMZ the guys tried to melt into the night, the word having gone
out that no one would be busted, at least within a mile of the place,
but only a fool trusts a cop. Some guys hustled to the dark hallway
where they had stashed their gun and then hurried through the
streets, one hand clutching their dope the other one their gun;
others rushed to parked cars where the dudes who had gone down with
them for the stuff were waiting and then they sped away slapping
palms and swallowing hard, just thinking about all that fine dope
giving them a taste in the back of their throats; and some guys didnt
make it out of the cars or past the darkened buildings, getting their
heads blown away or bashed in.

The line moved rapidly, but it still took hours for
everyone to get their dope, no one about to disagree, in any way,
with those machineguns that had everybody locked in a crossfire.
Harry and Tyrone taped their stuff to their bodies and when they got
back to the streets they picked up a couple of rocks each and walked
down the middle of the street, their combined vision taking in a
gGo-degree area. They clung to the rocks even as they sat in the cab,
not letting go of them to smoke, but holding on until they got back
to their pad. The first thing they did was to get off, then they cut
and bagged the rest of the shit, each guy taking a half piece to take
care of their customers. They figured theyd better make the bags a
little smaller than double the price. Things were tight and every
dope fiend in the city would be willing to pay a dime for a nickel
bag, even if it was a little light.

Harry and Marion were sitting back enjoying the
warmth and the sense of security of listening to the radiators click
and looking at the bags of dope on the table. Are you going to sell
all that Harry? Most of it, why? Suppose we cant get any more? What
will we do? Theres got to be more. But suppose there isnt, Marions
voice was becoming more intense, look how difficult its been lately.
But tonight was just a beginning. Marion turned and looked Harry in
the eye, very intently, I dont think so. Whatta ya talkin about? Im
not sure. Its a feeling. But I dont want to be sick anymore Harry. I
dont like waking up and not having anything in the house. Either do
I, but its bad business not to put the stuff on the streets. Now that
theyve upped the price therell be plenty of stuff around. Marion
shook her head, I have a bad feeling about it Harry. Dont sell it,
Marions eyes reflected her fear and for the first time there was a
pleading tone in her voice, wait and be sure theres going to be more
. . . please Harry, please, her body rigid, her eyes staring straight
ahead. Dont worry about it, we'll be able to cop. We'll be able to
get straight.

Dr. Spencer stood in front of Dr. Harwood, the
department administrator, his hands clenched in his pockets, his jaw
clenched so tightly it ached. Dr. Harwood pushed himself back from
his desk and looked at Dr. Spencer for a moment and frowned slightly,
You look positively rigid. You had better sit down and relax. He sat
and took a deep breath and tried to allow his body to loosen, but it
still ached from the rigidity of controlled anger. Dr. Harwood
continued to frown, Well, what seems to be your problem doctor? you
said it was urgent. Dr. Spencer took another deep breath, closed his
eyes for a moment, then exhaled slowly, Its Dr. Reynolds. Dr. Harwood
looked sternly at him, I have told you before that if you want to
feud with Dr. Reynolds to do it on your own time. This has nothing to
do with a feud, it has to do with the proper care and treatment of
patients. Dr. Harwood leaned back in his chair, Alright, what is it
this time? Dr. Spencer was trying very hard to relax and control
himself, but the more he talked about the situation the harder it was
to control his anger. He took another deep breath, A Sara Gold-farb
was admitted to the hospital in a completely disoriented condition
and Dr. Reynolds diagnosed her as a paranoid schizophrenic and sent
her to psycho with a recommendation of possible shock treatment, as
usual—Dr. Harwood winced slightly, but said nothing—I gave her a
routine examination and found that she had been taking diet pills and
Valium and had not eaten a decent meal in many months ... he paused
for a moment fighting his rising anger . . . and left orders to have
her transferred to medical. This morning I found that my orders had
been countermanded by Dr. Reynolds and that the patient is still in
psycho and not only that, but he has left a standing order, a
standing order that all such orders of mine are to be completely and
immediately ignored. Dr. Spencer was flushed and sweating slightly as
Dr. Harwood watched him fighting to keep control of himself. He has
the authority and the right to do that doctor. Im not talking about
his right to do anything, Im talking about the patients right to
receive the best and the proper medical attention. Are you saying
that she is not getting exactly that at this hospital? Im saying that
her problem is medical and not psycho. Give her a little rest, some
proper food and clean her body of the stimulants and depressives that
she has been taking and she will be completely recovered. Dr. Harwood
looked at him coolly for a moment, In your opinion doctor. Its more
than my opinion, its my experience. In the past eight months I have
taken six of Dr. Reynolds' patients and treated them medically, for
just the same symptoms and the same reasons, and they have fully
recovered in less than a month, without shock treatment or any
psychotropic drugs. Dr. Harwood continued to look at him and to speak
slowly, Yes, I know. That is why he gave those orders. You cannot
interfere with another doctors treatment or— Even when that
treatment is not only incompetent, but dangerous and inimical to the
patients health and well being? Dr. Harwood blinked his eyes slowly,
tolerantly, I do not think you are in a position to judge the
competency of a doctor specializing in a field of medicine to which
you are hostile and who is your superior in rating and experience.
Well I disagree. Completely and vehemently. The record will bear me
out. If someone has a toothache you dont send him to a chiropodist.
And just what exactly is that supposed to mean? It simply means that
medical patients should not be treated as psycho patients, and this
woman, as were the others, is a medical problem not a psychiatric
problem. Dr. Harwood was gently tapping the tips of his fingers
together, Again, this is your opinion, which differs from Dr.
Reynolds' opinion. Reynolds is a horses ass. You will not make
insulting remarks about other members of my staff, doctor, Dr.
Harwood was leaning forward in his chair and looking directly into
Dr. Spencers eyes, especially about decisions that have my
concurrence. You mean you approved? Of course. But how could you
after reading my remarks on her chart? There was no need for me to
see her chart. No need to see her chart? You mean you just condemned
someone to shock treatment without even looking at their record? O
really, doctor, condemned is a childish and stupid word to use. But
shock treatments are completely unnecessary in this case. I tell you
I can have her well in just a few weeks with some rest and
nourishment. Dr. Spencer, I am growing a little impatient with your
anti-Reynolds tirade. Let me remind you, again, that he is your
superior and just on the basis of that fact you are powerless over
his actions. Completely powerless. Do you understand me? But dont you
care about the welfare of the patient either? Dr. Harwood leaned
toward Dr. Spencer, a bard look on his face, My job is to see that
this department functions smoothly, with the least amount of trouble
and conflict. That is my job and my purpose. I have the
responsibility to see that a large department of one of the largest
hospitals in the world—in the world—functions to the very best of
its ability. I am responsible for thousands of people and that is my
responsibility, not one small patient, but the thousands that depend
on my ability to keep this department functioning smoothly, and
without internecine squabbles. You have antagonized Dr. Reynolds
repeatedly, without cause, and I have excused you— Without cause?
How can— BE QUIET! I am not interested in your opinion about
another doctors competency, but in performing my duties to the very
best of my ability. But that woman — I have told you I dont care
about that woman. Even if you are correct in your diagnosis and
assumptions, the worst that can happen is that she will have a few
unnecessary shock treatments. The worst— Dr. Harwood was staring
hard at Dr. Spencer and leaning closer to him, Thats right. The
worst. Whereas even if youre right and I go along with you it will
cause so much disruption in the staff and the calm and efficient
functioning of this department that far more will be lost than a few
months time out of the life of one woman. Dr. Spencer looked hurt and
bewildered, I thought your responsibility was to treat the sick. Dr.
Harwood looked at him for a moment, Dont be naive doctor. Dr. Spencer
just stared, feeling empty and hollow inside, his tongue tasting
leaden and his eyes feeling heavy and tear laden. Dr. Harwood
continued to stare at him, then breathed deeply and sighed and leaned
back in his chair. Of course, if you do not approve of the manner in
which this hospital is run you are free to resign your residency.
That is your privilege. Dr. Spencer continued to look straight in
front of him, Dr. Harwood and everything else in the room becoming a
blur. His body was limp. His brain felt soggy. His gut hollow. He
closed his eyes for a moment then shook his head. Dr. Harwood
continued to tap the tips of his fingers together, Im certain there
must be quite a bit for you to do on the wards doctor. Dr. Spencer
nodded and stood to leave. And let me remind you of something doctor
. . . harmony breeds efficiency. Good morning.