Requiem for a Dream (32 page)

Harry was unconscious when they wheeled him into the
operating room. They amputated his arm at the shoulder and
immediately started anti-infection therapy in an attempt to save his
life. He was being fed intravenously in his right arm and both
ankles, and was strapped to the bed so the needles wouldnt rip his
veins if he started to convulse. A tube was in his nose so a steady
supply of oxygen could be fed to his lungs. There were two drains in
his side connected to a small pump under the bed in an effort to pump
the poisonous fluid from his body. From time to time Harry stirred
and groaned as he struggled to free himself from the claws of a
nightmare and the nurse sitting by his side wiped his head with a
cool, damp cloth, and spoke to him soothingly, and Harry would calm
and once more be motionless, seeming almost to be dead, as he was
absorbed by a dream and a feeling of weightlessness. .. then light
surrounded him, light so complete and intense he experienced it in
every part of his being, making him feel like he had never felt in
his life, like he was something special, something really special.
Harry felt the light's warmth and he smiled so widely that he almost
laughed as he felt joy flowing through his entire being. It was like
the light was saying, I love you, and Harry knew that it was alright,
that everything was alright, and he started walking without knowing
why. Then it slowly dawned on him that he was looking for the source
of the light. He knew it just couldnt be everywhere. It had to come
from somewhere, and so he started searching for the source because he
knew that the closer he got to the source the better he would feel,
so he walked and walked, but the light didnt change. It stayed the
same. No brighter, no dimmer, and so he stopped and tried to think,
but he couldnt seem to think . . . not really. He could feel his face
trying to work itself into a frown, but the smile was immovable and
the joy continued to flow through all of his being. Then he had a
vague sense of discomfort and he suddenly became aware of the fact
that he was frowning and that the light was getting dimmer and though
he couldnt see it he could feel some hideous monster coming toward
him from some dark cloud that was forming somewhere behind him, but
no matter how he moved he couldnt find the cloud. He tried
desperately to find its location so he could run from it and try to
stay in the light, but the more he turned and ran the more he stayed
in one place, and he tried to catch his breath to put forth a burst
of speed and run and run and run . . . but still he remained in one
place and now the ground under him seemed to become increasingly
amorphous and he started to sink deeper and deeper and his struggle
only seemed to increase the speed of his descent and now he became
frighteningly aware that the light was receding and though he still
could not see that black cloud he knew without doubt that he was
sinking deeper and deeper into it and closer and closer to the
hideous monster that made him try to cry out in terror but no sound
came out of his mouth. He could feel, and somehow even see, his mouth
move but no sound came out and now he could taste the blackness it
was so intense, and feel the claws of the still unseen monster as he
squirmed and struggled to find a voice to his terror, but only
silence followed his contortions and he knew that if he did not
scream soon he would be ripped apart, his flesh and bones shredded by
the monster, so he forced his mouth open even wider and could feel
his lips being twisted and stretched and then he finally heard a
slight sound and the blackness was partially penetrated with
gray-ness and he became aware that he was struggling to open his eyes
as he fought for endless lifetimes to open them before the claws of
the monster ripped them out . . . then light was suddenly there, not
the same light, but light, and he tried to move, but couldnt, tried
to speak, but only incomprehensible sounds dribbled from his mouth.
The nurse saw the fear and panic in his eyes and smiled at him. Its
alright son, youre in a hospital. It took time for the information to
register. . . . Endless time. . . . Harry tried moving his lips.
Everything seemed so heavy. He couldnt move anything. The nurse
rubbed his lips, gently, with an ice cube. Does that feel better?
Harry tried to nod, but couldnt. He blinked his eyes. She wiped his
head and face with the cool, damp cloth. She could see the fear and
panic subsiding. She smiled gently as she rubbed his lips again with
the ice cube. Youre in a hospital son. Everythings alright. Slowly,
painfully, the reality of his situation registered in Harrys mind and
he nodded his head to let her know he understood. Then he winced, My
arm, my arm—he was almost crying—it hurts like hell. I cant even
move it. The nurse continued to wipe his face with the cool, damp
cloth, Try to relax son, the pain will go away soon. Harry looked at
her for a moment, feeling the cool cloth on his head, then felt his
eyes closing and fought with everything in him to escape the
blackness and the claws of its monster and get back to the dream of
light as he descended into unconsciousness.

For weeks Tyrone thought he was going to die any
minute, and there were also times when he was afraid he wasnt going
to die. He shivered through the cold nights, his bones brittle and
aching, his muscles cramping, the pain doubling him up, the ache in
his legs dragging him almost immediately from the short and pitiful
moments of sleep, and he would lie huddled and twisted in his bunk,
teeth chattering, begging in his mind for some warmth while he hoped
five oclock would never come so he wouldnt have to get up and spend
twelve hours with the work gang out on that highway. The guard always
looked at him, shivering, for a moment, then laughed as he dumped
Tyrone on the floor, Git yoe ass movin, boy, yawl got work to do, and
he started laughing again as he walked through the barracks yelling
the prisoners awake.

Tyrone spent most of the first week doubled with
cramps and weakened from diarrhea and the constant spasms of
retching, nothing coming up but driblets of bitter bile. When he fell
over from exhaustion and cramps the guard would laugh, Whats the
matta, boy, caint yoe take it? These here otha niggas is doin just
fine, boy, what be wrong with yawl? and he laughed as he pushed
Tyrones chin back with his foot, finishing his bottle of Coke and
tossing the empty bottle into the ditch, then yanking Tyrone up on
his feet and grabbing him under the chin and almost lifting him off
his feet, Yoe know somethin, boy, we dont like yoe smart ass New Yawk
niggas, yoe know that, boy, uh? yoe know that? Tyrone hanging from
his hands, his body jerking with spasms. Aint no one ast yawl to come
down chere, did they, boy? uh? did they? We dont like your kine, an
if you ever git back to New Yawk yoe tell the rest a them niggas that
we dont like your kine. Yoe hear me boy? Huh? Yoe hear me? We take
care a our own niggas, aint that right—glancing at the prisoners
around him —we takes care a them jus fine, but we doan like your
kine comin down chere an startin no trouble. Yoe hear me boy? huh?
Yoe hear me? He threw Tyrone down and spit, sneered, then laughed,
Bet youd like to kill me, wouldnt you, boy, huh? Like to bury that
shovel in mah haid, wouldnt you, boy, huh? He spit and laughed
louder, Tell yoe what ahll do, boy. I'll turn mah back an give yoe a
chance. Like that, boy? huh? Comeon, boy, doan lay there like some
snivelin, yella livered nigga, git yoe ass up an hit me right
chere—pointing to the back of his head—this your chance, boy, and
he turned around and watched his long shadow on the ground, and the
lack of one beside it, then laughed and started walking away, Comeon,
comeon, git your black asses to work, this ain no fuckin sideshow.
Tyrone was still lying in the ditch, struggling to his knees, his
head raging, wanting to yank that mutha fuckas tongue right the fuck
out of his mouth and shove it down his throat, but unable to move as
he knelt, holding on to his shovel, his head hanging and body
convulsing with dry heaves. Another prisoner came over and helped
him, Take it easy brother. Tyrone was panting as he cursed the honky
mutha fucka, but the words were sucked back into his mouth with his
convulsions. The other prisoner helped him to his feet when the
convulsions stopped, Dont git no ideas brother, he blow your haid off
with that shotgun. Jus be cool an he lighten up ventually. Tyrone
struggled through the day, with the help of a few of the other
prisoners, then fell into bed when they got back to camp after
sunset. From time to time he fell into an exhausted sleep and even
then his body continued to torment him, then quieted as he dreamed he
was a little boy back with his moms, an he was sick with a tummy ache
an the moms was holding him so nice he could feel her warm breath on
his face, an it felt so good an sof an it kinda tickle his nose jus a
little bit an almost make him forgit his tummy ache, an she give him
a spoon a some nasty tastin medicine an he shake his head no, no, no,
an turn his face, but she talk so nice and soothing an tell him hes
mommas big boy, an she so proud a him, an she smile so big an wide an
bright like all the sun be in her eyes, an he closed his eyes and
swallowed the medicine an the moms smile even more an now her face
all bright an shiny too an she hug her boy to her breas an rock him
and hum, an he put his arms aroun her as far as they go an she sing
so quiet her voice be like the angels she tole him about an it felt
so good there, listenin to the moms sing and feelin so warm and safe,
an he could feel himself drifting to sleep an all of a sudden his
tummy hurt bad, real bad, an he started to cry again, mommy, mommy,
an the moms hold him even tighter as her dress blotted her babys
tears an Tyrone jerked and twisted involuntarily as he was dragged
from his sleep and dream by his pain and tears. He opened his eyes
almost wishing . . . hoping . . . but there was only blackness. For a
brief second his mind was still aglow with the picture of the moms
hugging him and singing, then the blackness devoured that too and all
he heard were his tears as they wet his cheeks.

Eventually the spasms and retching passed and he was
able to struggle through a days work with the help of other
prisoners, and soon he was just another black ass to the guards and
they left him alone to do his work and his time, and at night Tyrone
would lie on his bunk thinking of his moms and the warm sweetness of
her breath.