The Complete Collection. William WhartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
can feel the blush rising over me, but Dad isn’t noticing.
‘She tells me she was a nurse in some hospital I was in that I don’t even remember. She brought them African violets there; raised them from cuttings. She has seventeen different varieties of African violets alone; I only got eight myself.
‘You are keeping up the watering on my plants and things, aren’t you, Johnny?’
I nod.
‘I’ve been watering, Dad, and staying up with most of the weeding, too. Alicia’s a fine person all right; one night she helped save your life.’
‘She told me all about that, John. I could hardly believe it. She sure thinks the world of you, says you were better’n a doctor. You know, this is a peculiar thing to say, considering everything, but that girl reminds me of my own mother, your grandmother, Mary Duheme, more than any person I ever met in my life. That’s why I’m not going to hell, John; I can love that woman, nigger or not, just as much as I can love my own mother.’
He smiles at me and I smile back. I think of asking what time she comes but I don’t. Before leaving I say if she comes again to say hello for me.
Dad tells the nurses he doesn’t want to be shaved anymore. The nurses talk to the doctor and Chad comes to me. I talk to Dad.
‘We’ve been through all this before, Dad. You know how Mother feels about beards. Here she’s got a bearded son and three bearded grandsons; don’t you think a bearded husband might be too much of a good thing?’
‘Don’t worry, let me talk to her, John. After all, I almost died; I have some rights. I’m an old man; old men should be allowed to have beards if they want. Besides, I have a very tender face. Since I can’t grow hair on top, I’ll grow some on my chin.’
There’s no stopping him. I tell Chad it’s OK. He smiles out of his bush. He thinks this is one of the funniest things happening in the hospital. He tells the nurses and they don’t fight. It’s no fun shaving an old man with a heavy beard and folds of neck wrinkles. I go home to prepare Mother.
‘I tell you, Jacky, he’s gone completely crazy; he isn’t the same. He’s turning into some kind of Don Juan. I think he’s senile; going into his second childhood. You wait till I get him home, we’ll see about that beard; nobody with a beard is going to kiss me, I’ll tell you that much!’
I try calming her down. I call Joan; she’s convinced I’ve talked Dad into it; she’s going to the hospital and discuss it with him, then she’ll come over to Mother’s.
Mother’s still raving when Joan drives up. Joan comes in the door laughing. She goes over and gives Mother a kiss and a hug. Before Mother can get in a word, Joan lets it out.
‘Mother, you’ll just have to try living with Santa Claus for a while. He’s got this bug to grow a beard and he’s as excited as a kid.’
Joan throws her purse on the couch and flops beside it. She’s still giggling.
‘I had no more chance with him than I did with Jeff and Ted. He’s convinced you’ll like it, Mother.’
‘Do you think he’s gone crazy, Joan? Tell me, is he crazy?’
Joan spreads her arms along the top of the couch, spreads her legs, kicks off her shoes. She looks at me.
‘He’s no crazier than this one here, or Billy, or Jeff, or Teddy; he’s only doing some kind of “man” thing on us.’
I get up, go in, and bring out some of the muscatel. I pour us all a glass and pass it around.
Mother begins to see the humorous side.
‘My God, Joan. How will I ever explain it to the neighbors? They’ll all think I have a hippy boyfriend.’
Joan takes a sip of the cold wine.
‘Maybe you do, Mother; he’s so different. He’s like a seventeen-year-old and I don’t mean he’s senile; his mind is young. He’s making jokes, smiling at everything, at everybody in the hospital.’
She sips again, looks at me.
‘You know, it’ll give him something to think about. He’s always been a farmer at heart, now he can grow a garden – on his face.’
Mother laughs, almost spills her wine.
‘You’re crazy too, Joan; it’s in that damned Tremont blood.’
I know Mom can laugh because she’s convinced she’ll talk Dad out of the beard.
I help her back to the bedroom for her nap. Joan and I sit out on the patio. It’s a fine sunny day, not too hot but with strong sun and a soft breeze. There’s practically no smog. It’s the kind of day L.A. is supposed to have all the time. I’ve rolled out the two redwood chaise longues. Joan stretches herself on one and I lower myself onto the other.
‘Tell me, Jack, what does the doctor say? What’s going on? It’s like Dad stepped into a time machine; he makes me feel older than he is.’
She has the back of her hand across her eyes against the sun. She takes the hand away and leans forward.
‘I think he’s got that beard mixed up in his mind with getting well. I’m sure he sees himself coming out of this whole thing a new man.’
‘That could be a big part of it. That show of color when he let it grow maybe reminded him of his real life locked in there.’
Just then it hits me.
‘Holy God, Joan! What’ll we do about the dates on that tombstone?’
She sits up.
‘Oh, my goodness! I forgot. We’ll have to call and ask them to leave off the final date.’
‘Do you mean the last seven or both sevens?’
‘Jack, at the rate he’s going, maybe we should think twice about the nineteen!’
When I finally decide Dad should come home, he weighs a hundred ten and his beard’s well grown in; thick, dark, grizzled brown.
Chad goes along with everything I ask. This includes a deluxe pneumatic mattress to help with healing Dad’s bedsores, a wheelchair, one of those walkers and a cane. We also have a special chemical toilet and an oxygen tank with the nose attachment. I figure Mother can use the oxygen while napping, even if Dad doesn’t. Perpetual is footing the bill for all this and a nurse will come once a day to check on Dad. I get Dr Coe to sign a procurement slip allowing the nurse to check Mother, too.
I must admit I’m laying it on, but it’s a small revenge.
I’m half tempted to walk the senile corpse in on Ethridge but I’m not sure this would be good for Dad. Ethridge wouldn’t care anyway; just so long as his stocks keep going up and his golf game doesn’t deteriorate too fast.
Dad comes home and Joan joins us to help with the settling in. There was never anybody more pleased to be home; but then he’s happy about everything. He sits in his platform rocker with his leg cocked under him and comments immediately on the African violets blooming in the window box. I’ve added his new ones from the hospital. Alicia’s given him five different varieties. I’m praying Mother won’t ask about them but I’m ready to lie.
He wants to check his garden and the greenhouse. Billy and I’ve been keeping things in the greenhouse tended, also the grass cut and trimmed. It isn’t up to his standards, we know, but it isn’t a jungle either.
Mom watches Dad as if there’s a stranger in the house. Already, he can get along with a cane if somebody holds his other arm, so we take him out to the patio, help him into a chair. It’s another good day but a bit warmer and there’s a touch of smog. Still, out there, with the greenery and the recently watered grass, it’s beautiful.
Dad stares up.
‘Boy, it’s easy