“But that’s not true, Doctor,” said Hosea. He stood up.
“I have a lot of work to do. Algren isn’t just a small town, it’s the smallest. You know, just today I’ve hired a girl — a woman — Tom McCloud’s daughter, Knute, to take care of some of the details so I can work on the bigger projects. I’m sure your work is never done even though you work in a small hospital and not one in the city.”
“Well, I suppose so. I didn’t mean to offend you, Hosea, I was simply trying to shed some light on the subject. Listen, everything is very much as it was three days ago when you were last here. Monsieur Hamm is very ill. His organs are shutting down. He has begun to hemorrhage internally. It is very difficult to find a vein in which to insert his IV tubes. The members of his family are coming around to say good-bye. Unless you are a good friend, I would suggest you maintain a respectful distance. As far as Mrs. Epp goes, if she does not go into labour soon, we will have to induce her. I have discussed over the phone, with some of my colleagues in Winnipeg, the possibility of transferring her to one of the larger prenatal wards in the city. She is very uncomfortable. Okay, Hosea? Is that what you wanted to know? You know, this information is generally regarded as confidential. Are you happy?”
“Yes. Thank-you, Dr. François.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Hosea put out his hand to shake the doctor’s. He truly was grateful. That was exactly what he needed to know. But before the doctor could extend his own hand in return, the hospital’s head nurse, Mrs. Barnes, came careering around the corner. A clean white blur. “Dr. François? Dr. François, Mrs. Epp is leaking amniotic fluid and having contractions one and a half minutes apart. I’m afraid one of the babies is not in position. I’m only getting two pulses. A C-section may be necessary.”
In a second, Dr. François was gone. Hosea watched him and Nurse Barnes run down the hall, their white coats flying behind them like twin pillow cases on a washline. Hosea wanted to run after them, run with them. For one semi-unconscious moment Hosea envied the uncooperative baby, the one who was stuck, the one who would have the gentle, capable hands of Dr. François guiding him, or her? towards the light, out and up. Towards safety, towards home, towards his mother and his father. Such tenderness, such concern. For something so small as a baby, one of three, a triplet. Hosea’s mind almost capsized as he began to imagine the younger Dr. François as his own father, as the cowboy on the range, as the leader of the country, as the … Cut it out, Hosea, said Hosea to himself. Dr. Bon-François is busy, so are the nurses, I’ll have a quick peek at old Leander before I go. Thank God for my rubbers, thought Hosea, as he padded softly down the hall, away from the commotion in Mrs. Epp’s room.
Hosea peered around the door of room 3. He jumped when his eyes met Leander Hamm’s. They were open wide and staring directly at Hosea.
“Mr. Hamm?” whispered Hosea.
“Susie? Susie?” Leander Hamm’s eyes didn’t leave Hosea’s face. Hosea stood, frozen, in the doorway. He knew that Susie had been the name of Leander’s wife, long gone now.
“No …” whispered Hosea.
“Cut the crap, Suse. Take me … with you,” Leander Hamm managed to say. He had always been a cantankerous man. He preferred horses to people.
“I can’t. I—”
And then Leander Hamm let out a howl that terrified Hosea.
“Shhh, shh …” said Hosea. He was worried that the doctor would come running. He would be so angry with Hosea if he saw him in Mr. Hamm’s room.
“Okay, I’ll take you with me … dear. Let’s go right now. But please be quiet.” And Hosea went over to Leander Hamm and took his hand. He thought of taking Mr. Hamm’s pulse, the way the doctor had taken his. He stared at his thumb and tapered forefinger holding Leander Hamm’s tiny wrist. Hosea couldn’t believe that this narrow piece of bone had held down wild horses, broken savage stallions, held off the powerful hindquarters of a bucking bronc intent on squashing him between the stable boards. But Leander Hamm tightened his grip and, with more surprising strength, pulled Hosea to him so that Hosea’s face was touching his. Hosea wasn’t quite sure where Leander Hamm wanted to go, or how they’d get there. He just wanted the old man to simmer down.
“Susie. Susie,” said Leander Hamm. He moved his sunken cheek gently against Hosea’s.
“Susie, I’m … I’m … going now. I’m …” But Leander Hamm was sobbing. And Hosea Funk was gasping, speechless, as Mr. Hamm tried to guide Hosea’s hand down towards his legs.
“No, no, my darling … my love,” said Hosea. But it didn’t matter. Leander Hamm had released his grip on Hosea’s hand. He had released his grip on all of it. Man’s life’s a vapour. Leander Hamm was dead.
About thirty-five years earlier, when Leander Hamm was only sixty years old, and Hosea was an awkward teenager, Leander had meant to tell Hosea that he thought he knew something about his father. That old story about the Funk girl being handed a baby one night by a man on a horse didn’t wash with him. Leander knew that was the official story, and he’d done enough stupid things in his day that he wasn’t about to blow the whistle on somebody else, but, gee whiz, you couldn’t lead Leander Hamm down the garden path that easily. Besides, he had seen them together in the field. And years later, he had felt something for Hosea, loping around town, so eager to please. He wanted to mention to Hosea that he had been there, at the dance in Whithers, when the man on the horse had left the hall and met Euphemia in the canola field. Leander had noticed that the stranger had left his hat behind, and he ran out to tell him. But when he saw young Euphemia and the cowboy together in the field, he turned around and quickly walked back to the dance hall. “Two kids in heat,” he’d muttered to himself at the time.
The cowboy never came back for his hat. It was a Biltmore, a good hat. Leander decided to keep it for himself. Now, he wasn’t sure, of course, that this cowboy was Hosea’s dad. But he knew, like everybody else in the area did, that Euphemia was no tramp, that she came from a pretty good family and wouldn’t have been the kind of girl to sleep with every Tom, Dick, and Harry. So chances were it was the cowboy. He seemed like a healthy boy to Leander, but of course Leander Hamm was partial to anybody who was partial to horses. The only thing that had confused him over the years was how nervous Hosea could be the son of that confident cowboy. But it happens. Anyway, the fact that Euphemia had gone out back with this stranger didn’t upset Leander. The stranger was a good boy. They had talked for a few minutes. Was he from Alberta or was he an American, maybe Montana? Leander couldn’t remember. And he hadn’t gotten around to telling the story to Hosea when he’d thought about it, and then the thought was gone.
He had taken the hat. After all, the cowboy had left and never returned. And who better to wear a quality Biltmore than Leander Hamm? In fact, he had worn that hat every day since he’d acquired it. He never saw a dentist or a doctor but twice a year he’d brought that hat into the city to have it steamed and blocked. Horses had trampled on it, shat on it, his kids had misplaced it, his grandchildren had mocked it, his wife had thrown it in the garbage half a dozen times, and not one, but two, cats had had kittens in it. Just about nightly Leander used that hat to cover his privates when he would walk, naked except for the Biltmore, to the outhouse. One time it made a journey to the Holy Land when Oberon Gonne, a man from Leander’s church, had grabbed it from the men’s hat rack after one Sunday service and flown off to Jerusalem for six months. When he came back and returned the hat to Leander it had a strange smell and Leander was pissed off.
Instead of leaving his hat at home when he went to church, he decided to leave himself at home with his hat while his wife, Susie, went to church alone. That was that.