“She’s not visiting,” Mrs. Daniels said. “She’s only sitting here. She won’t go in, don’t worry.”
“I’m only telling you what the rules are,” the pink lady said. She was a new one; David had never seen her before. She sat behind the desk, tapping a pencil.
“I know the rules better than you,” Mrs. Daniels said. “I’ve been coming here half my life now, I think I know the rules.”
“It’s better I should tell you than one of the nurses.”
“Let the nurses tell me,” Mrs. Daniels said.
“There are sick people here, you know,” the pink lady said, and Mrs. Horowitz suddenly burst out laughing. Di Salvo looked at the pink lady in surprise, as though he could not believe what she had just said. He began laughing, too. Even Mrs. Daniels, who a moment before had seemed ready to strangle the pink lady, started laughing. The pink lady kept tapping her pencil. Everyone in the waiting room was laughing now.
“What’s funny?” the little girl asked.
“They think it’s funny, darling,” the pink lady said.
“Don’t call me ‘darling,’ ” the little girl said. “My name is Charlene.”
The clock on the wall read one minute to seven.
“So?” his father said. “Is it Still On, Or what?”
“It’s still on, Pop.”
“They’re sure this time?”
“Positive.”
“What time tomorrow?”
“Shortly after noon.”
“Will you be here?”
“I’ll be here even before you go up.”
“Let’s hope I won’t be going down,” his father said. “For the ten-count.”
“Well, this isn’t a prizefight,” David said, and smiled.
“We used to get in fights with the goyim all the time, Max and me,” his father said. “Did you talk to your uncle? Does he even know I’m in the hospital?”
“I planned to call him tomorrow. After the operation.”
“Maybe you ought to call him tonight. Give him my final regards.”
“Come on, Pop, don’t talk that way.”
“Tell him I said to keep his shoulder ducked. He’ll know what I mean. Will you tell him that?”
“Yes, Pop.”
“Do you remember when Louis beat Schmeling? That Nazi? You were just a little kid.”
“I remember.”
“That was some fight.” His father paused. “They have hard heads, niggers.”
David said nothing.
His father closed his eyes.
“Be a bigger fight than Louis ever had in his life,” he said. “Tomorrow. When I go under the knife again.”
David looked at him.
“I’m scared to death,” his father said, and opened his eyes.
He took his father’s hand between his own.
“No, don’t be scared, Pop,” he said.
“I don’t want to die on the table.”
“You won’t. You’re not going to die at all. They’re going to find what’s wrong, and you’re going to be okay.”
“I hope so,” his father said.
“That’s the way it’ll be,” David said, and nodded. His father was staring at him. He forced himself to look directly into his father’s eyes. “You’ll see.”
“You wouldn’t kid a kidder, would you?” his father said.
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I am, Pop.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I am.”
His father was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Did you find that tax form for me?”
“What tax form?”
“The one you have to send in. What’s it called?”
“What do you mean, Pop?”
“In April. When you pay your taxes.”
“The Ten-Forty, do you mean?”
“Yeah. Did you find it? The copy the accountant gave me?”
“Was I supposed to look for it?”
“Didn’t I tell you to go find it?”
“No, Pop.”
“I can’t remember if I paid it.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. The IRS won’t...”
“I usually pay them right on the dot, April fifteenth, but I can’t remember now. If I paid it, there’ll be a copy. The accountant gives me a copy, and I have the check Xeroxed at the bank. You go look for it, David.”
“Where, Pop?”
“My apartment. In the bedroom someplace. One of the drawers there. Bessie has the keys, ask her for the keys.”
“Okay, Pop.”
“I don’t want to die with them thinking I didn’t pay my taxes.”
“You’re not going to die, Pop.”
“Can you get me a glass of water? They never give you any water here. You’d think it was the Sahara Desert here, you’ve got to beg for a drop of water.”
He went out into the corridor and asked the Vietnamese nurse for a glass of water. She gave him a plastic cup with a flexible straw in it. He carried it back into the room.
“Is it cold?” his father asked.
“It feels nice and cold.”
“Not too cold, is it?”
“No, just right, I think.”
“Because if it’s too cold...” he started, and then shook his head.
“Do you want it now?”
“Yes, please.”
He held the bent straw to his father’s lips. For the first time, he noticed that the inside of his father’s mouth looked raw, almost excoriated. His father took the straw between his lips and began sucking on it before his lips were fully closed. There was the hissing sound of air.
“Just a second, Pop.”
He seated the straw more firmly between his father’s lips.
“Okay?” he said.
His father nodded, inhaled on the straw, and then exhaled. The water in the cup bubbled.
“Try not to breathe out,” David said.
His father nodded.
“How’s that?” David said. “Okay?”
His father nodded again, and then turned his head away from the straw.
“Enough?”
“Yes,” his father said.
“You’re sure you don’t want anymore?”
“It was too cold. They either give you pyok water or water so cold it could freeze your belly. Who’s out there, the Dragon Lady?”
“Yes,” David said.
“This is her idea of Chinese torture,” his father said. “I’m surprised she isn’t dripping it on my forehead.”
David smiled.
“He thinks I’m kidding, my son,” his father said.
“I’ll put this on the sink,” David said. “If you want more, just press your buzzer.”
“Sure. Press your buzzer, they’ll all go out dancing. Nobody comes in here. You could press the buzzer till your finger wore out, nobody comes. They’re too busy out there.”
His father was silent for a moment.
Then he said, “Does The Shiksa know they’re operating again tomorrow?”
“I haven’t told her yet,” David said.
“I’m curious about what she’ll say.”
“I’m sure she’ll think it’s for the best.”
“You think so, huh? You don’t know Molly.”
“I’m sure it is for the best, Pop.”
“Because if they don’t do it, I’ll die, anyway, right?”
“No, who told you that?”
“Who has to tell me? If a man gets to be eighty-two and he isn’t his own best doctor, then he ought to go see a doctor.”
The clock on the wall read a quarter past seven. The pink lady had undoubtedly been intimidated by all the laughter at her expense; she was allowing the visitors a grace period. David felt he ought to say something more before his time was up. Well, I’ve got tomorrow morning, he thought. I’ll tell him then. I’ll see him before the operation and tell him then.
He did not know what he wanted to tell his father.
“Cat got your tongue?” his father said.