“The doctors know what’s best for the patients,” the bossy pink lady said, reprimanding him.
“I’m sure,” David said.
“What’s wrong with your father?” she asked.
“Everything,” he said. He did not want to get into a long conversation with her about his father. Or about anything, for that matter.
“If he’s in surgery, there’s no sense waiting,” the pink lady said. “Visiting time is up in three minutes. He won’t recognize you, anyway.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait,” David said.
“Suit yourself,” she said. She turned to the trainee. Officious damn biddy, David thought. “Let me show you how to make the coffee,” she said. “You make the coffee first thing in the morning, when you come in. If you’re here in the afternoon, you have to clean the pot, and empty the grinds, and lock up the coffee maker in the cabinet before you go. That’s after the four o’clock visit. At four-ten — sharp! If you don’t lock it up, they steal it.”
David wondered who “they” were. The visitors? The patients? The hospital staff? He visualized a huge band of coffee-maker thieves operating right here out of St. Mary’s.
“The key to the cabinet is in an envelope in the top drawer of the desk here,” she said. “Be sure to put it back in the envelope after you’ve locked up, and then take it downstairs to Mrs. Thorpe in the Volunteer Section and give it to her before you leave the hospital.”
“Do I lock the door, too?”
“What door?”
“Here to the waiting room.”
“No, that stays open all the time. They come in after we leave, you know. For the seven o’clock visit. We leave at four.”
“Four-ten, you mean,” the trainee said.
Touché, David thought.
“Mr. Weber?”
His appearance startled David. He was wearing a green surgical gown and cap. A green surgical mask dangled loose around his neck. It was as though, quite suddenly, David was privileged to see him wearing the garments of his trade. In that moment, Kaplan became a surgeon, and not someone mouthing unfathomables about mysterious infections. He got to his feet at once and joined him in the corridor. Bessie, inexplicably, sat just where she was, unmoving, her head bent, her hands clasped in her lap as if in prayer.
“How is he?” David asked.
“Fine, they’re closing him up now,” Kaplan said. There was that same sorrowful tone in his voice, that same grieving expression on his face.
“What’d you find?”
“Nothing,” Kaplan said, and shook his head. “Clean as a whistle.”
David looked at him. Please don’t tell me it’s all very baffling, he thought.
“It’s all very baffling,” Kaplan said.
“So what now?”
“Now we see,” Kaplan said.
“Now he dies,” David said.
“Not necessarily. He may fight back. There’s always the chance that his will to live will overcome whatever is causing his problem.”
“When can I see him?”
“He won’t be back down for a while yet.”
“Shall I wait for the two o’clock visit?”
“Four would be better. In fact, Mr. Weber, why don’t you take the day off? Relax, get some rest. If you can come tonight at seven, that would be fine.”
“What if...?”
“Nothing’s going to happen to him. Seven will be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“You’ll keep me informed, won’t you? If anything should...”
“Yes, of course,” Kaplan said.
He wondered if he should shake hands with the doctor. Kaplan nodded briefly and walked off. David went to where Bessie was sitting, her head still bent, her hands clasped in her lap.
“Did you hear?” he said.
“I heard. So they found nothing.”
“Nothing.”
“So what was the use?” She shook her head. “He wants us to come back at seven?”
“That’s what he said.”
“I’ll come back at seven,” she said, and sighed. “Where are you going now, the hotel?”
“I thought the apartment first. He wants me to look for his Ten-Forty.”
“His what?”
“His tax declaration. He’s not sure he paid his income tax.”
“His mind wanders,” Bessie said. “He forgets what he paid, what he didn’t pay.” She paused. “If you’re going to the building, pick up the mail, too. He gets a lot of letters, there’s a whole stack of mail there.”
“Okay, I will. Do you have the keys? He said you have his keys.”
“He gave me all what he had in his pockets,” Bessie said. She unclasped her handbag. “There are four keys altogether,” she said. “The little one is for the mailbox, but the mailman is holding all his stuff in the room they have there in the building, where he sorts the mail. The other keys, there’s two locks on the door and also a chain you have to open with a key. That’s the smallest key, the chain key. You can fit your hand in after you open the other two locks, and then you can get at the lock on the chain. It just falls down when you open the lock.”
“Thank you,” he said, and put the keys in his pocket.
He fumbled with the keys for several moments, trying to learn which key fit which of the door locks. He finally managed to get both locks open and then to unlock the chain lock. The chain dropped out of its holding bracket the moment he turned the key, just as Bessie had promised. He swung the door open.
His father had been living in this apartment for more than three years now. David had never come down to Miami Beach because his father made semi-annual visits to New York, and he’d felt no need to see him more often than that. He called him every other Sunday morning, ascertained that he was in good health and keeping busy, and that was that. He had never been inside this apartment, and he was totally unprepared for what he found here now.
A long narrow corridor leading to the living room was stacked with cardboard cartons on its left side, barely allowing passage between the boxes and the closets on the right. In the living room, a table covered with a soiled cloth was stacked high with envelopes, some of them sealed, some of them opened. Scattered on the tabletop were marking pens, sheets of paper with figures and dates on them, scissors, masking tape, cellophane tape, a magnifying glass, ashtrays brimming with cigar butts. There were more cartons in a haphazard circle around the table. Two facing sofas in the living room were stacked with narrow boxes some twelve inches square. A television set was piled high with shoe boxes, old TV Guides, and newspapers. A sweater, a shirt, a pair of undershorts, and an old hat were resting on the seat of a chair drawn up close to the television set.
The apartment was stiflingly hot.
David took a deep breath, went to the window air conditioner and turned it on. From where he stood at the window, he could see into the kitchen. Pots and pans, dirty dishes, cups and glasses were piled in the sink and on the drain-board. A stepladder was leaning against the kitchen door that opened onto the outside hallway. Even from here, David could see that the only locks on the door were the push-button one on the knob and a chain hanging at eye level. His father had barricaded his front door but had neglected to take the same precaution with his kitchen door.
He had to begin looking for the duplicate copy of the tax form.
His father had said, “In the bedroom someplace. One of the drawers there.”
He walked out of the living room, toward the entrance door, and then turned left into the corridor there. More cartons were stacked along either wall, making passage almost impossible. He looked into the bathroom on his right. A sign on the partially open door, hand-lettered by his father, read THIS IS IT! A sign over the toilet-paper roll, again hand-lettered, read FREE! Bottles of medicine, tubes of toothpaste and ointment cluttered the counter around the sink. There were soiled towels on the floor. An enema bag hung on a wire hanger from the sliding doors that enclosed the bathtub. One of the doors was open. Stacked in the bathtub, almost to the ceiling, were more of the twelve-inch-square boxes he had seen on both sofas. His plates, David thought. His plate collection.