Harry was unconscious when they wheeled him into the operating room. They amputated his arm at the shoulder and immediately started antiinfection 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 grayness 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.