The third patient, a rangy man wearing rubber thongs, cut-off jeans, and a tank top with camouflage design, made no move to take the cup, and I hoped nothing in my face or manner betrayed the revulsion I felt when I looked at him. Suddenly I found myself taking comfort in the fact that there were five other white-coated male nurses, all reassuringly big and burly, standing or sitting around the area.
The marks on the man's face and shaved head hadn't been applied in any tattoo parlor; the dye-stained, ragged scars were obviously self-inflicted, probably with a razor blade. Circling his head was a crown of thorns, complete with scar-puckered drops of blood extending down over his shoulders, chest, and back, JESUS, in red-stained capital letters, was carved into his left cheek, SAVES into the right. The man was looking directly at me with bright, slightly unfocused green eyes, and it had been a long time since I'd seen as much naked hatred in a face.
"Mama?" Carling continued in a low, hard voice which had lost all traces of its lisp. "What's up, Mama? Talk to me.”
"I'm not sure I want to take my medication today," the man called Mama said in a low, guttural voice that was close to a snarl. Rage mingled with the hatred in his eyes as he glared at me, and the muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched.
Something about me was seriously upsetting the man, and I wasn't sure whether walking away would pacify him or enrage him even more. Consequently I remained very still, dropped my gaze, and stared at the floor in what I hoped the man would take as a gesture of passivity; but I made sure I kept him well within my range of peripheral vision. If he got tired of talking and nasty faces and made a move for me, I was prepared to drop him with a kick to the groin or the side of the knee.
"You suit yourself, Mama," Tommy Carling said in the same low, hard voice. "Nobody's going to force you to take your meds, and you know it. But you also know what's going to happen if you don't take it. By noontime, you'll be hopping around inside your skin. Then you'll want to calm down, but you won't be able to; you'll ask for your stuff, but by then it will be too late for oral medication, pill or liquid. You'll get belligerent and want to fight. You'll throw some furniture around. You'll be confused, and you'll get very threatening. That's when we'll have to take you down, put you in a camisole, and stick a needle in your ass. You'll end up in the Critical Care room for a minimum of twenty-four hours, trussed up in that camisole and lying on a mat. You know it's going to happen, Mama, so why don't you just take your meds now and save us all a lot of grief?"
"Why the hell did you bring a dwarf in here?!" the man shouted, half rising from the chair and clenching his bony fists. "God hates dwarfs! Dwarfs are evil, and God wants them all dead! I wouldn't be here if it weren't for dwarfs! You bring one in here, it's bad luck for all of us!"
Ah, yes. It just didn't seem like a good time to try to point out all the sterling qualities of dwarfs, and so I remained still and silent-but ready, balanced on the balls of my feet.
"Mama, I'm sorry," Carling said in a voice that had suddenly become soothing. The other nurses, who had hurried over as soon as the man had begun shouting, now stood shoulder to shoulder in a semicircle behind his chair. "This is something new, a view of yours I wasn't aware of. I didn't mean to do anything to upset you, and I'm going to make it right. I'm going to take this man out of here right now. When I come back, you're going to be calmed down, and you're going to take your meds. Okay?" Carling paused, inclined his head toward me, continued evenly: "Walk to the door; I'll be right behind you."
I certainly didn't need any prompting-but as I turned to leave I found my way blocked by someone with a slim waist connected to a pair of massive thighs, very close. I hadn't heard anyone come up behind me, and I was thoroughly startled.
"Take your medication, Baker, and stop this bullshit," a voice above me said curtly.
I stepped back, looked up at the man who had spoken. The owner of the thighs and the deep, commanding voice was about the same size as my brother, six feet two or three. He obviously spent a lot of time in the gym, for his chest and heavily muscled arms bulged inside a short-sleeved knit jersey. He had a rugged but not unhandsome face, with a straight nose, pronounced cheekbones, and an ocher tinge to his flesh that made me think he might have more than a little American Indian in him. His eyes were black-bright, piercing. He had a full head of hair only slightly tinged with gray around the temples. The sharp widow's peak that extended low on his forehead gave him an elfin-or devilish-look. I put his age at around forty-five.
"This is none of your business, Braxton!" Mama Baker shouted. His eyes had grown very wide, and both JESUS and SAVES were outlined in pink as he flushed. He continued to tremble with rage, but something else-respect, and perhaps fear-moved in his green eyes, and he eased himself back down into his chair.
"It's the business of everybody in this unit, Baker, when your bullshit involves our privileges," the tall man with the piercing eyes said evenly. "The last time you refused to take your medication, it was less than three hours before you went apeshit. You busted up the place, and it took two months to get the television and stereo repaired."
Marl Braxton paused, glanced at Tommy Carling, and held out his right hand. Carling handed a paper cup to the big man, who swallowed the two tiny pink pills in it without juice or water. "See?" Braxton said quietly to the man with the scar-shrouded head. "Nothing to it. This man you've been insulting is Dr. Robert Frederickson. I have no idea what he's doing here, but he should be treated as an honored guest. I mean, we wouldn't want Dr. Frederickson to think we're too crazy, would we, Mama? In any case, I wish to think of him as my honored guest. He's a most accomplished and interesting man, and I'd like to speak with him about many subjects. If he leaves prematurely because of you, Baker, I'll take personal offense. Now, calm down and take your medication."
Mama Baker swallowed hard, and his knuckles were white where they gripped the armrests of his chair. "Are you threatening me, Braxton?!"
"No," the big man replied mildly. "I'm asking you to do what you should be doing anyway. The rest of us don't care to suffer because of your stupidity."
"What are you going to do if I don't?"
"I'll do nothing. But there's always the chance that my maid of constant sorrows may visit you one night."
"Fuck you and your creepy maid of constant sorrows."
"My maid of constant sorrows will most assuredly fuck you, Mama." Marl Braxton's voice, calm and quiet to begin with, had become softer-which only made it more chilling. "She'll really stick it to you. You won't like it."
There was a prolonged silence during which Mama Baker glared at Marl Braxton, who calmly gazed back at him.
"Give me the fucking stuff," Baker said at last.
There was a barely audible, communal sigh of relief around the room as Mama Baker took a cup from Tommy Carling's outstretched hand, swallowed the purple liquid. He crumpled the cup and hurled it to the floor, then jumped out of his chair and stalked away.
"Ah, yes, just another boring day at the office," Tommy Carling said as he picked up the crumpled cup and dropped it into a slot in the side of the cart. He nodded to the other male nurses, who then walked away to various sections of the commons area. "Mongo, meet Marl Braxton."
"Mr. Braxton," I said, extending my hand.
Marl Braxton stared down into my face, but made no move to take my outstretched hand. He continued to stare, and then he frowned slightly. "You're afraid of me," he said at last.