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Five minutes after Carling had left I glanced out into the corridor, saw no one. I took the Walkman out of the bag, put the player next to Garth's shoulder, under the sheet. I placed the earphones on his head, the connecting metal band behind his neck so that only the tiny earplugs showed. I snapped Act I of Das Rheingold into the cassette player, reached over to turn it on-and hesitated as I felt a chill, a distinct sense of foreboding, run through me. I took the phones out of his ears and took a few minutes to talk at his vacant face, explaining what it was I was going to do, and why. Then I replaced the earplugs, took a deep breath, and turned on the player. Very faintly, I could hear the long, E-flat passage that opened the epic cycle flowing through the plugs into Garth's ears, perhaps his mind and soul.

"He looks different."

I had been so intent on peering into Garth's face, looking for some response, that I hadn't heard Tommy Carling come into the room. Startled, I jumped, then turned to my left to find the male nurse standing at the foot of the bed. I wondered how long he had been there.

"Uh. . hi, Tommy."

"Hi, Mongo," Carling replied somewhat absently. He had crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to be studying Garth intently.

"What did you say?"

"I said that Garth looks a bit different to me. I actually think there's more expressiveness in his face."

Garth didn't look any different to me, and I said so.

The male nurse absently tugged at his earring, said: "Maybe it's my imagination, but his eyes don't seem quite so vacant." He paused, shrugged his broad shoulders. "Then again, maybe I'm just seeing what I want to see. Well, it's time to change his colostomy and urine bag."

"Tommy. .?"

Carling paused on his way to the other side of the bed, looked at me quizzically. "What is it, Mongo?"

"Nothing," I said, and shook my head.

Carling pulled back the sheet, immediately saw the Walkman and the earphones on Garth's head. He looked at me again, raised his eyebrows slightly. "What are you playing for him?"

"I've got Das Rheingold in now. You might say Garth has a thing for the Ring."

"Really?" Carling said, and pursed his lips slightly. "Pretty heavy stuff."

"Oh, yeah. I remembered that you turned the radio on for him, and I figured. . well, I thought it couldn't hurt to play something for him that I know he, uh. . likes. The music has a lot of personal associations for him."

"Does it really?" Carling said in a curiously flat, distant voice. He studied me for a few moments, then looked back into Garth's face. The man seemed momentarily lost in thought.

"Here," I said, reaching for the earphones, "let me get those out of your way."

"No," Carling said quickly, blocking my outstretched hand. "It's all right; nothing's in my way."

Carling removed and emptied Garth's colostomy and urine bags, replaced them with new ones. He again checked my brother's pulse, recorded liquid intake and outtake levels on a chart hanging from a cord attached to the foot of Garth's bed. He continued to appear deep in thought, and he frequently looked back into Garth's face. I still couldn't see any change in Garth's eyes or expression-but the trained eyes of Tommy Carling apparently did. My heart began to beat a little faster, and I could feel the muscles in my stomach tighten.

"So," Carling said at last as he let the chart drop on its cord and replaced his pen in the pocket of his white coat, "how are all the little LITs down at the children's hospital?"

"LITs?"

'' Loonies-in-training.''

"Oh," I said, and smiled. "They're loony, all right, and some of them aren't so little. How did you know I'd been down there?"

"I'm friendly with a couple of the cottage workers there. We were having a beer last night, and they mentioned this superdwarf who had come in to substitute. How many superdwarfs can there be wandering around here? You made quite an impression-on kids and staff."

"It's the natural ham in me," I said, and suddenly felt sad. It was the kind of thing my brother would say.

"You've got some very dangerous kids over there, Mongo," Carling said seriously.

"Yeah, but you've also got some very pleasant and bright ones-a lot of the suicidals are like that. I really enjoy working there, Tommy."

"A little different from college teaching, huh?"

"To say the least."

Being careful not to disturb the tape player or the earphones on my brother's head, Tommy Carling rolled Garth over on his right side, facing away from me. "Are you hungry, Mongo? I can bring you something to eat."

"No, thanks," I replied. The male nurse headed for the door. I cleared my throat, said, "Tommy?"

Carling paused in the doorway, turned back. "Yes, Mongo?"

"The music. Do you think I could be harming Garth in any way by playing it for him?"

Carling laughed good-naturedly. "There are some people who'd claim that listening to Richard Wagner would damage anybody's brain." He paused, continued seriously: "No. On the contrary; if I'm right about there being a bit more life in his eyes, it's probably good for him. What harm could music do?"

"In that case … I didn't ask anybody about this, and maybe I should have. If there's any possibility that Garth really is getting something out of the music, I'd hate to see it taken away from him just because I didn't ask permission and somebody's nose got out of joint."

Tommy Carling smiled easily. "I won't mention it to Slycke, Mongo. Don't worry about it." He gave me a thumbs-up sign and walked from the room.

I wanted to play the entire Ring cycle through, opera by opera, with as few interruptions during the course of each opera as possible, and nights seemed the best time to do this. The next day I stopped by the clinic early in the morning, before my third straight day of substituting, and sat and talked with Tommy Carling while he shaved and bathed my brother. I stopped by again after school, then left just before six.

I ate dinner in a pleasant Italian restaurant in nearby Orangeburg, then went back to the apartment, set my alarm clock to wake me at midnight, and went to bed. At midnight I rose, made myself some coffee and shaved, then packed the Walkman and tapes of Die Walkure into my leather shoulder bag, headed over to Building 26.

It seemed there was no guard in the kiosk outside the building at night, and I used my own keys to gain entry to the building, took the elevator up to the fourteenth floor. Three male nurses I hadn't seen before were standing and talking in the vestibule in front of the elevator, and they seemed startled when the elevator door sighed open and I stepped out. However, after one glance at the ID badge clipped to my shirt pocket, they resumed their conversation.

I couldn't find any psychiatrist around, so I signed my name on a piece of paper I got from one of the nurses, slipped it under Slycke's door. I didn't note the time.

I found Garth rolled over on his left side, staring-as always-at nothing. I covered his face with a towel to protect his eyes, then quietly closed the door and turned on the lights. I uncovered his face, put on the earphones, then loaded the cassette player with the first tape and turned it on. Then I sat down with a magazine to wait through the three hours of Die Walkure.

Siegfried.

The next night I checked the chart at the foot of Garth's bed; there was no indication that chemotherapy had begun. I put the earphones on Garth's head, snapped the first tape of the third opera in the Ring cycle into the cassette player, turned it on.