The doctor gave the necessary instructions to the charge nurse to have Sara transferred from psycho to medical, and handed her the chart. She smiled, Reynolds again? Who else? He has to be one of the biggest assholes medicine has ever seen. The nurse laughed. According to him everybody needs shock treatment. Paranoid schizophrenic. . . . The only thing wrong with that poor old woman are the diet pills shes been taking.
Tyrone C. Love sat on the edge of the bed rubbing his head, trying to figure out what was happening. He listened to the fuckin wind rattling the windows and it was colderen a mutha fucka out there and soon he be goin out there agin. Sheeit! It seems like such a short time ago it was summer and they was jus easin across town to the morgue and gettin high, and now its cold ass winter an the days an nights jus seem to run all up on each other an each day seem like a thousan years an like summer never was here an will never be here agin. Somethin sure did fuck up somewheres. They was out there wheelin and dealin and takin home the bucks an now theys out there scufflin and scrappin just trying to hustle enough to keep the sick off. Sheeit! An them muthafuckin streets a bitch jim, thats for damn fuckin sure, a mutha fuckin bitch. He turned and looked at Alice all curled up under the covers, jus the top of her haid stickin out an she look so nice an warm an all together, but soon she be wakin up an want a tase. Damn, that bitch sure can sleep. An if she aint sleepin she be noddin. He smiled, but she sure be a fine woman, a natural born fox. He kept rubbing his head, hearing the wind. All that fine shit and them bucks an now ah caint make the mutha fuckin raint. Sheeit. Where all them hassles come from? It used to be so nice an cool an me an Alice would jus be layin up here with the window open and the curtains blowin in the breeze talkin that trash an finger poppin an now it soun like the mutha fuckin win like to tear this goddamn apartment right the fuck down jim. Sheeit. Seem like there be nothin but hassles now. Doan understan it. Jus doan understan. Lease we got the braid to cop some stuff tonight. If they be any stuff there. Might be that some dudes jus tryin to get a bunch a cats together with some braid and ripem off. Doan know what the fuck gonna happen out there jim, them mutha fuckin streets gettin crazier every day . . . every fuckin day. Jus like the big fish eatin the littler fish ... Sheeit! when you the little fish you in trouble jim . . . serious trouble. An you have nothin but hassles. We jus gotta be cool baby an hang tough. Lease we be able to stay cool for a while we cop this shit. An then we doan have to be out there in that mutha fuckin coal scufflin with our tight little asses, goddamn, ah hate hassles. Sheeit! He got up and went to the bathroom and stood over the bowl, leaning against the wall with one hand, holding his joint in the other and sort of looking it over as he shook the final drops, Sheeit, it damn near time for me to get mah ass out there in that mutha fuckin coal agin. Ahm gonna git me some cock before ah freeze the mutha fucka off. He sat on Alices side of the bed and pulled the covers down some and rubbed her neck and pushed her over on her back and kissed her hard on the mouth as he cupped a breast in a hand, Comeon, woman, wake up. If ah want a daid piece ahll git me back to the morgue. Alice blinked her eyes and stared at him dumbly for a minute, Watch you wan? Sheeit, what you think ah want? and he crawled over her onto the bed and pulled her close to him. Ah want me some a that fine thang you got there woman, and he rubbed her stomach and things and kissed her on the neck and Alice started to giggle and try to blink her eyes open, Ah ain even awake yet or had me a tase. Sheeit, your daddy gonna give you your fix woman, and Tyrone C. Love did all he could to store the heat of love in his bones and muscles and his head, and insulate himself from the cold and the possibilities of what might happen this night.
It was the strangest night and the strangest scene the city had ever seen. The captain of the precinct had been advised days in advance of what area was to be used and that everything in that area was to be absolutely controlled and calm-It was like walking through the battlefield of a raging engagement and suddenly turning the corner and finding yourself in a demilitarized zone. The streets were empty. There werent even any fires in the abandoned buildings. Not even a bum in a hallway or under a mattress. The emptiness continued for five blocks in each direction from the appointed area. There were no prowl cars within the area, but they patrolled the border. The only points of entry were through one of the various check points where guards with Thompsons and walkie talkies checked everybody out before letting them pass. All weapons had to be left behind. When dudes were told they couldnt carry a piece with them they screamed and hollered. What the fuck yoe talkin about? Yoe wan me to go in there with five hundred dollars an git me some fuckin herron and walk all the fuckin way out here niked, without mah muthafuckin piece? sheeit, yoe out yoe fuckin mind jim. Then youre outta ya fuckin dope asshole, and he stuck the tip of the Thompson in the guys face and the guy turned and stomped off, muttering and spitting, and came back a few minutes later, clean. Ahs niked, gawddamn it. They frisked him very carefully and finally nodded him through, If ah gets ripped off ahm gonna be on yoe ass mutha. Sue me. The guy continued grumbling, but continued to join the line that was blocks long, and it was still only 8'30 and the dude wasnt supposed to be there until ten.
Harry and Tyrone figured it would be best if they took half the money each and stashed it all over, taping it to various parts of their bodies, while they checked the scene out, keeping just a couple of bucks in their pockets in case they did get jumped they might take just that and split, figuring that that was all they had. They got checked through easy enough, and kept looking in every direction at once as they walked through the DMZ toward the distribution point. Every half Wock there was a parked car with a guy on the roof with a machinegun, and a guy on the ground with a walkie talkie. Sheeit, you dig that action man? Yeah. I feel like I just walked into one a those fuckin cartoons man. They both shrugged deeper into their coats, Ah aint never felt so mutha fuckin creepy in mah life jim. They walked through the rubble of the blown out buildings, darkly silhouetting their broken bodies against the sky, the silence weird and strangely piercing to the ears and eyes. They approached the line which was hundreds long and the guys were half huddled and half lined against the crumbling walls trying to keep warm and not look at the machineguns staring down at them, trying to be cool in their movements so nobody with all that fuckin heat got the wrong idea, and so they stood as quietly as possible, shuffling their feet in an attempt to keep them warm, their hands shoved deep in their pockets, wiping their running noses with their shoulders, standing with one foot on top of the other from time to time, the guys with ripped sneakers wrapping newspaper around them, and their bodies, to keep warm. Harry and Tyrone dug those dudes and shook their heads, knowing they would never get that bad, that they would never get strung out and live just for shit. Every few minutes someone asked the time and occasionally one of the guards would tell them and someone would always tell them to stop askin fa krists sake, Ya make the fuckin time drag like that man. Cool it, eh? and they went back to trying to think the time by faster and faster and ignore the ice in their bones and on their flesh; and the guards just watched them, saying nothing, warm in their arctic coats and face masks, looking like something from a science fiction movie as they moved stiffly, almost invisible with the dark background, the water vapor from their mouths more visible than their faces, but less visible than the machineguns. A few minutes after ten a large, black Cadillac pulled up and stopped and two guys with Thompsons got out, then two more, and a guy all wrapped up in a fur coat got out carrying a large suitcase. He walked to what was once a hallway where a portable heater had been set up. It was turned on and he stood on the thick piece of wool rug near the heater. One by one the guys were led up to the hallway and one guy took their money, counted it, put it in a steel box and each guy passed on and was handed his half piece wrapped in plastic, and told to move it. As soon as they left the DMZ the guys tried to melt into the night, the word having gone out that no one would be busted, at least within a mile of the place, but only a fool trusts a cop. Some guys hustled to the dark hallw
ay where they had stashed their gun and then hurried through the streets, one hand clutching their dope the other one their gun; others rushed to parked cars where the dudes who had gone down with them for the stuff were waiting and then they sped away slapping palms and swallowing hard, just thinking about all that fine dope giving them a taste in the back of their throats; and some guys didnt make it out of the cars or past the darkened buildings, getting their heads blown away or bashed in.
The line moved rapidly, but it still took hours for everyone to get their dope, no one about to disagree, in any way, with those machineguns that had everybody locked in a crossfire. Harry and Tyrone taped their stuff to their bodies and when they got back to the streets they picked up a couple of rocks each and walked down the middle of the street, their combined vision taking in a gGo-degree area. They clung to the rocks even as they sat in the cab, not letting go of them to smoke, but holding on until they got back to their pad. The first thing they did was to get off, then they cut and bagged the rest of the shit, each guy taking a half piece to take care of their customers. They figured theyd better make the bags a little smaller than double the price. Things were tight and every dope fiend in the city would be willing to pay a dime for a nickel bag, even if it was a little light.
Harry and Marion were sitting back enjoying the warmth and the sense of security of listening to the radiators click and looking at the bags of dope on the table. Are you going to sell all that Harry? Most of it, why? Suppose we cant get any more? What will we do? Theres got to be more. But suppose there isnt, Marions voice was becoming more intense, look how difficult its been lately. But tonight was just a beginning. Marion turned and looked Harry in the eye, very intently, I dont think so. Whatta ya talkin about? Im not sure. Its a feeling. But I dont want to be sick anymore Harry. I dont like waking up and not having anything in the house. Either do I, but its bad business not to put the stuff on the streets. Now that theyve upped the price therell be plenty of stuff around. Marion shook her head, I have a bad feeling about it Harry. Dont sell it, Marions eyes reflected her fear and for the first time there was a pleading tone in her voice, wait and be sure theres going to be more . . . please Harry, please, her body rigid, her eyes staring straight ahead. Dont worry about it, we'll be able to cop. We'll be able to get straight.
Dr. Spencer stood in front of Dr. Harwood, the department administrator, his hands clenched in his pockets, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Dr. Harwood pushed himself back from his desk and looked at Dr. Spencer for a moment and frowned slightly, You look positively rigid. You had better sit down and relax. He sat and took a deep breath and tried to allow his body to loosen, but it still ached from the rigidity of controlled anger. Dr. Harwood continued to frown, Well, what seems to be your problem doctor? you said it was urgent. Dr. Spencer took another deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, then exhaled slowly, Its Dr. Reynolds. Dr. Harwood looked sternly at him, I have told you before that if you want to feud with Dr. Reynolds to do it on your own time. This has nothing to do with a feud, it has to do with the proper care and treatment of patients. Dr. Harwood leaned back in his chair, Alright, what is it this time? Dr. Spencer was trying very hard to relax and control himself, but the more he talked about the situation the harder it was to control his anger. He took another deep breath, A Sara Gold-farb was admitted to the hospital in a completely disoriented condition and Dr. Reynolds diagnosed her as a paranoid schizophrenic and sent her to psycho with a recommendation of possible shock treatment, as usual—Dr. Harwood winced slightly, but said nothing—I gave her a routine examination and found that she had been taking diet pills and Valium and had not eaten a decent meal in many months ... he paused for a moment fighting his rising anger . . . and left orders to have her transferred to medical. This morning I found that my orders had been countermanded by Dr. Reynolds and that the patient is still in psycho and not only that, but he has left a standing order, a standing order that all such orders of mine are to be completely and immediately ignored. Dr. Spencer was flushed and sweating slightly as Dr. Harwood watched him fighting to keep control of himself. He has the authority and the right to do that doctor. Im not talking about his right to do anything, Im talking about the patients right to receive the best and the proper medical attention. Are you saying that she is not getting exactly that at this hospital? Im saying that her problem is medical and not psycho. Give her a little rest, some proper food and clean her body of the stimulants and depressives that she has been taking and she will be completely recovered. Dr. Harwood looked at him coolly for a moment, In your opinion doctor. Its more than my opinion, its my experience. In the past eight months I have taken six of Dr. Reynolds' patients and treated them medically, for just the same symptoms and the same reasons, and they have fully recovered in less than a month, without shock treatment or any psychotropic drugs. Dr. Harwood continued to look at him and to speak slowly, Yes, I know. That is why he gave those orders. You cannot interfere with another doctors treatment or— Even when that treatment is not only incompetent, but dangerous and inimical to the patients health and well being? Dr. Harwood blinked his eyes slowly, tolerantly, I do not think you are in a position to judge the competency of a doctor specializing in a field of medicine to which you are hostile and who is your superior in rating and experience. Well I disagree. Completely and vehemently. The record will bear me out. If someone has a toothache you dont send him to a chiropodist. And just what exactly is that supposed to mean? It simply means that medical patients should not be treated as psycho patients, and this woman, as were the others, is a medical problem not a psychiatric problem. Dr. Harwood was gently tapping the tips of his fingers together, Again, this is your opinion, which differs from Dr. Reynolds' opinion. Reynolds is a horses ass. You will not make insulting remarks about other members of my staff, doctor, Dr. Harwood was leaning forward in his chair and looking directly into Dr. Spencers eyes, especially about decisions that have my concurrence. You mean you approved? Of course. But how could you after reading my remarks on her chart? There was no need for me to see her chart. No need to see her chart? You mean you just condemned someone to shock treatment without even looking at their record? O really, doctor, condemned is a childish and stupid word to use. But shock treatments are completely unnecessary in this case. I tell you I can have her well in just a few weeks with some rest and nourishment. Dr. Spencer, I am growing a little impatient with your anti-Reynolds tirade. Let me remind you, again, that he is your superior and just on the basis of that fact you are powerless over his actions. Completely powerless. Do you understand me? But dont you care about the welfare of the patient either? Dr. Harwood leaned toward Dr. Spencer, a bard look on his face, My job is to see that this department functions smoothly, with the least amount of trouble and conflict. That is my job and my purpose. I have the responsibility to see that a large department of one of the largest hospitals in the world—in the world—functions to the very best of its ability. I am responsible for thousands of people and that is my responsibility, not one small patient, but the thousands that depend on my ability to keep this department functioning smoothly, and without internecine squabbles. You have antagonized Dr. Reynolds repeatedly, without cause, and I have excused you— Without cause? How can— BE QUIET! I am not interested in your opinion about another doctors competency, but in performing my duties to the very best of my ability. But that woman — I have told you I dont care about that woman. Even if you are correct in your diagnosis and assumptions, the worst that can happen is that she will have a few unnecessary shock treatments. The worst— Dr. Harwood was staring hard at Dr. Spencer and leaning closer to him, Thats right. The worst. Whereas even if youre right and I go along with you it will cause so much disruption in the staff and the calm and efficient functioning of this department that far more will be lost than a few months time out of the life of one woman. Dr. Spencer looked hurt and bewildered, I thought your responsibility was to treat the sick. Dr. Harwood looked at him for a moment, Dont be naive doc
tor. Dr. Spencer just stared, feeling empty and hollow inside, his tongue tasting leaden and his eyes feeling heavy and tear laden. Dr. Harwood continued to stare at him, then breathed deeply and sighed and leaned back in his chair. Of course, if you do not approve of the manner in which this hospital is run you are free to resign your residency. That is your privilege. Dr. Spencer continued to look straight in front of him, Dr. Harwood and everything else in the room becoming a blur. His body was limp. His brain felt soggy. His gut hollow. He closed his eyes for a moment then shook his head. Dr. Harwood continued to tap the tips of his fingers together, Im certain there must be quite a bit for you to do on the wards doctor. Dr. Spencer nodded and stood to leave. And let me remind you of something doctor . . . harmony breeds efficiency. Good morning.
Requiem for a Dream Page 22
