Harry rocked back and forth with his pain. It had been a couple of hours since their last fix and that was it. If only he had known that was going to be his last fix. He wouldve dumped a couple of bags in the cooker and got wasted. If he just had a fuckin cotton. Balls! His body strained from the more than twenty four hours without sleep and the combination of uppers and dope and the overwhelming pain in his arm. Now that he knew he couldnt get any more dope the junk sick descended rapidly. He stared at the steel walls until his eyes burned and started to close, but they quickly opened as nightmares started even before he was asleep. His head burned. His tongue was so dry it stuck to the roof of his mouth. He tried to stand to keep pacing, but his head was woozy and his knees buckled. He leaned against the side of the cell and slowly slid to the floor and sat with his head between his knees, rolling back and forth, his eyes burning and closing and opening, closing and opening, his gangrenish arm swinging in front of him like a pendulum.
From time to time a drunk was thrown in the tank, but Harry and Tyrone stayed alone in the small cell, wrapped in their separateness and pain, Harry slowly, but progressively, going deeper and deeper into delirium, Tyrone trying to warm the coldness within him with his anger. A couple of drunks fought over the toilet, one hanging his head in the bowl, puking, the other one puking all over him, the both of them eventually passing out and lying in their own and each others puke. The stench filled the cell. Harry and Tyrone stayed wrapped in their separateness and pain. Tyrone started to get stomach cramps and diarrhea and he tried to clean up the gahddamn shitter enough to use it, but as he wiped the fuckin thang with toilet paper the stench got him so sick he started puking and as soon as he stopped he had to turn around, almost sliding in the slimy puke on the floor, and stand over the fuckin bowl and let the foul smelling liquid pour out of his cramping body, and even as he stood, bent, he started to feel the nausea rising and he had to clamp his mouth closed as his body contorted with spasm. Eventually he finished for a while and he staggered back to his spot on the floor and leaned against the cold steel, bone cracking chills going through his body, and then he would double with cramps and sweat oozed then poured from his pore.., burning his nose with the smell that comes only from long use of dope, a sick smell that clouded his head with the feeling of death.
Harry tried to huddle within himself, clutching his legs, but he could only hug himself with one arm and as the sweat from the dope and his fever poured from his body he shivered and shook with uncontrollable chills and agonizing pain. From time to time the pain became so bad that he passed out for a while and then his body and mind would drag him, reluctantly, back to consciousness and he would huddle in a ball, trying to force some warmth into his body, desperately trying to find something to do with his arm so the pain would stop, and the fever would burn and chill him and he would go into the relief of deliriums.
Sometime Monday morning the cell was cleaned out. The drunks went first, Harry and Tyrone last. Harrys arm was starting to turn green and smell. The guard grabbed him by his bad arm and spun him around to cuff him and Harry screamed out with pain and passed out and slumped to his knees, the guard continuing to twist his arm until he had cuffed Harrys hands behind his back. When Harry screamed Tyrone reached to grab him and one of the other guards hit him on the head with a small club then kicked him in the ribs and stomach as he lay on the floor, Dont you ever raise yoe hands to me, nigga. They cuffed his hands behind his back and dragged him to his feet and stuck a patch on his head before they took him and Harry to the court. They were shoved into chairs and Harry continued to moan and fall forward and the cop told him to shut up and slammed him back in the chair. A guy dressed in a suit sat next to Tyrone and started to explain that he was appointed by the court to represent them and read off the numbers of the charges and Tyrones body continued to spasm with pain and nausea and cramps and the sweat stung his eyes and he tried to wipe the sweat from his eyes with his shoulder, but every time he moved the guard smacked him on the side of the head and Tyrones vision blurred and his head hung forward and this guy told him if he would plead guilty to vagrancy that he would only have to serve a few weeks on the work gang. When you get out theyll give you a bus ticket back to New York. Where our money? Did you have any? Tyrone looked at him for a moment, blinking his eyes, trying to see him clearly, We had over a thousan dollars jim. Not according to this report. Tyrone stared for another moment then inwardly shrugged. What about Harry? He sick. O, youll both be examined by the doctor before you are sent to the camp. O sheeit, how he wished it was las summer. No fuckin hassles. Things be goin smooth an every day be like a holiday. Sheeit!
Marion sat on her couch, alone, watching television. When the entertainment had finally finished and she was on her way home she had to fight hard to deny what she was feeling. She had been naive. She had no idea what she was supposed to do with the other girls. She knew what she was supposed to do with the men, but the girls came as a shock. She almost puked. But she knew why she was doing what she was doing and it made everything possible. It wasnt until after it had started that she remembered the little books she had read, and the photographs she had giggled over. It wasnt only what she had done that was disturbing her, but the ease with which she had done it. And when she got her share of the piece she knew it was all worth it. When she got home she got off and any disquieting feelings were immediately dissolved by the heroin and she didnt even bother bathing, that could wait until morning. She just stretched out on her couch, in front of her television, ignoring the smell from her body and lips, thinking over and over that Big Tim was right, this is good stuff. That taste will last a long time. She smiled to herself. And theres more where that came from, and no one to share it with. I can always have as much as I want. She hugged herself and smiled, I can always feel like this.
Harry and Tyrone were waiting on line with a dozen others in a back room of the jail. They had been given three months on the work gang instead of a few weeks. The bus to the work camp was parked outside the open door. The prisoners shuffled, one at a time, up to the guard, standing next to the doctor, holding a clipboard with a typewritten sheet of names. The doctor and the guards kidded each other and laughed and drank Coke as the prisoners shuffled along in their chains. They gave their name and number to the guard and he checked their name on the list and the doctor looked at them and asked them all the same question, Can you hear me? Can you see me? They nodded and the doctor slapped them on the back and okayed them for the work camp. As usual, Harry and Tyrone were last. Harry was in an almost constant state of delirium and kept stumbling and whenever Tyrone tried to support him he was hit or shoved. When Tyrone stood in front of the doctor the doctor looked at the bandage on his head, the lumps and discolorations, and smiled, Have a little trouble, boy? The guards laughed. Can you hear me, boy? Can you see me, boy? Tyrone nodded and the doctor slammed him on the face as a guard jabbed his stick in the small of his back, Say sir, nigga. These here New Yawk dope fien niggas aint got no manners. They laughed, We'll learn him some soon enough. Tyrones body twisted with rage, frustration, as well as his junk sickness as he shuffled out to the waiting bus. He wanted to smash their mutha fuckin haids in, but he knew they were just waitin for him to try so they could hang his ass, an he didnt want to make it any worse than it was, wantin to do his time and get on home, and his junk sick made it easier to try nothin . . . he could hardly move.
Harry was held up in front of the doctor. This heres another New Yawk dope fien. Hes a nigga lover, ain yoe boy? Harry moaned and his legs started to buckle and the guard yanked him up, Say hes got somethin wrong with his arm. Yeah? The doctor yanked the sleeve of Harrys shirt up and Harry yelled and collapsed and they yanked him up again, Cant yawl at lease act lack a man an stan up? The doctor glanced at his arm then chuckled, Ah dont think yoe goin to be puttin any more dope in that arm, boy. He nodded toward the other guards, Looky here, aint that somethin? The guards looked and twisted their faces in disgust, Damn, it smell worse than he do
es. Yeah, he smell worse than a nigga, and they all laughed. Yawl better get him over to the hospital before he stink up your jail. More laughter. Ah dont expect he'll live out the week. Any more? No, thats it doc. Good, Ah have to get ovah to mah office. See yawl next week.
Sara shuffled along the medication line with the others. She stood still for a moment, then shuffled forward a little, stood still for another moment, then shuffled forward again until she stood in front of the attendant who put the Thorazine in her mouth and watched her swallow it before letting her leave. She stood in the corner, her arms wrapped around her, watching the others shuffle up and get their tranquilizers. Then the area was cleared. Empty. She continued to stare in front of her, then slowly turned her head and looked in various directions, then she, too, left. She kept her arms wrapped around herself as she shuffled, in her paper slippers, into the television room. Some of the others were sitting with their chin on their chest, already feeling the effects of the medication. Some were laughing, some were crying. Sara stared at the screen.
Harry was unconscious when they wheeled him into the operating room. They amputated his arm at the shoulder and immediately started anti-infection 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 gray-ness 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 an
d 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.
Requiem for a Dream Page 27
