Wham!

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  “Yeh?” said the nurse's aide, setting aside her wordless fashion magazine. “And you're?”

  “His wife. I'm Mrs. Maud Baxter.”

  “Well?” said the aide, swiveling aside to the skinny on the desk beside her. “You heard her. What's his room?”

  “Mort Baxter is in room 301,” said the ball.

  Maud wheeled aside at once.

  “Not so fast!” called out the aide. “I'm the one supposed to tell you, all right? Room 301. It's the first one across the hall. And you're only allowed in there ten minutes out of each hour. The skinny in there will let y' know.”

  “That stinks.”

  “Yeh? Well I don't make the rules, but I do enforce them.”

  “His accident has me upset,” said Maud, coming back to the counter. “So who's his doctor?”

  “Well wait 'til I tell y' this time,” she said with a pop of her gum as she turned to the ball. “Dr. Wells, but the skinny says he's in surgery... Hey!”

  Maud was already across the hall. The aide shook her head and returned to the pictures in her magazine.

  Maud was back at once. “He's not in there!” she shouted with a slap of the counter worktop.

  “What!” said the aide, looking up.

  “My husband's not in there! Would you please ask your skinny where he’s been taken?”

  “I already told you,” she said, turning back to her magazine.

  “Please at least check for me.”

  “It's going to say the same thing. Nobody's told smart face in the ball where he is, or he'd know.”

  “Not good enough!” cried Maud, whacking the worktop again. “I want to know where my husband is this minute, so you'd better find someone who knows.”

  “Look lady. I'm just an aide watching the nurses' station until they get back from their break.”

  “And all of the nurses are on break at once?”

  “All right. All right. Just calm down and don't disturb the patients,” said the aide, turning to the skinny.

  “As if I caused all this,” said Maud with a roll of her eyes.

  “I need somebody from the nursing officer's, or somewhere, to tell Mrs. Baxter where we have her husband Mort. She's all upset.”

  “As if I shouldn't be.”

  “Nurse Jenkins is on her way,” she said, picking up her magazine. “You can wait for her in 301.”

  “Or I could wait right here.”

  “By all means,” said the aide, not looking up.

  Maud was pacing in front of Mort's window when Nurse Jenkins appeared after a time and introduced herself.

  “Dr. Wells has had Mr. Baxter in surgery for some time and should have him in recovery before long. If you’d like I can take you there to wait and arrange for you to speak with Dr. Wells before he leaves.”

  “Thank you,” said Maud. “But could you tell me why Mort is having surgery? I mean anesthesia sounds dangerous to me when he's already got his lungs and body full of farm chemicals.”

  Nurse Jenkins knitted her brow and studied the papers she had with her. “His chart says nothing about inhalation or absorption of farm chemicals, Mrs. Baxter.”

  “You're sure? The two hospital people who came and got me said that he was pinned down in a flood of the herbicide Rubout pouring out of his overturned sprayer.”

  “They must have been mistaken. This says that he has multiple fractures to his ulna and radius. In other words, a crushed arm. And he has some head injuries, particularly a skull fracture. Some broken ribs. No. Nothing at all about farm chemicals...”

  “So why's he in critical care?”

  “The skull fracture's the most dangerous thing I see, but either his arm or his ribs by themselves could have him in surgery.”

  “So they were wrong about his herbicide bath?”

  “According to this.”

  Nurse Jenkins saw her to the waiting room adjacent to the recovery rooms and left her to pass the time with tepid tea in a plastic cup and stale cookies on a paper plate.

  Wondering what sort of awful infection they were contaminated with, she set them aside as she took a seat. On the low table before her was a typical hospital stack of magazines, full of dramatic photographs of athletes in action, scantily dressed fashion models and assorted public servants rescuing the grateful from burning houses and busses, but without one printed word to be found on any of their pages. She gave a quiet huff and shoved at the table with her foot.

  She looked up to see a bald fat man in a white smock offering his hand. “I'm Dr.

  Wells,” he said.

  “How's Mort Baxter?” she said. “You did the surgery, right?”

  “He’s in the recovery room now and you can go in and see for yourself directly,” he said with a deep nod. “The surgery went well. We put a cast on his arm. Fortunately none of his broken ribs punctured a lung, so there was not much to be done there. His head injuries are his worst obstacle. He has a very deep gash on his forehead, which we’ve stitched up. We've put an air pressure bandage on his skull fracture to support it.

  He had a few blood clots and we've given him special enzymes to dissolve those. We'll need to watch him for fluid buildup for some time, however. He has some brain swelling, as you can well imagine…”

  “Which is your way of saying he's alive, but you don’t really know how he is. Right?”

  “Except that I've done enough of this to lay odds that he'll recover.”

  “When may I see him?”

  “Right now, if you'll come with me. You can sit by him and wait for him to wake up.”

  “There’s one thing I don’t understand,” said Maud as she got to her feet.

  “Oh?”

  “The man and woman from the hospital who came and brought me here told me that he was pinned down in a flood of herbicide from his machine. They made it sound like that was the thing most threatening to his life. Wouldn't that be an awful risk, you know, putting him under with anesthesia when he had all those poisons in him?”

  Wells stopped walking and turned to her with a shake of his head. “I see what you're saying, but they were completely mistaken in the first place. And that's only half of it. These herbicides are of no consequence here, especially when they're harmless enough to use on our food.”

  “Right. But just a light mist of the stuff he was going to spray kills every last...”

  Wells paused to patiently shake his head at her nonsense. And then she saw the skinny just beyond him on its stand in the pot with the ornamental fig.

  “Very well,” she said. She drew in a deep breath through her nose. She had run into this one when she and Mort had tried and tried to have children. “Harmless!” she thought. “Ha! Where's all the wildlife, especially the birds? Why are there so many dead trees? And why are people constantly suffering from every illness under the sun? And why do they die so young near the farms?”

  “Well here we are,” said Wells. “And it looks as if Mr. Baxter is already stirring. Shall we see how he is?”

  Maud was already at his bedside.

  * * *

  By the time Maud had given Mort's hand a squeeze, Drake was out for a walk. It was bright and pleasant to be about, with the occasional cries of gulls here and there and the hoots of the tugboats coming ashore on the steady breeze from the harbor. He had in his belt out of sight under his denim waist an ancient top-break .38 revolver that had once belonged to his grandfather. On his way around to the far west end of Quayside Compound, he stepped out of sight into a gap in the hedge and made sure that the one fired chamber was beyond the barrel. Ammunition had been next to impossible to find, lately.

  On he went, down the walkway under the naked branches of the dead pear trees, until he came to the barren yard of barrack 157B, where he trotted up the gritty steps and knocked. Sparrows cheeped as he waited, staring at the rusted tricycle by the walkway, mired to the cranks in the hard red dirt. He knocked again. “Ah!” he said with a start, turning about to find both Warrens right behin
d him.

  “You couldn't be looking for us,” said Jasmine.

  Trent had a fuming set to his jaw, but merely refused to look at Drake as he unlocked the door and disappeared inside.

  “Actually, I am,” said Drake. “I think we need to have a talk.”

  “Our nosey neighbors turn in everything they manage to hear,” she said, speaking out under the eaves of the barracks. She popped her gum as she nodded at the tricycle.

  Drake squatted astride its rusty saddle as she flopped down before him on the steps. “So,” she said with a chewing smile. “What’s up? You been missing me after all this time?”

  “This isn’t that kind of visit,” he said.

  “Yeh? So what do you want?”

  “Children and Family's moving you in with Tess, right?”

  “So?”

  “Well I remember what you thought of her. And the whole school knows what Trent's been after, ever since they made her take her shots...”

  “Yeh. Made her. Like she's better than everybody else.”

  “There you go. Like it's your business or something. She doesn't need that shit. That's why...”

  “Go on, Drakey! You're getting awfully carried away, aren't you? Trent and I always take care of our own. You ought to know that. And once we become roomies with Tess, she’ll be family.”

  “Right!” said Drake. “Tess’ll be that special sister you always wanted.”

  “Damned right!” she snapped. “I’m not heartless and neither is Trent. You forget our mom and dad were relocated when you and I started dating…” She gave a rattling sniffle and rubbed her eye with the heel of her hand. “We know damn well what she’s going through. I had no idea you thought we were such monsters! How did you ever stoop so low as to date me?”

  “Oh come on Jasmine,” he said, sitting beside her at once. “I used to think you were fun...”

  “Which is why you ran off after Nia's tail, I was so much fun.”

  “That's not fair! We didn't have anything serious, or I wouldn't have.”

  “That you're aware of,” she huffed. “I sure haven't been seeing anyone. But I guess you're not either, now that Nia's a hot new comfort girl at the capitol. ..”

  Drake was wide eyed before he caught himself.

  “Drakey!” she said, suddenly putting her arms about him. “I'm so sorry! The thought of Nia has been so painful for me, I wasn't thinking...”

  “I beg your pardon,” said Drake standing up at once. “I've got to go. See you.”

  And with that, he was on his way out of the yard.

  “Well I hope so!” called Jasmine after him. “If I'm really not beneath you.”

  “Good performance, Jazz,” said Trent as he stepped out with a beer and sat beside her.

  “First round. And so's that. My beer,” she said, taking his. “Go get your own.”

  Chapter 4

  Nia found herself sitting beside Drake feeling more joy and well-being than she could ever remember. She scooted close to him on the warm satin quilt and nestled her head upon his shoulder. He put his arm around her. She knew that he was about to tell her that he loved her, but when he turned to her, he was a jowly banker wearing a monocle and a silk hat. Suddenly he shoved her flat on the bed and mercilessly pinned her, breathing through his spittly teeth. “Good morning Nia,” he said in Sam's voice. “You have a big day ahead of you. Did you sleep well?”

  “Aah!” she gasped with a sob as she sat right up. “Fates! My word, that was awful!”

  “My!” said Sam from the skinweler on the night stand. “Still having morphine dreams, are we? I'd have thought the Slumber would've worn off by now. Well. I'm conducting your first seminar this morning at eight o'clock sharp. It'll be in the basement of Orbis Terrae, on the side facing your flat. You can't miss it. You go through the doors beneath the giant scallop to the Neptune Conference Room.”

  “What time is it now?”

  “Close to six. It was, last I looked.” And with that, the skinny winked out.

  Nia looked about her room. There was not one sound finding its way in from outside, no birds, traffic noise nor barking dogs. “Can't miss it, my foot!” she said, flinging aside her covers. “I've no idea where I am. I was lost the moment we stepped outside the Feathered Dragon.” She padded across the thick carpet to the window and drew open the drapes. “Ha! There's the capitol building. Guess I can't miss it after all. And this is the side with the seashell sticking up and everything.”

  In spite of getting her bearings, the sight of Orbis Terrae gave her a flourish of butterflies. There did not seem to be a clock anywhere. Being late might be very bad. She flung off her nightgown and hurried to the shower, giving a wistful glance at the grand sunken bathtub as she passed. “My,” she said as she dried herself. “Towels without holes.”

  Every piece of her clothing including her worn out sandals had mysteriously vanished in the night. When she saw clothes hanging in the huge wardrobe and wondered if any of them might fit her, she was astonished to find that everything she tried on fit her perfectly. She tied back her hair without bothering to use a brush and picked out a pair of prestigiously tailored jeans and a tank top. “Fancy, fancy,” she said. “Is this what they used to call designer clothing? As if it pays for my family!”

  She squatted before the immaculate row of new high fashion boots and shoes, pungent with the smell of polish and fresh leather, all her very size, and picked out a pair of knee-high lace-ups. When she finally had them on and tied, she rushed to the kitchen, found some shortening and a solid copper skillet and had just cracked an egg into it when she said: “There can't possibly be enough time,” and slid the skillet off the fire, grabbed up her handbag and hurried outside.

  Right away there were purple martins twittering from above and swooping after flies. She had never heard the like before. She twirled about once for a look up at their white nest box and hurried on. The broad roadway ahead of her which seemed to be going to Orbis Terrae was lined with black locust and flowering plum in full bloom. A bicyclist overtook her and disappeared ahead. There were other bicyclists and pedestrians now and then, but when she stopped to listen she could not hear any sort of automobile nor motor anywhere. She could hear the choppy canter of a shod horse on the pavement behind her, but it was out of sight and going the other way. She could hear light footsteps gaining on her.

  “Good morning!” called the voice with the footsteps. “Are you on your way to the capitol building?”

  “I actually am,” said Nia, turning about to find a beautiful young woman dressed much as she was with a bouncing bush of fiery red hair coming her way.

  “Well would y' know where I could find the Neptune Conference Room?”

  “That's exactly where I'm going now,” said Nia, seeing that this stranger was not only much smaller than she had thought, but that she had a blue tattoo of a bird of some sort on her cheekbone.

  “That's a bit of luck, since I was too on fire to hear the stinking directions,” she said, holding out her hand. “Jill Macintyre. And you look about as upset as I am.”

  “I'm Nia Greenwood. And you're probably right. I think I can show you where it is.”

  “Well I don't know exactly who I'm going to kill for all this grief, but someone's going to die,” said Jill as they set out together for the basement of the looming Orbis Terrae.

  The conference room was indeed exactly where it was supposed to be.

  “Frightened blond dollies,” whispered Jill as they stepped inside to find four other young ladies looking them over as they came in. “Just as scared and angry as we are.”

  And there was Sam in her crisp grey suit, bidding them to have a seat. After a brief introduction, the expansive white wall behind her came alive with the towering moving images of immaculately dressed young ladies being escorted about in opulent surroundings by a various selection of powerful men. At this, one of the blond dollies shot to her feet and marched right for the door.

  Sam immedia
tely stepped into her path “Lizbeth!” she hissed. “You need to think!”

  “I'm not going to be a whore!” roared Lizbeth as she knocked Sam off her feet with a vicious shove and tramped for the door in time to be met by two police in plastic helms who took her by the arms and shot her in the head with a deafening pop.

  The five remaining girls sat in shocked silence as the policemen carried out the limp and bleeding body of Lizbeth and the powerful went right on escorting lovely young ladies on the wall beyond.

  Sam got to her feet tugging and straightening her suit. “As I was saying,” she said, raising her chin at the lectern, “it is your responsibility to maintain an appearance of flawless attractiveness at all times...”

  “How can she just go on like that!” gasped Nia.

  “Look at her cheeks,” whispered Jill. “She's crying.”

  * * *

  It was early afternoon when a knock awakened Tess from a dreamless sleep. “Aw Maud,” she said, throwing aside her covers. “She's forgot her key. I sure hope old Mort's all right.” But when she undid the chain and opened the kitchen door without peeking, it was Drake's wide eyes that greeted her.

  “I guess there's no way you'd know...” she said.

  “I can't imagine how I could ever,” he said, looking her up and down, “even if I was on my way over here with news.”

  “I mean I thought you were Maud,” she said. “Mort's in the hospital.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He's in the hospital. That's all I know. The hospital came and got her.”

  “And what happened to you? I hardly know you.”

  “Oh I was afraid of that,” she said, closing the door behind her and sitting on the step with a sigh.

  “No, wait!” he said. “Actually you look attractive that way. But why's he in the hospital?”

  “I guess his sprayer fell on him and he breathed all kinds of spray.”

  “Damn! He could just plain die from that stuff. I know someone who actually did. And you know the real reason everybody's got an inhaler...”