said—or tried to. Later, he was never sure if any sound had come out.
“Don’t touch me, Johnny, okay?”
The reporter backed up to where his cameraman was packing his gear. Johnny stood and watched him. He began to shake all over.
3
“It’s for your own good, John,” Weizak said. The nurse stood behind him, a white ghost, a sorcerer’s apprentice with her hands hovering above the small, wheeled medication table, a junkie’s paradise of sweet dreams.
“No,” Johnny said. He was still shaking, and now there was cold sweat as well. “No more shots. I’ve had it up to here with shots.”
“A pill, then.”
“No more pills, either.”
“To help you sleep.”
“Will he be able to sleep? That man Dussault?”
“He asked for it,” the nurse murmured, and then flinched as Weizak turned toward her. But Weizak smiled crookedly.
“She is right, nuh?” he said. “The man asked for it. He thought you were selling empty bottles, John. A good night’s sleep and you’ll be able to put this in perspective.”
“I’ll sleep on my own.”
“Johnny, please.”
It was quarter past eleven. The TV across the room had just gone off. Johnny and Sam had watched the filmed story together; it had been second-lined right after the bills Ford had vetoed. My own story made better theater, Johnny thought with morbid amusement. Film footage of a bald-headed Republican mouthing platitudes about the national budget just didn’t compare with the film clip that WABI cameraman had gotten here earlier this evening. The clip had ended with Dussault plunging across the floor with his sister’s medal clutched in his hand and then crashing down in a faint, clutching at the woman reporter the way a drowning man might clutch at a straw.
When the TV anchorman went on to the police dog and the four hundred pounds of pot, Weizak had left briefly and had come back with the news that the hospital switchboard had jammed up with calls for him even before the report was over. The nurse with the medication had shown up a few minutes later, leading Johnny to believe that Sam had gone down to the nurse’s station to do more than check on incoming calls.
At that instant, the telephone rang.
Weizak swore softly under his breath. “I told them to hold them all. Don’t answer it, John, I’ll ...”
But Johnny already had it. He listened for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, that was right.” He put a hand over the receiver. “It’s my dad,” he said. He uncovered the receiver. “Hi, Dad. I guess you ...” He listened. The small smile on his lips faded and was replaced by an expression of dawning horror. His lips moved silently.
“John, what is it?” Weizak asked sharply.
“All right, Daddy,” Johnny said, almost in a whisper. “Yes. Cumberland General. I know where it is. Just above Jerusalem’s Lot. Okay. All right. Daddy ...”
His voice broke. His eyes were tearless but glistening.
“I know that, Daddy. I love you too. I’m sorry.”
Listened.
“Yes. Yes it was,” Johnny said. “I’ll see you, Daddy. Yes. Good-bye.”
He hung up the phone, put the heels of his hands to his eyes, and pressed.
“Johnny?” Sam leaned forward, took one of his hands away and held it gently. “Is it your mother?”
“Yeah. It’s my mother.”
“Heart attack?”
“Stroke,” Johnny said, and Sam Weizak made a small, pained hissing between his teeth. “They were watching the TV news ... neither of them had any idea ... and I came on ... and she had a stroke. Christ. She’s in the hospital. Now if something happens to my dad, we got a triple play.” He uttered a high scream of laughter. His eyes rolled wildly from Sam to the nurse and back to Sam again. “It’s a good talent,” he said. “Everybody should have it.” The laugh came again, so like a scream.
“How bad is she?” Sam asked.
“He doesn’t know.” Johnny swung his legs out of bed. He had changed back to a hospital gown and his feet were bare.
“What do you think you are doing?” Sam asked sharply.
“What does it look like?”
Johnny got up, and for a moment it seemed that Sam would push him back onto the bed. But he only watched Johnny limp over to the closet. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not ready for this, John.”
Unmindful of the nurse—they had seen his bare tail enough times, God knew—Johnny let the gown drop around his feet. The thick, twisting scars stood out on the backs of his knees and dimpled into the scant swell of his calves. He began to rummage in the