"The Hibakusha" Read online



  The Hibakusha 

  for Kinuko Laskey

  She was getting desperate.

  Despite her heart-rending pleas, the doctor remained unmoved. “No, absolutely not, Mrs. Morrow. We simply can’t accommodate any more patients, especially those who require that level of care.”

  “But this is a hospital. You’re supposed to take care of the sick—or have you forgotten your Hippocratic Oath?”

  “I’m quite conversant with the oath, ma’am, but circumstances have changed and I’m afraid it can’t be taken quite so literally any more.” The doctor, whose name was Phelps or Phillips, she couldn’t remember which, was clearly growing impatient with her.

  “He’s dying and you know it. You can’t just let him—”

  “Mrs. Morrow.” His gaze was unrelenting. “I am aware of your husband’s delicate condition. And I know how hard it must be for you…” His voice trailed off and she watched as he rubbed his red-rimmed, dolorous eyes. For not the first time she found herself pitying him, wondering how he managed to maintain a semblance of civility while engaged in the insurmountable task of tending to all the people, so many sick, dying people that the hospital had burst its seams; patients spilled out of its wards into its corridors, through the front doors and onto the grounds of the building. “I’ve seen many similar cases,” he continued. “Yes, he needs special attention and treatment but so does everyone else in here. We’re barely functioning as it is—our resources are nonexistent, our staff pushed to the very limits of endurance.”

  “So you’re just going to write him off.”

  “Mrs. Morrow, take a look at this please.” The doctor pulled up one sleeve of his crusty smock, revealing a series of purple blotches originating just above his wrist, spotting his forearm all the way up past his elbow. “I’d say it’s going to be a week, maybe two, before I have to write myself off.”

  “A-at least let me have some pills, something to—”

  “As I said, our supplies are limited. However, I think I can let you have some vitamins, perhaps some penicillin tablets—”

  Kay regarded him with shock. “That’s it? That’s all you can give me?” The doctor shrugged. “You know, I’ve heard that you guys have access to lots of drugs. Some say you’re holding out, maybe saving them for people willing to pay.”

  “Absolute nonsense!” He appeared genuinely affronted by the notion. “It’s true that there were some drugs stockpiled before the war—morphine, for instance—but those reserves were quickly gobbled up. And those few labs that made it through everything relatively intact aren’t coming close to meeting the demand. Pharmaceuticals will be in short supply for a long time to come, take my word for it.” He scribbled something on a pad, tore it off, handed the slip to her. “Give this to Captain Rutherford upstairs. He’s in charge of the detail guarding our stores. He’ll draw your allotment for you.”

  Kay took the ineffectual piece of paper from him.

  He wanted to say something as she turned away, apologize for his demeanor, perhaps express more words of commiseration.

  He closed his mouth. That wasn’t what she needed right now. She’d come to him expecting help. Instead, he’d robbed her of her last hope. He could see it, tell from the look on her face. She knew it was over. She’d already started to grieve...

  Kay leaned against a pillar outside the hospital.

  What was she going to do? The drugs were nearly gone. The next time she saw the doctor he might not give her anything. Like he said, he had worries of his own. She wondered if he’d be so stingy when it was his ass that was on the line.

  “Didn’t get anything, did you?”

  The sallow-faced, perspiring man, attired in what had once been an expensive parka, shivered up at her from the bottom of the steps.

  She ignored him.

  “Told you there was nothing they could do for you, right?” he persisted.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “What have you got?” She decided he was crazy. She walked down the steps, bumped him aside with her shoulder as she passed. He grunted in anger and came after her. A hand tagged her shoulder, sought purchase. She balled her fist, got ready to let him have it—

  “I can get you things.” Speaking low, intimately, directly into her ear. “Dope. Pills. Uppers. Downers. Bottles of miracles, lady.”

  She turned around. “Where?”

  “What have you got to trade for ’em?”

  “Enough.” The past few months had taught her to be discreet when bargaining.

  “Are ya sure?” He was sneering and she didn’t like that.

  “I’m sure.”

  He nodded. “Okay, lady. If you’re lyin’ or trying any bullshit--”

  “Don’t threaten me.”

  “You meet me back here in one hour with as much as you can carry. You got that?”

  “And you’ll—“

  He raised a finger. “One hour.”

  The trip home was accomplished with brisk, springy strides.

  Maybe just this once things would turn out all right. There had been so many disappointments and setbacks. C’mon, God, get with the plan. Don’t mean to complain, Big Guy, but you’ve been awfully conspicuous by your absence lately and I think maybe now might be a good time to pop in, shake some hands, kiss a few babies and, oh yeah, one more thing—

  She pushed open the door to the small apartment, old habits causing her to feel chagrined by the dirt and grime embedded in the carpet. Her footsteps raised small dust devils as she crossed the floor to the bedroom door. She inched it open.

  “Kay…?”

  “Hi, sweetheart.” She knelt before him, wriggled in closer so he could see her better.

  “Everything…is it…”

  “Shhhh. Fine, baby, fine. Here.” She raised his head, pressed the pills past his frayed lips. The accompanying water made him choke but the pills stayed down. “There. That wasn’t so bad.” She resettled him, straightened out the blankets.

  “I…have to…”

  By now she had become fluent at instantly deciphering his moment-to-moment needs. “Don’t feel bad, just go ahead. Use the diaper and I’ll wash you up afterwards.”

  As she looked on he endured a terrible coughing fit. Stop it, she silently implored. Because right now you’ve got about three white blood cells in your whole body and if you catch so much as a cold…she couldn’t finish the thought.

  The fit subsided.

  “Better?” He nodded. “Want to know what I did today?” Another, almost imperceptible nod. “Well, after a very successful trip to the hospital, I stopped by the market and managed to swap for a drumstick. Don’t ask me what we had to give up for it, it’ll only depress you.” When she checked for his reaction she saw that his eyes were shut. He seemed very still. She leaned over, close enough to feel him exhale onto her cheek. Just asleep then.

  This time.

  She stood, observing him as he slept, trying to imagine him as he used to be. Splicing together images and scenes from the past, assembling crudely edited recollections of her strong, awkward husband who had no taste whatsoever and called honey “bee shit” and loved staying up late to watch old Hammer horror movies.

  That’s how she wanted to remember him.

  I’m so sorry, my darling. I should have been in the city that day. I should have been with you. I heard about what you did, how you dug yourself out and tried to help as many people as you could. They called you a hero.

  Look at the hero now, weighing in at a strapping ninety pounds, as bald as a baby and just about as strong. He had to be changed constantly and dined on pablum and powdered milk, “the breakfast of champions” he called it, whenever he was cognizant enough to make the
feeble joke.

  She dreaded those occasional moments of lucidity, when he was awake and the fever down, the pain almost bearable. As she fluffed the pillows or helped him into a clean t-shirt she could feel his eyes on her and he would make the request again:

  “Kay…let me die. Christ…Jesus…walk away and let me die.”

  She would stroke his forehead, wet his lips with a kiss, sit at his side until he dozed off. All the while wondering…Could I? No, never. It won’t come to that. And then, plaintively: please, God, don’t let it come to that.

  After removing and disposing of his soiled things, Kay went into the kitchen to collect the goods she would barter. The cooler was in urgent need of another block of ice; the lettuce had blackened around the edges and some of the oranges were spongy when she gripped them. That meant another visit to Frank Finley’s ice house. The old bastard wanted more and more each time she went. The virtue of controlling a monopoly.

  She finished packing all she could afford to take, closed the hasps on the bag.

  Kay debated going in to say good-bye to Sebastian but didn’t like the finality the gesture implied. She settled for blowing him a kiss as she was leaving. Moments after the door shut behind her, he called out from the sick room, gasped her name as he thrashed about, in the scalding grip of a fever dream.

  But she never heard him and so this time he bore his torments alone.

  He found himself in a hypnagogic delirium: a vast, molten lake, white hot and limned with flames. There were people--old folks, children,