John put his hand to his forehead. The fingers,
fixed, already dead, scraped the skin. "You want my help while there's
still time. A last blessing, forgiveness..." John aped a sardonic smile.
"Closure. Libera me, Domine. 'Who will rid me of this troublesome
priest'?"
Mike caught his breath. "You remember. 'And the
knights there assembled...' Historie of England. Henry II."
"I remember nothing. I want you out of here.
Another parasite, more toxoplasmata eating my brain."
"'And the knights there assembled withdrew,
saying to one another, 'We know the king's will'." Papa, say it. "'And
when the king'..."
John's lips pulled back from his teeth. "Worse
than nagging. Slobbering, fawning, cringing. I want to die without being
badgered. I have no son. I am no father. I'm a queer, a homo, a fucking
fairy. I don't want you. Just leave me alone!"
Mike bowed his head and put his hand over
his father's. "Please."
John yanked his hand away. The plastic bags
swung wild. The old man stretched his jaws and howled. Mike leaped to
his feet. The nurse and a man in white bolted though the door.
Mike stumbled out of the room. He clattered
down the hall and past the nurses' station, sideswiping the potted plants.
A woman in sickly green scrubs and surgical cap got off the elevator and
scanned him with unsmiling eyes. He slipped past her onto the elevator.
At the ground level, he finally found the glass doors to the street.
He dashed the block to the subway, down the stairway stinking of urine, out
onto the platform with the crowd spreading like a wave on the sand. A
train pulled in. Just before the doors slammed, he jostled his way into
a car and dropped into the first empty seat.
When his breathing slowed and the tremors
eased, he found a handkerchief in his pocket and wiped the skim of
sweat from his hands and forehead. A quick glance around the car
told him no one was watching. He filled his lungs slowly and closed his
eyes. That howl - a cry of implacable pain. It reverberated in Mike,
echoed his own cries. He shook his head. Fool. He should have hung in
there. He wouldn't let his father abandon him again.
The following night, his father's room was dark. The stench was stronger.
So was the Taboo. Ms. Maybelline stood over John taking off latex gloves.
TOM'S TALES