Chapter Seven
It was the end of the first afternoon that week, and we were about to leave the hospital and go to the motel. It was one of those early spring days, a little damp, cool and sweet. We sat in the conference room, listening to Wallace talk about depression and drug addiction.
"You, Lucas." There was a little glint of something mean in our instructor's eye. Lucas frowned, and turned to face him.
"Sir?"
"Your journal entries are unacceptable.” Wallace stared at Lucas with his pale eyes, narrowed and nasty. “You were told at the very beginning of this course that the journal entries would be half of your grade. Don't you want to pass? Or is this experience not to your liking?"
Eunice and I sat there, wishing we could be somewhere else instead of watching Wallace chew on our buddy. We had all been chewed on at one time or another and now it was Lucas' turn. It seemed to make Wallace's day, chewing on a male student.
Lucas took a deep breath, and his face was pale.
"I’m not too comfortable with the journal, sir, more comfortable with patients. It seems I can write in the chart fine but can't get it down in the journal. Never was a writer, I guess." Lucas looked at his shoes.
"You won't find inspiration on the floor, young man. Look at me."
Lucas pulled his head up and looked at Mr. Wallace. He didn't like what he saw, looked away out the window, and then back at the red smug face in front of him.
“You know, you remind me of a Dr. Fried. You and he have something in common, you know." Wallace stopped for effect and waited.
"What's that, sir?" Lucas asked softly.
Wallace sneered. "You were both in Viet Nam, that's what. Probably at the same time. He’s probably a doper, like all of you vets. He went to med school on the government, like you're doing nursing school. You'll have a lot to talk about, living off the government and taking money from taxpayers. He only works at night, he's too unconventional to work during the day like everyone else."
The illogic and cruelty of these statements washed over us like waves. Wallace was enjoying it, knowing none of us would challenge his nonsense because it was too close to graduation and we had too much to lose. He got redder in the face, and Lucas looked down at his shoes again. The rest of us ached for Lucas, but we couldn’t fight his fight, and Wallace knew it. And Wallace knew that Lucas wouldn’t fight. His wounds were there, they just didn’t show.
"I want to see something written tomorrow morning, when we meet for breakfast. And try to write legibly; your journal, what there is of it, is damn difficult to read."
Wallace turned and walked away, and we all stood up to leave. No one looked at Lucas, he stood alone, staring after him. We walked slowly out to the porch, and Eunice and I looked at our fingernails and waited for Lucas to say something. We could hear him breathing, raggedly.
"Why didn't they just leave us there and not let us come back?" he whispered to himself.
"Don't pay him any mind, Lucas. He's mean as a snake and doesn't deserve a minute of your time." Eunice was firm and motherly, and right. "We'll be out soon, and we'll just use him as a stepping stone on our way out."
Lucas nodded, and unlocked his car. Lucas always drove his own car, he never rode in the van.
"I'll meet you after supper." Lucas said, quietly.
“Lucas, where are you going?” Eunice looked concerned, and ignored the tooting horn of the van, Wallace calling us.
Lucas shook his head and looked a little wild, and said, “Maybe I’ll go find this doctor, maybe I’ll see what another doper looks like.”
I grabbed Lucas arm as opened the car door. “When you get back, come and talk to us. Elam said something about that doctor that I need to check with you. Please?” I was afraid Lucas would go in his room and clam up.
Lucas nodded. He got in his car and slammed the door, and we ran for the van. Eunice gave Wallace a look as we sat down, and he just looked in the rear view mirror and told us to buckle our seatbelts. We looked out the window and watched Lucas drive too fast down the highway, going somewhere.
We settled into our seats for the short ride to the motel, and everyone was quiet. Elaine looked at us and shrugged her shoulders and looked daggers at Wallace’s back. I checked my calendar in my notebook and nudged Eunice to look. A few more weeks and we would graduate. She nodded, and patted my hand.
"And then...."
And then what? All plans stopped with graduation and boards, because we couldn't plan past that. If we passed boards, we could work as nurses and the future was clear. If not....maybe a job as a nurse's aide until we could take boards again. We all knew people who had failed, and who talked brightly about really studying this time, and finally learning how to take tests, and making the best of it. I didn't want to make the best of it; I wanted to pass. I wanted Lucas and Eunice to pass, I wanted all of us to be able to turn our backs on Wallace and walk away.
Supper was quieter than usual, Eunice and I ate our cheeseburgers and fries. We drank our sweet iced tea, and waited for Lucas. Eunice poked fries in ketchup and said, “What did Elam say about this doctor?”
“He danced around the nurse’s station one day, with an old stethoscope around his neck. He kept saying, ‘who shall decide, when doctors disagree?’ so I need to see what he saw, what he meant. Does this doctor disagree with the others?”
Eunice nodded. “Elam knows. He’s might hard to figure out sometimes, but he knows.”
After what seemed like hours, we heard Lucas’ old car pull up to the motel and park near his room. Eunice looked at me and I looked at Eunice. Lucas knocked, and came in with a quizzical look on his face.
“Lucas, what happened?”
“I ate dinner alone and calmed down, that’s the first thing I did.” Lucas sat down and put his feet up and his head back. “Wallace can sure punch my buttons; how the hell does he know how to do that?” He shook his head, and began to tell us about this doctor. “He’s an interesting guy. Did two tours over there, likes to hide on the night shift. He said owls have ears, though, and he hears a lot that goes on.” Lucas looked at middle distance. “He says I’ll have trouble writing in journals until I settle some stuff in my head about the war. Wallace knows how hard it is for me, and enjoys forcing the issue. He hates vets, hates the fact that we lost in Vietnam, like it was our fault.”
“Lucas, why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble writing those journal entries?”
Lucas looked at me and grinned. “You think a big macho vet like me is going to admit to a little skinny Yankee girl that I can’t do this? Dr. Fried said, just write what you see, what you observe. He claims that we see plenty, we just don’t say it well. Most of us don’t, that’s why Wallace has such a good time doing what he does. Making people miserable. Wait’ll you get your journals back.” Lucas shook his head. “Fried says he never actually flunks anyone on the journal like he says he will, as long as you pass the tests. But he brings down the mighty and reduces A’s to C’s. He enjoys that, Fried says. Brags about it.”
“Is that why he compared you with this doctor? To bring down the mighty? He sees you with patients, he knows what you can do. He doesn’t need to read your journal.” I felt that Wallace was an enemy, not a teacher.
“Sure enough. Puts me sort of outside the rest of the students, in a corner by myself, like this doc who works at night. I’ve done and seen a lot....” Lucas’ eyes narrowed. “And I’m the only male, Wallace hates male nursing students, for some reason.”
Eunice laughed, a tight little snort of a laugh. “He hates female nursing students, too, Lucas. Wallace just hates everybody.”
I thought about grades and teachers and Eunice looked at the ceiling. “Just a little sadist, Mr. Wallace is,” she said. “Likes that feeling of power.”
“Poor bastard. That’s all he’s got; we’ll be out of here and gone and he’ll be forgotten. And I’ll probably never keep a journal after this.” Lucas looked at the floor. “Some things best forgotten,” he murmured.
“Lucas, what’s this doctor like?” I asked. “Elam said something about them disagreeing in his usual way, quoted someone.”
Lucas laughed. “Fried doesn’t agree with Coker, but Coker outranks him and runs the day shift so there’s not much he can do. Fried believes in more latitude, more conversation, less medication. He says if we get to know these people there would be trust built up, but to accomplish that, you have to give, and let your guard down. He didn’t say anything about Coker but I can tell from the progess notes; all the medication orders are written on the day shift.” Lucas nodded sagely. “You can tell a lot by reading the chart; who did what, which nurse did the nursing, who watched the patient.”
Eunice nodded and so did I; we had both seen that on the floor. Even when we didn’t know the nurses on other shifts, you could tell who had the sharp eyes and who didn’t. Coker’s notes were full of jargon, not words. We had seen him on the floor, a tall heavy man who never spoke to students and never stayed long in the nurse’s station. He always seemed to be in meetings, or behind closed doors.
Lucas sighed. “I’ll just work harder and write what Wallace wants, no truth involved, no thinking about the past. Maybe that’s what was wrong, why I couldn’t do it. I tried to dig deep, and hit a nerve.”
Lucas was quiet. Eunice nodded and said, “Give Wallace what he wants, but give Lucas the truth. You do need to talk.” She gave Lucas one of those nurse looks that sees the bone and muscle under the skin.
“Sure, I know that. Someday.” Lucas got up and sighed, and smiled. “I do feel better, and I’ll let you read what I write. I’ll do it like Eunice does now, write it two times to make sure of the spelling. Makes me mad trying to please Wallace, but I need to pass this class.” He shook his head and said, “See you tomorrow.” He walked out, whistling. I hope Wallace heard him whistle.
We were beginning to feel comfortable with the routine now, our two days every other week in Enigma had become part of the rhythm of school. We didn’t compare the mental hospital to the “real” hospital any more; we just felt the differences between two kinds of reality. Nellie and Sweets hung around the nurse’s station more than most of us; Lucas and Eunice and I and some of the other students had learned where to sit in the Dayroom to talk to our residents. I wasn’t late for conferences much any more, and we had learned our way around the maze of long hallways. It was late in February by now, nearly half way through with clinicals.
I went for a walk in the cool afternoon, and found myself at the Infirmary, way in the back of the hospital, in a different building. It was a fairly large area, two hallways of patient rooms, sixteen in all. There was a nurse’s station, all the trappings of the “regular’ hospital. It was off limits to us because we were supposed to be concentrating on the mental problems of the residents, not the physical, which we did in all of our other clinical rotations. But I wandered in, partly because I wasn’t sure how to get back to the other building and partly because I was just curious. I know about the cat, one of my aunts told me that story all the time.
There was a nurse standing at the station, tall, middle aged. Reminded me of Eunice, strong face with smile lines around her eyes. I didn’t see a guard dog inside. She looked up and smiled when she saw me.
“Can I help you? You look lost.”
I nodded, and asked directions to the main building. She walked with me along the hall, her nurse shoes quiet on the floor, the uniform familiar and comfortable. She wore a black sweater over it and her name tag said ‘Joyce.’
“It’s down that corridor and across the commons area....wait, I hear something.”
She turned and walked quickly into a patient room, and of course I followed. I had learned in every hospital that following people who moved quickly led us students into some interesting situations. She was at the patient’s bedside so fast I had just turned the corner, and saw a huddled figure on the bed.
“What is it?” she asked, doing a quick examination of this patient. I looked over her shoulder and looked at Auntie Bea. Her face was gray and mottled, her mouth working soundlessly, breathing with difficulty. I helped the nurse raise the bed, and adjust the oxygen mask, and saw the color return to Auntie Bea’s face. Her eyes were staring, her hands plucking the bedclothes. The nurse watched with narrowed eyes, taking her vital signs and marking in a bedside chart. I watched for a minute and then noticed something.
“She doesn’t have her blanket.” I murmured, almost to myself.
“What? The blanket is right there...” the nurse pointed to the standard yellow thermal blanket on the bed, and I shook my head.
“No, the blanket that she needs to rock the child.” I looked around and saw a small plaid throw on the other bed, and brought it to Auntie Bea, rolled up. She took it and stared at it, not moving. The nurse frowned.
“What’s that for?”
I shook my head and put Auntie Bea’s hand on the blanket, and waited. She stared at the blanket, and began to cry. In a minute, she began to rock, and sing softly, staring at the face that wasn’t there. The nurse and I took a deep breath, and pulled the side rails up on the bed, and left. We stood outside in the hall, and I told her the story we had heard in the dayroom about the children. I watched her face as I told the story, and her eyes filled with tears.
“No wonder. Poor thing. I’ll tell the doctor when he makes rounds. Thanks. I’m new, haven’t been here long enough to hear that story. These things never get written down anywhere.” She waved me out the door, and turned to go back in, and I waved back. I felt better about Auntie Bea and the others knowing that Joyce was there. It occurred to me as I walked back to the dayroom that Auntie Bea was really sick. I wondered if anyone else knew that.
Elam was watching for me when I came back, no smiles in his eyes, no whistle in his hand. He motioned for me to sit down, and took his crumpled play out of his pocket and smoothed it on his knee.
“Vex not her ghost, for sorrows come not single spies but in great crowds.” He peered into my face, and nodded, figuring that I understood. I did, sort of. Elam looked past my shoulder out the door to the infirmary building, and whispered, “Peace to her bitter bones...” and moved away, nodding and scribbling.
One evening Lucas and Eunice and I were sitting in the motel, having dinner. There was a new barbecue place down the street and we walked in the early spring night and brought back buckets of ribs, coleslaw and biscuits. Lucas had a six pack of beer, and we sat in the room eating and talking. Between what I was learning at the hospital and what I learned from Lucas and Eunice, I could hardly process all the information. It was great to hear them talk about what they had done, where life had put them, years ago.
Lucas shook his head. “I wish I’d of listened better when I was in high school. I passed, pretty much, but didn’t listen. So all there was to do was join the Army...” he looked down at his shoes and sighed. Eunice bustled around and picked up barbecue sauced napkins and gave him a shake.
“Lucas, you need to talk about it. Now.”
I had a feeling they had this conversation before, and Eunice was one to tell people to “let it out.” Lucas looked up at her, and his eyes were empty.
“Now,” she said. “Something, some little thing. It’s only nine o’clock and you need another beer and there’s nothing on TV.” She cracked a beer and gave it to him, and sat down, and there was a small silence in the room.
He coughed and began, and then coughed again. When he began to talk it was as if he were dragging the words out and his throat hurt. “We had a party in a helicopter, once. It was during my second tour there, and we had seen a lot.” He looked at his shoes again, but Eunice didn’t poke him, just sat and listened.
“This copter had been in and out of several fire fights, picking up wounded. A lot of wounded. Dead, too.” Lucas stared out the window and silence hung in the room. “We were having some Army nurses over to look at the helicopter, it was a fairly new model with some great medical evacuation equipment in it. We cleaned it out real good," he said. "We were going to give those nurses a real tour of a real helicopter that had been in the jungle and done some duty and come back. We scrubbed and cleaned and got it all ship shape. And we had some wine and some cookies and clean napkins on one of the seats, for a little tea, sort of. And then the nurses came, all dressed in clean fatigues, like they were going to a party. We watched them come towards us and we felt real good, welcoming them. And then they got closer." Lucas looked down at his hands and sighed. "One of those nurses threw up about five feet away, the rest waited until they got into the copter. Those nurses were tough, they were Army nurses." He shook his head, as if that said it all. "Those women had been used to the worse the war gave. They worked sixteen hours at a time, sometimes in terrible conditions, bombs falling, light failing. They weren’t afraid of smells or blood or dirt. And they still threw up when they got into our copter, that we had cleaned up." He turned to us and said, "What would they have done if we hadn't cleaned it up?"
Eunice and I shook our heads, wondering if we could have passed that test. Probably not. Eunice had seen her share of nasty stuff, but I was coming straight out of the chute, green as green. I didn't want to think about it.
Lucas chewed on a biscuit and thought for a minute.
"I read a poem in English class last year that reminded me of what we did," he said. " It's called "The Ball Turret Gunner" and it said it right. 'They washed me out of the turret with a hose....' Even those nurses couldn't handle it. I guess we just lost our smellers and covered it all up with Pine Sol."
Lucas was quiet, eating biscuits and drinking beer. Eunice smiled at him and said, “That’s a start.”
I quit eating and had another beer. Somehow I could smell the helicopter mixed up with barbecue sauce and coleslaw and I wasn't too hungry anymore. No matter how much Lucas told us about Vietnam, I knew there was much more he could have said. And Eunice would encourage him, and we would listen, and wait to cry until after he left.