"Would-You-Like-Fries-With-Your-Life" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dixon Stephen)
Would You Like Fries With Your Life?
Mr. Dixon has published some four dozen pieces in English, Indonesian, and Sundanese. At the moment, he, like all other writers he knows, has just finished writing "the great American novel". He currently lives in Orlando, Florida, where he is studying Sociology. Editor's Note: Mr. Dixon has previously appeared in Pegasus Online in our Winter 1998 issue. The withered old man kicked the hospital doors open with his free right leg. Clinging tightly to the thin metal rails of his wheelchair, he forced his way across the heavy doorstrip and out onto the concrete pavement. A nurse quickly glided up behind him, grabbing the rebounding door. "Can I help you, sir?" she said kindly. "No." Something in the pained grate of his voice stirred the hairs on the back of the nurse's neck. "Do you have your doctor's permission to go outside?" "Don't need it." The nurse let the door fall back as the old man struggled up the sidewalk in his wheelchair. His head lolled left to right, thick dribble sliding down his chin onto a threadbare yellow pullover. Soft tufts of sepia hair stuck out rudely from a wool cap. A thin-veined, wrinkled hand brushed angrily at the strand poking one ear. The nurse bit back a sharp retort. There was nothing to say to a patient like this. He had maybe two or three more days, and then no one would ever give him orders again. The worst part was that he knew it. Cancer. It killed them old. It killed them young. It would kill Tom Hinkens in 37 days. Two doctors stood quietly chatting outside Room 11. They glanced up when a young woman came striding down the hallway. She wore a tight miniskirt, black leather boots zipped up long, slender calves, and a pink halter two sizes too tight, glued to her torso like a sheet of cellophane wrapped around a chicken. She had short, black hair, with long blackened eyelashes that batted constantly as she checked each room number she passed. "Can we help you, miss?" one of the doctors said. His partner nodded eagerly. "Room 11?" "This one here, ma'am." A smile. Three smiles. Smiles all around. "You are very helpful," the woman said. "Is Tom in here?" "Tom?" "Yeah. Tom." The two doctors stared at each other momentarily. "Oh, yes. You must mean Tom Hinkens?" "Yeah. Tom." "Well, he'll be back shortly, ma'am. Just went for a stroll." "Stroll? He can't walk, can he?" "Well, no," the doctor replied. The other doctor leaped in quickly. "Of course not, miss. He's just... uh... just taking a roll around the hospital grounds." "A roll, huh? I thought you said stroll." The first doctor laughed nervously. "A roll, miss," the other doctor said firmly. "Oh." "Well," said the first doctor. "Speaking of rolling, I have to be making my rounds." He turned to his partner. "See you for snacks later?" "Sure, Bill." Bill hurriedly departed, but not without taking one last look at the woman's cellophane. "Where's he going?" the woman asked. "Huh? Oh, he's going to visit his other patients." "Not him. Tom. Where's Tom going?" "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you meant... Well, hmm... I think Mr. Hinkens will be back soon. Uh, excuse me." "But you didn't answer my question!" The doctor was gone. Room 11 was a very dreary affair. The walls hung lifeless with a sweaty coat of white paint, sheened by white florescent lights and a large window that provided little defense against the glare of the afternoon sun. Minnie snapped the curtains shut with an authoritative jerk. "Thanks," Tom muttered. "But I like the sunlight." "I don't work in the sun, pal." "Okay." The rest of the room was just as bare and depressing. Two pale, overly yellow paintings hung over each bed, giving the room the only pointless piece of art it could handle. Besides the bulky metal beds, there was a motel TV, an empty vase, and a small refrigerator that hummed too loudly. Two doors opened into the hall and the bathroom. The bathroom door was opened slightly. "I should of brought flowers, huh?" "Why?" "Well, some flowers might make the room look better." "Who cares? You only work in the dark anyway, right? Don't open your eyes until the lights are out." Minnie cocked her head at him. "You're a nasty little mouth, aren't you?" "Get on with it." "What about your roommate?" "He won't be back for hours." "How do you know?" "Cause he won't get paid otherwise." "Do you always pay for everything?" "Are we gonna talk about it?" "Not if you don't want to, honey." "I don't." The door opened slowly. Tom slipped the Playboy magazine under the pillow and leaned his head back against the hard metal railing behind him. "Who is it?" he called out. A thinning red head of hair appeared from the hallway. "It's me, dear. Can I come in?" "Please don't, Margie." "Oh, come now, Tommy Boy. You don't want your high school sweet heart to visit you?" "Margie, if you were my high school sweet heart, then you'd be welcome. But since you're a crazy old bat who keeps bugging me, then I'd appreciate you leaving as quick as you came in." The red head of hair bobbed up and down as the old lady below it cackled loudly. "Oh Tommy, you're such a kidder. Say hello." "Hello, Margie." She came closer to the bed. "Got a kiss for your wife, Tommy?" "My wife's been dead for sixteen years, Margie. Thank the stars for that." "Tommy! Don't speak ill of the dead!" "I'm not speaking ill of the dead. I'm speaking in gratitude for the living." Margie stood sternly over the bed, wagging her thin, bony finger at him. "You should watch what you say, you know. Your time is coming too." "Get out, Margie." "But I just got here!" "Get OUT!" The two doctors started making a habit of standing outside Tom's door while they shared cups of coffee and the latest gossip on nurses, cute or otherwise. Tom didn't mind too much. It gave him something to listen to. He wasn't sure why he wanted something to listen to right now. He should be trying to get as much silence in as possible before he died. He should be spending time thinking about things. Getting everything in order before that big moment. But he didn't want to think about it. So listening helped. The nurse came in every two hours now. At two o'clock, she checked his blood pressure (falling) and gave him a shot for the pain (considerable) and then fluffed up his pillow. The magazine fell out onto the floor. She picked it up without a word and set it on the table next to him. "And how are you doing today, Mr. Hinkens?" "I'm dying, Nurse Ratchet. Can't you tell?" The nurse was hurt. "Just trying to make you feel better, Mr. Hinkens," she said. "You wanna make me feel better?" "You know that's why we're here." "Then cure me. If you want to make me feel better, then get this cancer out of me and let me live another ten years. That's what you can do." The nurse backed away. "I... you're not being fair, Mr. Hinkens." "Fair? You want fair...!? I... I got..." The tirade that started to explode out of him choked off at his throat. It was no use anymore. He let his lips fall back shut and squeezed his eyes. An inky tear spilled out onto his cheek. The nurse quickly gathered her equipment and hurried from the room. "I got no time left," Tom said, handing his lawyer a sheaf of papers that he had finished signing. The lawyer nodded. "Then this is the last one? The final copy?" "Yeah, I changed it enough." "It's a very intelligent will, Mr. Hinkens. You're giving your money to the right parties concerned." "There are no concerned parties here, Mac. Not my kids, not my cat, and certainly not you. Okay? So take the damn papers and leave me to die in peace. The last thing I need is a lawyer trying to make me feel better. I got a hundred nurses at my beck and call if I need a good word." "As you wish, Mr. Hinkens." "I wish." "He's not going to be around much longer." The second doctor sighed. "That'll be a relief. He's stirring up the whole wing here. Nurses are taking days off just to be away from him. Can't he just die without making everyone suffer so much?" The first doctor glanced at him. "I suspect that we'll be feeling pretty much the same way when we go out," he said. "I'm not going out like this guy, you can bet on that. I'm gonna ax myself if I get cancer. Quick and painless." "Don't talk like that." "Oh, you think I'm joking, huh? You wait and see." "Well, don't call me when you do it." "I won't need a doctor then. I'll need a hearse." "You're sick." Tom stared at the ceiling for a long time. "I'm dying..." "Would you like something for the pain, Mr. Hinkens?" "No thank you, nurse. I'm sorry for being such a bother to you and your friends." "Oh, that's all right, honey. We're just doing our jobs." "Job… Who created a job where you gotta watch the sick get sicker and then die?" The nurse didn't reply. "When I was young, I wanted to skydive." "Really?" "Yeah, and I wanted to swim more, and sail a boat around the world, and maybe see the Rockettes in concert." Minnie giggled. "I love seeing women's legs, you know. Very sexy things." "Oh, you bad boy!" "What are you going to do when I die?" "Go back to my job." "Enjoy your youth, Minnie. While you've got it." "I'll try." "Goodbye, Minnie. Thanks for being my last friend." The two doctors wheeled into the room. A nurse was disconnecting the IV that ran into Tom's arm. "He's gone?" "Yes, Doctor." "Well, call the morgue. Got another one coming." "Right away, Doctor." Tom slowly opened his eyes. He was in a large vaulted room, with bright lights and ceiling fans and little brochures lining the cabinets on every wall. He saw the two attendants come rushing through the wide double doors. "Holy Cow!" he screamed. "That was awesome! Awesome, awesome, awesome! Oh, that was SO incredible!" The two attendants stopped in front of his bed. "We're so happy you enjoyed it, Mr. Hinkens," the first one beamed. "Yes, we're very happy for you!" "Wonderful! Fabulous! It was perfect! So vivid, and so... so real!" The two attendants grinned at each other. "Damn! How did it feel so real?! And how did you make it last so long!" "Well, Mr. Hinkens," the second attendant said. "You have to remember that human lives are actually quite long if you make it past sixty or so. We did warn you about that. Did you find it to be too tasking?" "Tasking? No! It was great! I want to go back again as soon as possible." "That can be arranged, sir. We'll send you back over to marketing and they can talk with you about your second-round discount." "Oh, that's great. I have to do it at least one more time. Life... wow. Life is really great. Although the end sucked a bit, I really enjoyed all that... emotion! And the women! How did you make that so real?" "Well, sir. We have a great staff here. Everyone has worked very hard to provide the Human Life Experience with all the qualities of a vacation, culture trip, and all-around getaway package." "Well, my hat is off to you, gentleman. I actually believed that I was a human. You had me going for over 70 years. Although I did wonder once in awhile whether it was... you know... a little bit... not quite fake, but it made me wonder sometimes." The attendants glanced at each other again. "Yes, sir," the first one said. "We have had other people say that same thing. It is very difficult to completely fool our customers into thinking that they are really living as humans. But we're working on it. And hopefully, for your next trip back, you won't even have the first inkling that you don't belong there." "Good, good. That's great." Tom slid off the bed and started for the door. "By the way, got any good food around here?" The two attendants looked at each other. "Uh, we don't eat here, Mr. Hinkens." "Well, that sucks. Because I sure could go for some fries right now." The End
Would You Like Fries With Your Life?
Mr. Dixon has published some four dozen pieces in English, Indonesian, and Sundanese. At the moment, he, like all other writers he knows, has just finished writing "the great American novel". He currently lives in Orlando, Florida, where he is studying Sociology. Editor's Note: Mr. Dixon has previously appeared in Pegasus Online in our Winter 1998 issue. The withered old man kicked the hospital doors open with his free right leg. Clinging tightly to the thin metal rails of his wheelchair, he forced his way across the heavy doorstrip and out onto the concrete pavement. A nurse quickly glided up behind him, grabbing the rebounding door. "Can I help you, sir?" she said kindly. "No." Something in the pained grate of his voice stirred the hairs on the back of the nurse's neck. "Do you have your doctor's permission to go outside?" "Don't need it." The nurse let the door fall back as the old man struggled up the sidewalk in his wheelchair. His head lolled left to right, thick dribble sliding down his chin onto a threadbare yellow pullover. Soft tufts of sepia hair stuck out rudely from a wool cap. A thin-veined, wrinkled hand brushed angrily at the strand poking one ear. The nurse bit back a sharp retort. There was nothing to say to a patient like this. He had maybe two or three more days, and then no one would ever give him orders again. The worst part was that he knew it. Cancer. It killed them old. It killed them young. It would kill Tom Hinkens in 37 days. Two doctors stood quietly chatting outside Room 11. They glanced up when a young woman came striding down the hallway. She wore a tight miniskirt, black leather boots zipped up long, slender calves, and a pink halter two sizes too tight, glued to her torso like a sheet of cellophane wrapped around a chicken. She had short, black hair, with long blackened eyelashes that batted constantly as she checked each room number she passed. "Can we help you, miss?" one of the doctors said. His partner nodded eagerly. "Room 11?" "This one here, ma'am." A smile. Three smiles. Smiles all around. "You are very helpful," the woman said. "Is Tom in here?" "Tom?" "Yeah. Tom." The two doctors stared at each other momentarily. "Oh, yes. You must mean Tom Hinkens?" "Yeah. Tom." "Well, he'll be back shortly, ma'am. Just went for a stroll." "Stroll? He can't walk, can he?" "Well, no," the doctor replied. The other doctor leaped in quickly. "Of course not, miss. He's just... uh... just taking a roll around the hospital grounds." "A roll, huh? I thought you said stroll." The first doctor laughed nervously. "A roll, miss," the other doctor said firmly. "Oh." "Well," said the first doctor. "Speaking of rolling, I have to be making my rounds." He turned to his partner. "See you for snacks later?" "Sure, Bill." Bill hurriedly departed, but not without taking one last look at the woman's cellophane. "Where's he going?" the woman asked. "Huh? Oh, he's going to visit his other patients." "Not him. Tom. Where's Tom going?" "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you meant... Well, hmm... I think Mr. Hinkens will be back soon. Uh, excuse me." "But you didn't answer my question!" The doctor was gone. Room 11 was a very dreary affair. The walls hung lifeless with a sweaty coat of white paint, sheened by white florescent lights and a large window that provided little defense against the glare of the afternoon sun. Minnie snapped the curtains shut with an authoritative jerk. "Thanks," Tom muttered. "But I like the sunlight." "I don't work in the sun, pal." "Okay." The rest of the room was just as bare and depressing. Two pale, overly yellow paintings hung over each bed, giving the room the only pointless piece of art it could handle. Besides the bulky metal beds, there was a motel TV, an empty vase, and a small refrigerator that hummed too loudly. Two doors opened into the hall and the bathroom. The bathroom door was opened slightly. "I should of brought flowers, huh?" "Why?" "Well, some flowers might make the room look better." "Who cares? You only work in the dark anyway, right? Don't open your eyes until the lights are out." Minnie cocked her head at him. "You're a nasty little mouth, aren't you?" "Get on with it." "What about your roommate?" "He won't be back for hours." "How do you know?" "Cause he won't get paid otherwise." "Do you always pay for everything?" "Are we gonna talk about it?" "Not if you don't want to, honey." "I don't." The door opened slowly. Tom slipped the Playboy magazine under the pillow and leaned his head back against the hard metal railing behind him. "Who is it?" he called out. A thinning red head of hair appeared from the hallway. "It's me, dear. Can I come in?" "Please don't, Margie." "Oh, come now, Tommy Boy. You don't want your high school sweet heart to visit you?" "Margie, if you were my high school sweet heart, then you'd be welcome. But since you're a crazy old bat who keeps bugging me, then I'd appreciate you leaving as quick as you came in." The red head of hair bobbed up and down as the old lady below it cackled loudly. "Oh Tommy, you're such a kidder. Say hello." "Hello, Margie." She came closer to the bed. "Got a kiss for your wife, Tommy?" "My wife's been dead for sixteen years, Margie. Thank the stars for that." "Tommy! Don't speak ill of the dead!" "I'm not speaking ill of the dead. I'm speaking in gratitude for the living." Margie stood sternly over the bed, wagging her thin, bony finger at him. "You should watch what you say, you know. Your time is coming too." "Get out, Margie." "But I just got here!" "Get OUT!" The two doctors started making a habit of standing outside Tom's door while they shared cups of coffee and the latest gossip on nurses, cute or otherwise. Tom didn't mind too much. It gave him something to listen to. He wasn't sure why he wanted something to listen to right now. He should be trying to get as much silence in as possible before he died. He should be spending time thinking about things. Getting everything in order before that big moment. But he didn't want to think about it. So listening helped. The nurse came in every two hours now. At two o'clock, she checked his blood pressure (falling) and gave him a shot for the pain (considerable) and then fluffed up his pillow. The magazine fell out onto the floor. She picked it up without a word and set it on the table next to him. "And how are you doing today, Mr. Hinkens?" "I'm dying, Nurse Ratchet. Can't you tell?" The nurse was hurt. "Just trying to make you feel better, Mr. Hinkens," she said. "You wanna make me feel better?" "You know that's why we're here." "Then cure me. If you want to make me feel better, then get this cancer out of me and let me live another ten years. That's what you can do." The nurse backed away. "I... you're not being fair, Mr. Hinkens." "Fair? You want fair...!? I... I got..." The tirade that started to explode out of him choked off at his throat. It was no use anymore. He let his lips fall back shut and squeezed his eyes. An inky tear spilled out onto his cheek. The nurse quickly gathered her equipment and hurried from the room. "I got no time left," Tom said, handing his lawyer a sheaf of papers that he had finished signing. The lawyer nodded. "Then this is the last one? The final copy?" "Yeah, I changed it enough." "It's a very intelligent will, Mr. Hinkens. You're giving your money to the right parties concerned." "There are no concerned parties here, Mac. Not my kids, not my cat, and certainly not you. Okay? So take the damn papers and leave me to die in peace. The last thing I need is a lawyer trying to make me feel better. I got a hundred nurses at my beck and call if I need a good word." "As you wish, Mr. Hinkens." "I wish." "He's not going to be around much longer." The second doctor sighed. "That'll be a relief. He's stirring up the whole wing here. Nurses are taking days off just to be away from him. Can't he just die without making everyone suffer so much?" The first doctor glanced at him. "I suspect that we'll be feeling pretty much the same way when we go out," he said. "I'm not going out like this guy, you can bet on that. I'm gonna ax myself if I get cancer. Quick and painless." "Don't talk like that." "Oh, you think I'm joking, huh? You wait and see." "Well, don't call me when you do it." "I won't need a doctor then. I'll need a hearse." "You're sick." Tom stared at the ceiling for a long time. "I'm dying..." "Would you like something for the pain, Mr. Hinkens?" "No thank you, nurse. I'm sorry for being such a bother to you and your friends." "Oh, that's all right, honey. We're just doing our jobs." "Job… Who created a job where you gotta watch the sick get sicker and then die?" The nurse didn't reply. "When I was young, I wanted to skydive." "Really?" "Yeah, and I wanted to swim more, and sail a boat around the world, and maybe see the Rockettes in concert." Minnie giggled. "I love seeing women's legs, you know. Very sexy things." "Oh, you bad boy!" "What are you going to do when I die?" "Go back to my job." "Enjoy your youth, Minnie. While you've got it." "I'll try." "Goodbye, Minnie. Thanks for being my last friend." The two doctors wheeled into the room. A nurse was disconnecting the IV that ran into Tom's arm. "He's gone?" "Yes, Doctor." "Well, call the morgue. Got another one coming." "Right away, Doctor." Tom slowly opened his eyes. He was in a large vaulted room, with bright lights and ceiling fans and little brochures lining the cabinets on every wall. He saw the two attendants come rushing through the wide double doors. "Holy Cow!" he screamed. "That was awesome! Awesome, awesome, awesome! Oh, that was SO incredible!" The two attendants stopped in front of his bed. "We're so happy you enjoyed it, Mr. Hinkens," the first one beamed. "Yes, we're very happy for you!" "Wonderful! Fabulous! It was perfect! So vivid, and so... so real!" The two attendants grinned at each other. "Damn! How did it feel so real?! And how did you make it last so long!" "Well, Mr. Hinkens," the second attendant said. "You have to remember that human lives are actually quite long if you make it past sixty or so. We did warn you about that. Did you find it to be too tasking?" "Tasking? No! It was great! I want to go back again as soon as possible." "That can be arranged, sir. We'll send you back over to marketing and they can talk with you about your second-round discount." "Oh, that's great. I have to do it at least one more time. Life... wow. Life is really great. Although the end sucked a bit, I really enjoyed all that... emotion! And the women! How did you make that so real?" "Well, sir. We have a great staff here. Everyone has worked very hard to provide the Human Life Experience with all the qualities of a vacation, culture trip, and all-around getaway package." "Well, my hat is off to you, gentleman. I actually believed that I was a human. You had me going for over 70 years. Although I did wonder once in awhile whether it was... you know... a little bit... not quite fake, but it made me wonder sometimes." The attendants glanced at each other again. "Yes, sir," the first one said. "We have had other people say that same thing. It is very difficult to completely fool our customers into thinking that they are really living as humans. But we're working on it. And hopefully, for your next trip back, you won't even have the first inkling that you don't belong there." "Good, good. That's great." Tom slid off the bed and started for the door. "By the way, got any good food around here?" The two attendants looked at each other. "Uh, we don't eat here, Mr. Hinkens." "Well, that sucks. Because I sure could go for some fries right now." The End |
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