Harold and Maude (12 page)

Maude curtsied. “With all my heart, kind sir,” she replied.

He took her in his arms, and they waltzed merrily till the record ended.

“And now,” said Harold, drawing back the Japanese screens. “Supper for two.”

“My, my!” cried Maude, totally enraptured. “Silver place settings! Where ever did you get them? And look at that.”

Harold picked up the small silver vase with a single daisy in it and presented it to her. “From me to you,” he said. “An individual. Remember?”

Maude took the daisy and held it gently in her hand. “Thank you,” she said. “I do.”

“And now,” said Harold, dramatically flinging off the cover over the ice bucket.

“Champagne!” cried Maude, delightedly. “Oh, you've thought of everything.”

Harold picked up the bottle and began to remove the cork. “It's all right,” he said, imitating her accent. “It's organic.”

Maude laughed. “Oh, wait,” she said, and rushed into the bedroom. “I have a surprise for you, too.” She
came back with a box. “Aren't birthdays fun?” she said. “To me they always meant a new beginning, another year of adventure!”

“Watch out,” cried Harold. The cork flew from the bottle and the champagne fizzed over the brim. He poured it quickly in her glass and filled up his own.

“You can open this after dinner,” said Maude, putting her present on the mantelpiece.

“After the concert,” said Harold, handing her a glass of champagne.

“All right,” she said. “You make the toast.”

Harold held up his glass. “To us,” he said.

“To us.”

They sipped their champagne and smiled.

“Finally,” said Harold, “I have one more surprise.” He took from his pocket a tiny ring box, wrapped with a little red ribbon. “You can open it after my solo,” he said, putting it beside Maude's gift on the mantelpiece.

“I hope,” he added, looking at her tenderly, “it will make you very happy.”

“Oh, I am happy,” said Maude. “Ecstatically happy. I couldn't imagine a lovelier farewell.”

“Farewell?”

“Why, yes. It's my eightieth birthday.”

“But you're not going anywhere, are you?”

“Oh, yes, dear. I took the pills an hour ago. I should be gone by midnight.”

“But …” Harold stared at her.

Maude smiled and sipped her champagne.

He realized suddenly what she had done.

He bolted to the phone.

T
HE AMBULANCE RACED
through the city streets, its red lights flashing and its siren wailing like a banshee in the night.

Inside, Maude lay on the stretcher, covered with a blanket and happily holding the daisy in her hand. Her only concern was Harold, who knelt beside her, crying piteously.

“Come on, Harold,” she said, “give us a smile. What a lot of fuss this is. So unnecessary.”

“Maude. Please. Don't die. I couldn't bear it. Please, don't die.”

“But, Harold, we begin to die as soon as we are born. What is so strange about death? It's no surprise. It's part of life. It's change.”

“But why now?”

“I made up my mind long ago that I'd pick the date. I thought eighty was a good round number.” She giggled, suddenly. “I feel giddy,” she said.

“But, Maude, you don't understand. I love you. Do you hear me? I've never said that to anyone in
my life before. You're the first. Maude. Please. Don't leave me.”

“Oh, Harold, don't upset yourself so.”

“It's true. I can't live without you.”

Maude patted his hand. “‘And this too shall pass away.'”

“Never! Never! I'll never forget you. I wanted to marry you. I was going to ask you tonight. Don't you understand? I love you. I love you.”

“Oh, that's wonderful, Harold. Go—and love some more.”

The ambulance drove up to the Emergency entrance of the hospital, and the attendants ran around and opened the back.

“So unnecessary,” giggled Maude, as they slid her onto a gurney and wheeled her inside.

Harold walked beside her. “Hold on,” he said. “Just hold on!”

“Hold on? Hold on?” Maude giggled again. “Oh, Harold. How absurd!”

The attendants wheeled her to the receiving desk and left to fill out their forms. An officious redheaded nurse stood behind the counter, explaining to a student nurse the hospital's admitting procedures.

Harold anxiously banged on the counter and a young intern with horn-rimmed glasses looked up from his book.

“Please,” said Harold. “There's been an accident,
an overdose of pills. We've got to see a doctor. It's an emergency.”

“Very good,” said the head nurse. “Now, Julie, you go ahead and get all the particulars.”

The student nurse took out her clipboard and picked up a pencil. “Ah, what's your name?” she asked pleasantly in a slow Southern drawl.

“It's not me,” said Harold. “It's her.”

Maude stopped her humming and smiled. She waved “hello” with her daisy.

“It's better to begin,” said the head nurse, “by asking the last name first, then first name, then middle initial, if any. It saves time.”

“Oh, right,” said the student nurse. She smiled at Maude. “What is your last name?”

“Chardin. The Countess Mathilda. But you may call me Maude.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Please!” cried Harold. “She has got to see a doctor right away.”

“Young man,” said the head nurse, “perhaps you ought to wait in the waiting room.”

The student nurse had written down Maude's name. “How old are you?” she asked.

“Eighty. It's my birthday.”

“Oh! Many happy returns.”

“No. I don't think so.”

“You don't understand,” cried Harold. “She's taken an overdose of pills two hours ago. She hasn't got much time.”

The intern came from behind the counter with his clipboard and asked Maude for her signature. “It's just a formality,” he explained.

“Be delighted to,” said Maude, signing it with a flourish. “I like your hair so much,” she added.

“Really,” said the intern. “I'm letting it grow long. Now, this form is just in case of a damage claim. You know, so the hospital won't be responsible for … whatever.”

“I think, Julie,” said the head nurse, “it's better to use a ballpoint pen. They're more efficient.”

“Oh, right.”

“Purely a legal safeguard,” continued the intern, checking over the signature. “Nothing personal, you understand.”

“Don't you all realize?” cried Harold. “She's dying.”

“Well, not
dying
, actually,” Maude explained. “I'm changing. You know, like from winter to spring. Of course, it is a big step to take.”

“Perhaps, then, Julie, you'd better skip the preliminaries and get to the important section.”

“Oh, right,” said the student nurse, and conscientiously turned over the page. “What is your Social Security number?”

“No,” said the head nurse. “Ask about the insurance. The hospital insurance.”

“Oh, right. Do you have any insurance? Blue Cross? Blue Shield?”

“Insurance against what?”

“No insurance,” said the student nurse. She turned sadly to her superior.

“Well, write it down.”

“
This is madness!
” shouted Harold.

“I'm sorry,” said the head nurse, giving Harold an icy stare, “but the psychiatrist won't be in till morning.”

“What's the trouble here?” asked a doctor, coming through the swinging doors.

“An overdose of drugs, doctor,” said the head nurse.

Harold went up to the doctor while the student nurse leaned over and asked Maude solicitously, “Do you have a welfare plan at your place of employment?”

“I'm retired,” said Maude.

“Doctor, please,” said Harold. “She's swallowed these pills. You've got to do something.”

“All right, take her in there.”

The intern began wheeling her away. “It was nothing personal,” he said.

“Who's the next of kin?” cried the student nurse, her ballpoint pen ready.

“Humanity,” Maude shouted back cheerily as she went through the swinging doors.

“Farewell, Harold,” she cried, waving the daisy. “I'm off for the new experience.” The doors swung shut behind her.

Harold stood and watched till the doors had stopped swinging completely.

I
T WAS ELEVEN O'CLOCK
on the waiting room clock. Harold noticed the sweep second hand was broken.

He sat in the corner. A black woman sat across from him, staring stoically at the darkness out the window. Her little boy slept beside her on the couch.

At eleven thirty her elder son came out through the swinging doors, his head and arm in bandages. She said nothing to him. She woke up the little boy and took him by the hand. All three left without saying a word.

Harold sat in the room alone. He glanced at the torn magazines on the table. He rubbed his face. He leaned forward in his chair and stared at the swinging doors.

At midnight the new nursing shift came on.

At one o'clock the intern closed his book and left.

Around three an expectant father and his pregnant wife arrived at the emergency room by mistake. They
were given directions for the maternity ward. The father kept apologizing. The wife just smiled. They left. Harold stood up and walked up and down the hall.

At four the janitor came by and emptied the ashtrays.

By five Harold had returned to the waiting room. He sat on the couch and stared at the torn magazines on the table.

By six the night sky had lightened. Harold could make out the shapes of the cars in the parking lot.

At seven twelve the doctor came in to tell him that Maude had died.

He received the news very calmly. His face showed no sign of emotion. He thanked the doctor mechanically and walked away down the hospital corridor.

M
AUDE'S LIVING ROOM
looked different with the morning sun streaming through the window. The remains of the party were everywhere—the sunflowers, some of them already beginning to droop; the champagne bottle standing half empty in a bucket full of water.

Harold walked to the window. Outside the birds sang and pecked at the birdseed. Idly he flipped the
handle of the feeding trolley, remembering the first day he had seen it work. His eyes began to fill with tears. He blinked them away and walked to the fireplace.

Catching sight of the “Happy Birthday” sign, he violently ripped it off the wall. The sunflower pots and everything on the mantelpiece crashed to the floor—including the little ring box, with the red ribbon around it.

Immediately ashamed of himself, he picked it up and saw beside it Maude's present to him from the night before. He put it on the table and opened it up. It contained her ring of car keys, the collection she had received from Sweeney. He looked at it, displaying no emotion, and at the floridly handwritten note attached. “Dearest Harold,” it read. “Pass it on—With love, From Maude.”

He took the note in his hand and sat down. He read it again. The tears welled in his eyes. This time he could no longer fight them back. He did not even try. She was gone. It was over.

The note dropped from his hand. Falling listlessly back on the couch, he began to cry. She was gone. It was over. He was alone.

The tears ran down his cheeks. His sobbing grew louder and unrestrained. Crying hopelessly, like a lost child, he buried his face in the cushions.

T
HE MINI-HEARSE
sped along the sea-cliff road, recklessly spinning around corners and sliding dangerously close to the edge.

Harold sat at the wheel, driving like a man possessed. The tears were still wet on his face. His hands firmly gripped the wheel. He turned off on a dirt road that led to a high bluff and raced along it till he reached the top.

From far down the coast one could see the car go over. It flew off the cliff, did a gliding half turn, then crashed on the rocks and burst into flames.

The fire subsided, and the smoke and steam gradually disappeared. The waves, brought in on the rising tide, washed in and around the wreckage.

Harold looked down at it from the edge of the cliff. The sun sparkled in the broken glass. A piece of burned curtain drifted back and forth on the swell; overhead, the gulls glided carelessly on the wind.

Harold rubbed his nose and put Sweeney's keys in his pocket. He stretched, took a deep breath, and wiped his tearstained face with both hands. Swinging his banjo from around his back, he strummed a few chords. He took a final look at the remains of his car and turned away.

As he walked down the hill, he began to pluck out Maude's song. He played it through once, remembering in snatches how she had sung the words:

“But the cuck-cuck-cuckoo,

'Spite his rote note yoo-hoo,

The cuck-cuck-cuckoo …”

He smiled. He began it again. It was getting better and better, he thought, and he knew he'd have it right before he came to the end of the road.

The Colin Higgins Foundation
is the recipient of all royalties for this novel. Screenwriter/director/producer Colin Higgins established the foundation in 1985 after being diagnosed with HIV. He dedicated his foundation to the eradication of AIDS, to helping those with HIV, and to the betterment of the lives and options for the LGBT community. Since his death in 1988, the foundation has given out more than three million dollars to over 340 individuals and groups, including start-up funds for GLSEN (the Gay, Lesbian & Straight Education Network) and the Trevor Project, the first national suicide prevention hotline for at-risk LGBT youth. Other grants include over a decade of scholarships at Stanford, UCLA, and the American Film Institute, as well as helping fund the documentary
Celebrating Laughter: The Life and Films of Colin Higgins
. In addition, the foundation hands out the annual Colin Higgins Youth Courage Awards to outstanding LGBT teenagers who, in spite of intolerance and bigotry, have helped transform their communities for the betterment of all. For more information visit
www.colinhiggins.org
.