The Cider House Rules (33 page)

'We will all appear casual about his leaving,' Dr. Larch had said. 'Period.'

Casual! Nurse Edna thought. The stationmaster was down to his socks when Dr. Larch walked in with the sternum shears.

'There will be no crying,' he said sternly to her. 'Do you want to give everything away?' She yanked off the stationmaster's socks and threw them at Dr. Larch; then she left him alone with the body.

Homer Wells gave the operating table a thorough inspection, a final examination—a last look. He transferred the cluster of Candy's pubic hair from his pocket to his wallet; he once more counted the money Dr. Larch had given him. There was almost fifty dollars. He went back to the boys' sleeping room; Nurse Angela still sat on the edge of the bed where Curly Day was still sobbing. She kissed Homer without altering the motion of her hand, which was rubbing Curly Day's back through the blanket; Homer kissed her, and left her without a word.

'I can't believe they took
him,'
murmured Curly Day through his tears.

'He'll be back,' whispered Nurse Angela soothingly.
Our
Homer! she thought—I know he'll be back! Doesn't he know where he belonG'?

Nurse Edna, attempting to compose herself, stepped into the dispensary, where she encountered the trembling stationmaster's assistant.

'May I help you?' Nurse Edna asked, pulling herself together.

'I've come to view the body,' mumbled the assistant.

From across the hall, Nurse Edna heard the familiar crack of the sternum shears, splitting the stationmaster's chest. She doubted that the assistant would care to view the body in its present state. What she said to the assistant was, 'Doctor Larch isn't finished with the autopsy.' {267}

'I brought some catalogues for Doctor Larch,' the assistant said, handing the mess to Nurse Edna.

'Why, thank you,' she said, but the young goon in his funeral finery showed no signs of leaving. Perhaps the ether in the dispensary air was unraveling him. 'Would you like to wait?' Nurse Edna asked him. He stared at her. 'To view the body,' she reminded him. 'You could wait in Nurse Angela's office.' He nodded gratefully as Nurse Edna pointed the way down the hall. 'The last door on your right,' she told him. 'Just make yourself comfortable.'

Unburdened of the stationmaster's catalogues, the assistant had a. lighter, more relaxed step as he aimed himself toward Nurse Angela's office. He was pleased to see there was a choice of chairs to sit in. Naturally, he would not choose the desk chair, behind the typewriter, but there were two lower, more comfortable-looking chairs positioned in front of the desk and the typewriter. They were the chairs that the prospective foster parents sat in when they were being interviewed. They were unmatched paisley easy chairs, and the stationmaster's assistant chose the lower, more overstuffed one. He regretted his decision as soon as he felt how very low the chair was; everything in the cluttered office seemed to loom over him. If Dr. Larch had been sitting at the desk, at the typewriter, he would have towered over the assistant in his low-sunk chair.

The assistant saw a white enamel sort of pan, or tray, upon the typewriter, but he was seated so very low that he couldn't view the pan's contents. Two tiny hands reached above the edge of the examining tray, but only the fingertips of the dead baby from Three Mile Falls were visible to the stationmaster's assistant. He h ad never seen a fetus before, or even a newborn baby; he was unprepared for how small the fingers can be. He kept looking around the room, from his sunken and glowingly uncomfortable position, but his eyes kept coming back to the fingertips sticking above the rim of the examining {268} tray. He couldn't believe he was really looking
at fingers.

Whatever that is, it looks like
fingers,
he thought. Gradually, he stopped looking at other things in the room. He stared at the fingertips; a part of his mind said, Get up and see what that is! Another part of his mind made his body feel sunken into the easy chair and held down there by a great weight.

It can't
be fingers!
he thought; he kept staring, he kept sitting.

Nurse Edna wanted to tell Dr. Larch that he should, for once, let his feelings speak for him—that he should tell Homer Wells what he felt—but she stood quietly listening at the operating room door. The stationmaster's chest cracked a few more times. This didn't discomfort her—Nurse Edna was a professional—and she could tell by the precision of the snaps she heard that Dr. Larch had chosen to occupy his emotions with a task. It's
his
decision, she told herself. She went outside to see how that nice young couple were doing.

The young man was doing whatever young men do while peering under the hoods of cars, and the girl was resting, semi-reclined in the Cadillac's spacious back seat. The convertible top was still down. Nurse Edna bent over Candy and whispered to her, 'You're as pretty as a picture!' Candy smiled warmly. Nurse Edna could see how exhausted the girl was. 'Listen, dear,' Nurse Edna said to her. 'Don't be shy—if you're worried about your spotting,' Nurse Edna said to her confidentially, 'or if you have any peculiar cramps, speak to Homer about it. Promise me you won't be shy about it, dear. And most certainly, if you run a fever—promise me,' Nurse Edna said.

'I promise,' Candy said, blushing.

Melony was struggling to inscribe the copy of
Little Dorrit
she had stolen for Homer when she heard Mary Agnes Cork throwing up in the bathroom.

'Shut up!' Melony called, but Mary Agnes went on retching. She'd eaten two jars of apple-cider jelly, one jar {269} of honey and another of crab-apple jelly. She thought it was the honey that did it.

Smoky Fields had already thrown up. He'd eaten all his jars, of everything, and a jar belonging to one of the little Walshes. He lay miserably in his bed, listening to Curly Day crying and Nurse Angela talking on and on.

TO HOMER 'SUNSHINE' WELLS

FOR THE PROMISE

YOU MADE ME

Melony wrote. She glanced out her window, but there was nothing going on. It wasn't dark; it wasn't time for the two women she'd watched arrive in the morning to be heading downhill for their return train—to wherever.

LOVE, MELONY

Melony added, as Mary Agnes groaned and heaved again.

'You dumb little bitch pig!' Melony called.

Homer Wells walked into the operating
room
when Wilbur Larch had successfully exposed the stationmaster's heart. Larch was not surprised to see no evidence of heart disease, no dead-muscle tissue ('No infarction,' he said to Homer, without looking up at him)—in short, no damage to the heart of any kind.

'The stationmaster had a healthy heart,' Dr. Larch announced to Homer Wells. No 'massive' heart attack had dropped the stationmaster, as Larch had suspected. It appeared there had been a very sudden change in the heart's rhythm.
'Arrhythmia,
I think,' Dr. Larch said to Homer Wells.

'His heart just stopped, right?' Homer asked.

'I think that he suffered some shock, or fright,' said Wilbur Larch.

Homer Wells could believe that—just by looking at the stationmaster's face. 'Right,' he said.

'Of course there could be a clot in the brain,' said {270} Wilbur Larch. 'Where should I look?' he asked Homer familiarly.

The brain stem,'said Homer Wells.

'Right,' Wilbur Larch said. 'Good boy.'

When Homer Wells saw the stationmaster's brain stem exposed, he felt that Dr. Larch was busy enough—with both hands—for it to be safe to say what Homer wanted to say.

'I love you,' said Homer Wells. He knew he had to leave the room, then—while he could still see the door—j and so he started to leave.

'I love you, too, Homer,' said Wilbur Larch, who for another minute or more could not have seen a blood clot in the brain stem if there had been one to see. He heard Homer say 'Right' before he heard the door close. In a while, he could make out the brain stem clearly; there was no clot.

'Arrhythmia,' Wilbur Larch repeated to himself. Then he added, 'Right,' as if he were now speaking for Homer Wells. Dr. Larch put his instruments aside; he gripped the operating table for a long time.

Outside, Homer Wells stuck his bag in the Cadillac's trunk, smiled at Candy in the back seat, helped Wally raise the convertible's top; it would be dark soon, and especially cold for Candy in the back seat if they left the top down.

'See you in two days!' Nurse Edna said to Homer, too loudly.

'Two days,' Homer repeated, too quietly. She pecked his cheek; he patted her arm. Nurse Edna then turned and trotted to the hospital entrance; both Candy and Wally appeared impressed that the woman could move so quickly. When she was inside the hospital, Nurse Edna went directly to the dispensary and threw herself on the bed; if she had a soft heart, she had a strong stomach —it hardly mattered to her that the stationmaster's body had spent much of the day on that bed, or that the mud from his boots had soiled the top sheet.

{271}

Dr. Larch was still gripping the operating table when he heard the stationmaster's assistant scream. There was just one scream, followed by a prolonged series of whimpers. Homer and Candy and Wally never heard the scream; Wally had already started the car.

The assistant had waited the longest time before forcing himself out of the deep, low chair. He had not wanted to look more closely at the contents of the white enameled examining tray, but the little fingers had beckoned to him and he had felt himself drawn to the tray, where a full and close-up view of the opened-up fetus had caused him (like Curly Day) to wet his pants. He screamed when he discovered that his legs wouldn't move; the only way
he
could manage to leave Nurse Angela's office was on all fours; he went whimpering down the hall like a beaten dog. Dr. Larch blocked his way at the operating room door.

'What is the matter with you?' Larch asked the assistant scathingly.

'I brought you all his catalogues!' the stationmaster's assistant managed to say while still on all fours.

'Catalogues?' said Larch, with evident distaste. 'Stand up, man! What's wrong with you?' He seized the quaking assistant under his armpits and drew him, trembling, to his feet.

'I just wanted to view the body,' the assistant protested weakly.

Wilbur Larch shrugged. What is this fascination the world has with death? he wondered, but he stepped aside, ushering the assistant into the operating room where the stationmaster, with his heart and his brain stem very well exposed, was instantly in view.

'A sudden change in the heart's rhythm,' Wilbuir Larch explained. 'Something frightened him to death.' It was not hard for the assistant to imagine being frig;htened to death, although he thought that the stationmaster appeared to have been run over by a train—or else had fallen victim to the same evil responsible for the hideous baby upon the typewriter. {272}

Thank you,' the assistant whispered to Dr. Larch, then ran so fast down the hall and outdoors that the sound of his footsteps roused Nurse Edna from her weeping; her own crying had prevented her from hearing the assistant's screams or his whimpers.

It seemed to Nurse Angela that nothing would console Curly Day and so she attempted to make herself comfortable on his narrow bed, believing she was in for a long night.

Dr. Larch sat in his usual place, at the typewriter; the fetus displayed by Homer Wells disturbed him not in the slightest. Perhaps he appreciated that Homer had left something behind that would need attention—busy work, busy work, give me busy work, thought Wilbur Larch. Just before night fell, he leaned forward in his chair enough to turn on the desk lamp. Then he settled back in the chair in which he had spent so many evenings. He appeared to be waiting for someone. It was not yet dark but he could hear an owl outside—very distinctly. He knew the wild wind from the coast must have dropped.

When it was still light, Melony looked out her window and saw the Cadillac pass. The passenger side of the car faced the girls' division, and Melony had no trouble recognizing Homer Wells in the passenger seat—his profile turned to her. He sat rigidly, as if he were holding his breath; he was. If he had seen her—or worse, if he had needed to speak to her in order to finalize his escape—he knew he couldn't have succeeded in saying to her that he would be back in just two days. Melony knew what a lie was and what a promise was^ and she knew the instant that a promise was broken. She saw a flash of the beautiful girl with the long legs in the back seat of the car, and she supposed that the handsome young man was driving; she had a longer, better look at the profile of Homer Wells. When she slammed the stolen copy of
Little Dorrit
shut, the ink was still wet and her inscription was smudged. She threw the book against {273} the wall, which only Mrs. Grogan heard—Mary Agnes was still violently ill and too much surrounded by her own noise.

Melony put herself straight to bed without her dinner. Mrs. Grogan, worried about her, went to Melony's bed and felt her forehead, which was feverish, but Mrs. Grogan could not coax Melony to drink anything. All Melony said was, 'He broke his promise.' Later, she said, 'Homer Wells has left Saint Cloud's.'

'You have a little temperature, dear,' said Mrs. Grogan, but when Homer Wells didn't come to read
Jane Eyre
aloud that evening, Mrs. Grogan started paying closer attention. She allowed Melony to read to the girls that evening; Melony's voice was oddly flat and passionless. Melony's reading from
Jane Eyre
depressed Mrs. Grogan —especially when she read this part:

…it is madness in all women to let a secret love kindle within them, which, if unreturned and unknown, must devour the life that feeds it…

Why, the girl didn't bat an eye! Mrs. Grogan observed.

Nurse Angela had hardly any more success, reading aloud to the boys' division from Dickens. Dicikensian description was too strenuous for her—she got lost in the longer passages—and when she had to keep going back to the beginning, she saw that the boys were losing interest.