The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (32 page)

“
You shouldn
’
t have....oh Mama, you...,
”
began the daughter.

“
He was dead. There, on the sidewalk—like his heart stopped beating and he just died—not even a block from home. My poor Jess... .Ohhh, my poor Jess.
”

They cried together, the mother and daughter.

“
It was my fault, Althea,
”
she said at last.
“
I made him go out—he didn
’
t want to.
”

Through her sobs, the daughter said,
“
It wasn
’
t your fault, Mama. Papa
’
s heart was bad.
”

“
He tried to tell me that there was no use in...Oh, Thea, why did I do it?
”

“
Please, Mama. We can
’
t help it now....he
’
s gone.
”

Realizing that neither really consoled the other, they finally dried away their tears.

“
I carried a blanket and put it over him,
”
explained Lou Ella.
“
I couldn
’
t leave him to lie on the pavement in the hot sun. He suffered so from the heat.
”

Althea knew what must be done. Walking on aching feet, she managed to get out onto the sidewalk and around the corner to where her father lay. She saw him, exactly as her mother had described him, the yellow wool blanket still covering his body.

The old man weighed only slightly more than his daughter. Yet, positioning him so that she could pull him to the house required most of her meager strength. With the blanket securely wrapped around him and tied at his feet, she worked intermittently, tugging and resting, tugging and resting, until she succeeded in moving him to his own lawn. There, under the shade of the ragged hedge, she left him.

There seemed no end to the pain falling upon her. Now her father
’
s death. How much more could she take? Then she wondered how much more the frail old woman could take. After fifty years of marriage, what happened in the heart of the one who was left? Althea painfully made her way back inside.

“
Did you cover him up real well, Althea?
”
Lou Ella was propped on her pillow, more alert than before.

“
Yes, Mama.
”
answered the daughter.

“
When will we get help, do you reckon?
”

“
Soon....very soon.
”

“
The wind isn
’
t blowing, though, is it?
”

“
No, Mama. Not yet. But it will soon, I know it will.
”

The daughter leaned close to her mother to dry the perspiration on her face. Then she noticed it—a sweet odor to the older woman
’
s breath.
“
Mama, you took your insulin yesterday, didn
’
t you?
”
she asked in sudden fear.

She received a nod in the affirmative.

“
Are you sure, because your breath smells sweet.
”
Althea knew the odor indicated improper sugar break-down by the body. For some reason her mother
’
s body chemistry was out of order. But why?
“
Could you have forgotten to take it?
”

“
I took it, Thea, only maybe it
’
s not doing much good anymore. The diarrhea is really bad,
”
murmured the woman.

Althea looked straight into the sad pitiful eyes of her mother.
“
You
’
ve been drinking the water, haven
’
t you?
”

“
I
’
m so thirsty that I can
’
t help myself, Thea.
”

Of course. A diabetic
’
s insatiable thirst when the body is not in tune....she
’
d naturally need fluids.
“
Oh God, how long will this go on?
”
moaned Althea. The radiation sickness caused vomiting.
“
Mama, have you been vomiting?
”
  Lou Ella slowly shook her head.
“
Nooo, but I feel so terrible... my poor Jess.
”
  What was wrong with the old woman? Thirst, yes, but why were her body signs so depressed, wondered the daughter. Althea rushed from the room. Stacked in a pile in a bureau drawer were the pamphlets given to her mother by the doctor. She scanned the print, searching for a definition of these symptoms. The black letters jumped at her from the page. Any circumstance which causes a diabetic to rapidly undergo loss of body fluids may quickly bring on coma. Well, now she knew. Mama
’
s body signs were depressed because of the diarrhea—a symptom of the radiation. To forestall a coma, the body
’
s fluids would have to be immediately restored and insulin given. At a hospital the fluids could be intravenously fed directly into the bloodstream, but here, in the house, what could she do? The water. She must get all the water into her mother that she could. This was no time to be concerned with the radiation. And insulin—she had to give her mother more of the precious hormone.

Quickly she went into the kitchen where the instruments were kept. She lifted the syringe and inspected it closely. Deciding on the proper level, she plunged the needle through the rubber cap on the bottle.

By the time she returned to the bedroom, the sweetish odor was detectable from the foot of the bed. The elderly woman breathed heavily, her mouth open as she drew air in between her lips. Althea swiftly injected the insulin. Then, supporting the grey head with her arm,
“
Here, Mama, try to drink this,
”
and she poured the water through the parched lips. First her father, and now her mother. How long? How long?

The old woman complied hungrily, trying to satiate her gnawing thirst.

“
More. Drink a little more for me,
”
said the daughter.

On the third glass, the mother refused.
“
I can
’
t take anymore, Thea. Wait a minute or two.
”

“
You must, Mama. We have to get as much into you as we can.
”
Obediently Lou Ella took one last swallow.

Slumping back against the headboard, Althea realized how very tired she was. The trip to the hospital, the lunacy of the man in the car, the people in the field—it had left her virtually a lifeless shell. Added to that was the fact that it was over twenty-four hours since she had taken her last morsel of food. Her hands shook with a palsy that she couldn
’
t control. A constant dull ache throbbed in her brain. She glimpsed the bruised, oozing feet and turned her head aside, surprised that she had been able to ignore the pain while caring for her parents.

Her thoughts drifted away in a haze of exhaustion. She recalled her youth, the happy times she
’
d had—and some of the bad ones. To be a school teacher was her childhood desire, but now she wondered if that had really been what she wanted. The job offered security, and to her parents, it had been prestigious. But it wasn
’
t exciting. There was nothing mentally stimulating about spending five days out of every week with a group of children. Sure, it was gratifying to see them learning, to help mold young minds, but it was mental stagnation for her own active brain.

She
’
d suspected her discontent for several years, but hadn
’
t faced it, hadn
’
t attempted a new job or given her life a new direction. She
’
d told herself that at her age it was too late. Well, was thirty-five too late? Now that she was nearing the roller-coaster downhill swing? Or could something be salvaged still? It was a distracting thought—if she made it through this—that she
’
d give up teaching and do something else she
’
d wanted to do. It wouldn
’
t take all that much money to open a shop on a small scale, and with any kind of success, it would provide a livelihood for her mother and herself. 

A weak, plaintive moan escaped Lou Ella.
“
Althea?
”

The name brought her out of her reverie.
“
Yes, Mama?
”

“
I think I can take some more water now.
”

After drinking greedily, the mother seemed somewhat uplifted in spirit. The abnormal thirst, as in diabetes, was difficult to assuage, especially when a desire for the water was greater than the stomach
’
s capacity to hold it. But it was the shot of insulin that was pulling her slowly back from the brink of coma.  The small vial was almost empty of its contents. Althea fervently hoped the remaining hormone would not be required today, for going to the hospital while leaving her mother alone in her present condition was a fearsome choice.

“
Thea, do you remember Edward Allsworth?
”
asked the mother.

“
Mama, I don
’
t think you have the energy to talk. Why don
’
t you lie quietly for awhile?
”

The bony, wrinkled hand reached over and patted the daughter gently.
“
There may not be much time for talking left. Besides, you and I, Thea, we never do seem to sit down and really discuss the things that are between a mother and daughter.
”

“
Oh Mama, we
’
ve always been talkers—you and I.
”

“
But about the important things,
”
said the mother.
“
We never discuss the important ones, not like others do.
”

Her mother was right, they never really talked.

“
Edward Allsworth wanted to marry you, Thea.
”

Edward. Yes, he
’
d wanted to marry....and it would have been a good marriage, too, despite what people had said.
“
I thought you and Papa didn
’
t like Edward.
”

“
He was all right,
”
answered Lou Ella softly.
“
He was....he wasn
’
t a bad sort.
”

What was it, ten years since Edward? Ten years come November 12. And how many times had he crossed her mind in all those years?

“
Thea, did you love him?
”

It was a question neither parent had ever asked; nor had anyone else. Did she love him?
“
Edward was years ago, Mama. I hardly remember him,
”
or the way he always wore his clothes, clothes that fit perfectly and never seemed to wrinkle, or the way he always scooted around her so that he walked nearest the street and she was on the inside.

“
But you didn
’
t answer my question,
”
reminded her mother.

Love? He had given her a gold, heart-shaped locket with his picture in it for Valentine
’
s Day.  He
’
d put it around her neck while they stood in the living room that night. The locket was tucked into the little wooden jewelry chest that she kept on her dresser. For some inexplicable reason, Althea felt a tinge of resentment that now, after all this time, someone would bother to wonder if she had loved Edward.

“
Does it matter whether I loved him or not?
”

For a long while Lou Ella didn
’
t reply.
“
But he was white, Althea,
”
she said in a tone nearly inaudible.

Yes, and there was no point in rehashing this again—ten years later. Exactly when does a woman become her own person? When does she become strong enough that she
’
s willing to swim against the tide, to disregard well-intentioned advice and make up her own mind? And when it
’
s time to quit being afraid of being a disappointment, to quit living through someone else
’
s eyes.
“
It may sound strange to you, Mama, but I honestly don
’
t believe skin color makes a difference to people who are in love.
”