Look at the Birdie by Kurt Vonnegut Page A

corridor, paused in his wet and hopeless work to take a good look at Harve. “This him?” he said.
    “That’s him,” said Captain Luby.
    “Don’t look very desperate, do he?” said the janitor.
    “Kind of ran out of desperation,” said the captain.
    “Like a car run out of gas,” said the janitor. He nodded. “He crazy?” he asked.
    “He better be,” said the captain.
    “What you mean by that?” said the janitor.
    “If he isn’t,” said the captain, “he’s going to the electric chair.”
    “My, my,” said the janitor. He shook his head. “Sure gladI ain’t him.” He resumed his mopping, sent a little tidal wave of gray water down the corridor.
    There was loud talk at the far end of the corridor now. Harve turned his incurious eyes to see Ed Luby himself approaching. Luby was accompanied by his big bodyguard, and by his good friend, his fat friend, Judge Wampler.
    Ed Luby, an elegant man, was first of all concerned about the spotlessness of his black and pointed shoes. “Watch where you mop,” he told the janitor in a grackle voice. “These are fifty-dollar shoes.”
    He looked down at Harve. “My God,” he said, “it’s the one-man army himself.” Luby asked his brother if Harve could talk and hear.
    “They tell me he hears all right,” said the captain. “He don’t seem to talk at all.”
    Ed Luby smiled at Judge Wampler. “I’d say that was a pretty good way for a man to be, wouldn’t you, Judge?” he said.
    The conference of doctors ended on a note of grim agreement. They returned to Harve’s side.
    Captain Luby introduced young Dr. Mitchell to his brother, Ed. “The doc here’s new to town, Ed,” said the captain. “He’s kind of taken Elliot here under his wing.”
    “I guess that’s part of his oath. Right?” said Ed Luby.
    “Beg your pardon?” said Dr. Mitchell.
    “No matter what somebody is,” said Ed, “no matter what terrible things they’ve done—a doctor’s still got to do everything he can for him. Right?”
    “Right,” said Dr. Mitchell.
    Luby knew the other two doctors, and they knew him.
    Luby and the doctors didn’t like each other much. “You two guys are working on this Elliot, too?” said Ed. “That’s right,” said one.
    “Would somebody please tell me what’s the matter with this guy, that so many doctors have to come from far and wide to look at him?” said Captain Luby.
    “It’s a very complicated case,” said Dr. Mitchell. “It’s a very tricky, delicate case.”
    “What’s that mean?” said Ed Luby.
    “Well,” said Dr. Mitchell, “we’re all pretty well agreed now that we’ve got to operate on this man at once, or there’s a good chance he’ll die.”
    Harve was bathed, and his head was shaved.
    And he was rolled through the double doors and put under the blinding light of the operating room.
    The Luby brothers were kept outside. There were only doctors and nurses around Harve now—pairs of eyes, and masks and gowns.
    Harve prayed. He thought of his wife and children. He awaited the mask of the anesthetist.
    “Mr. Elliot?” said Dr. Mitchell. “You can hear me?”
    “Yes,” said Harve.
    “How do you feel?” said Dr. Mitchell. “In the Hands of God,” said Harve.
    “You’re not a very sick man, Mr. Elliot,” said Dr. Mitchell. “We’re not going to operate. We brought you up here to protect you.” The eyes around the table shifted uneasily. Dr. Mitchell explained the uneasiness. “We’ve taken quite a chance here, Mr. Elliot,” he said. “We have no way ofknowing whether you deserve protection or not. We’d like to hear your story again.”
    Harve looked into each of the pairs of circling eyes. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “No story,” he said.
    “No story?” said Dr. Mitchell. “After all this trouble we’ve gone to?”
    “Whatever Ed Luby and his brother say the story is—that’s the story,” said Harve. “You can tell Ed I finally got the message. Whatever he says goes.