opposing attorneys had stopped slapping
each other on the back and were now packing up their briefcases. The old men
and women in Vulture's Row shook their heads and muttered. They'd been cheated
out of the full day's entertainment. "What a gyp," one of them said.
Herman felt Susan's hand on his arm.
"Come on, Dad," she said. "Let's go."
He moved with her, feeling shame and anger at himself. He picked
up the glass box containing the three monarchs and carried it out of the
courtroom. Susan and Dr. DeVere followed in his wake. They watched him from the
steps of the courthouse as he took the glass terrarium across the street into
the park and set the three monarchs free.
"What happened?" Dr. DeVere asked Susan.
"Dad took a chance and he lost."
"You mean we can't get this back
into court?"
"Probably not. She was gonna kill us anyway, but Dad never
sees that. Never thinks it will happen. All he sees is what he's trying to
do."
Herman flushed the last orange and black monarch out of the
terrarium. The three beautiful butterflies fluttered around his head for a
moment as he watched, then two of them flew away. But the third one landed on
Herman's shoulder. It posed there, delicate wings pulsing just inches from his
nose, almost as if it were saying, "Thanks, anyway, we know you
tried." Then it, too, flew away, leaving Herman standing by himself in the
park.
A squat little man with a runaway heart.
TEN
H erman was back in the cardio unit hooked
up to flashing, beeping monitors. He had once again been electronically
converted, while Susan endured another stern lecture from Dr. Shiller, who
scolded her that Herman could easily have a heart attack next time, or even a
stroke, and that they couldn't continue to cheat the odds.
"I'll talk to him about it, I
promise," she said, as Shiller was being called into an emergency. He
walked off at a brisk gait to fix the heart of a more reasonable patient.
Susan went back into the C.C.U. and sat with her father. He seemed
crushed by the events of the day, his chin down on his furry chest. The
hospital gown, printed with strange little red balloon drawings, looked comical
and inappropriate, but at least the balloons matched Herman's bloodshot eyes.
"Dad, you need to get the operation," she said creeping
up on the subject carefully.
"And miss out on all this heart-unit fun?" he said,
trying to elicit a smile but getting nothing from her. "Dad, they say if
you don't, you're gonna die."
"At least that'll cheat Melissa King out of her damn
million-dollar fine," he said.
"Daddy, I can't lose you." She put her head on his chest
and hugged him. "You're all I've ever had. You're the person I most want
to be like. I need you with me. I need you to teach me."
"Don't bullshit your daddy," he said, smiling down at
the top of her head.
She looked up at him as he stroked her long blond hair, running
his fat, sausage-like fingers through it. "Daddy, promise me you'll get
this operation."
"Okay," he said softly. "If the food in here was
better, I probably wouldn't. But, I don't think I can eat another cardboard
sandwich."
She hugged him with gratitude.
"But I can't do it till I get this thing squared away with
Melissa on the fine." He added, "I gotta get that cut down somehow.
She misapplied Rule Eleven. The suit wasn't groundless. I'll work something out
with her tomorrow, but we'll probably have to sell some stuff in D.C.—the
antique cabinets, or some computers, maybe my car. I'll probably have to set up
another university speaking tour to get some cash. Once I make those
arrangements I'll do the radio ablation thing."
"Thank you, God," she said softly.
"I admit there's a strong resemblance, but I'm just his
mouthpiece," he teased
each other on the back and were now packing up their briefcases. The old men
and women in Vulture's Row shook their heads and muttered. They'd been cheated
out of the full day's entertainment. "What a gyp," one of them said.
Herman felt Susan's hand on his arm.
"Come on, Dad," she said. "Let's go."
He moved with her, feeling shame and anger at himself. He picked
up the glass box containing the three monarchs and carried it out of the
courtroom. Susan and Dr. DeVere followed in his wake. They watched him from the
steps of the courthouse as he took the glass terrarium across the street into
the park and set the three monarchs free.
"What happened?" Dr. DeVere asked Susan.
"Dad took a chance and he lost."
"You mean we can't get this back
into court?"
"Probably not. She was gonna kill us anyway, but Dad never
sees that. Never thinks it will happen. All he sees is what he's trying to
do."
Herman flushed the last orange and black monarch out of the
terrarium. The three beautiful butterflies fluttered around his head for a
moment as he watched, then two of them flew away. But the third one landed on
Herman's shoulder. It posed there, delicate wings pulsing just inches from his
nose, almost as if it were saying, "Thanks, anyway, we know you
tried." Then it, too, flew away, leaving Herman standing by himself in the
park.
A squat little man with a runaway heart.
TEN
H erman was back in the cardio unit hooked
up to flashing, beeping monitors. He had once again been electronically
converted, while Susan endured another stern lecture from Dr. Shiller, who
scolded her that Herman could easily have a heart attack next time, or even a
stroke, and that they couldn't continue to cheat the odds.
"I'll talk to him about it, I
promise," she said, as Shiller was being called into an emergency. He
walked off at a brisk gait to fix the heart of a more reasonable patient.
Susan went back into the C.C.U. and sat with her father. He seemed
crushed by the events of the day, his chin down on his furry chest. The
hospital gown, printed with strange little red balloon drawings, looked comical
and inappropriate, but at least the balloons matched Herman's bloodshot eyes.
"Dad, you need to get the operation," she said creeping
up on the subject carefully.
"And miss out on all this heart-unit fun?" he said,
trying to elicit a smile but getting nothing from her. "Dad, they say if
you don't, you're gonna die."
"At least that'll cheat Melissa King out of her damn
million-dollar fine," he said.
"Daddy, I can't lose you." She put her head on his chest
and hugged him. "You're all I've ever had. You're the person I most want
to be like. I need you with me. I need you to teach me."
"Don't bullshit your daddy," he said, smiling down at
the top of her head.
She looked up at him as he stroked her long blond hair, running
his fat, sausage-like fingers through it. "Daddy, promise me you'll get
this operation."
"Okay," he said softly. "If the food in here was
better, I probably wouldn't. But, I don't think I can eat another cardboard
sandwich."
She hugged him with gratitude.
"But I can't do it till I get this thing squared away with
Melissa on the fine." He added, "I gotta get that cut down somehow.
She misapplied Rule Eleven. The suit wasn't groundless. I'll work something out
with her tomorrow, but we'll probably have to sell some stuff in D.C.—the
antique cabinets, or some computers, maybe my car. I'll probably have to set up
another university speaking tour to get some cash. Once I make those
arrangements I'll do the radio ablation thing."
"Thank you, God," she said softly.
"I admit there's a strong resemblance, but I'm just his
mouthpiece," he teased
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