paused for breath, and Nina felt
herself starting to cry. She struggled not to, because doctors'
offices make everyone feel like children being spoken to sternly
but well-meaningly by a grownup, and, absurdly, pathetically, it
seems important to be brave and well behaved. Still, she thought
she could feel her own stomach shrinking up like a puddle in the
sun, her own spleen swelling like a sodden sponge, her kidneys
growing parched and brittle, tubes and passageways caving in like
long-abandoned tunnels.
Manny Rucker noticed that her face was
collapsing and decided not to acknowledge it. She was not the
patient and there was nothing to be gained by coddling.
"He's had a concussion," the doctor resumed.
"That's rather a vague concept, concussion is. It basically means
he's been clunked on the head and something went kerblooey. We
don't yet know if he's fully recovered his memory or where the gaps
might be. We don't know if the loss might recur. Probably he's now
at somewhat higher risk of Parkinson's and of stroke."
Manny Rucker flipped shut the manila folder,
and Nina Silver allowed herself to exhale. She thought she'd heard
all she had to listen to. She was wrong.
"There's one other thing," the doctor told
her. "He's had a heart attack."
Nina's eyes went out of focus and settled
vaguely on the buttocks of the fat woman awaiting her injection.
"Heart attack?"
"There's a pronounced irregularity in the
EKG that wasn't there before," said Rucker. "It's clear evidence.
Too much time has passed to gauge the severity from the blood
enzymes. But there's no doubt that something happened."
The room was falling away from Nina Silver,
the angles between walls and floor and ceiling becoming jarring,
oblique, and insane. Her other reunions with Augie, the ones in
dreams, had never been so complicated, so fraught. "He told me his
chest ached, his arms, when he crawled into the dinghy."
Rucker nodded. "Very possibly he was having
the attack while he was in the water. Truly amazing he didn't
drown."
There was a long silence. In the examination
room, Augie Silver, all alone, was rousing himself from a catnap;
his bony fingers clutched the edges of the table and he gamely
strained to sit himself up without assistance. His wife was trying
equally hard to ask a simple question. She opened her mouth three
times before the words squeezed past her clenched throat.
"Will he die?"
Rucker folded his hands and skidded his huge
chair a little closer to the desk. "Eventually," he said. "But he
hasn't died yet, and I'm not going to bet against him now. I think
he'll recover, I think he's got a good shot at a normal life span.
But he needs a very long and very total rest. He's got to get the
weight back. If he can't do it at home, he's got to go to the
hospital—"
"He doesn't want to do that."
"He's made that clear," said Rucker. "That's
why I'm making it a threat. He has to eat. He has to drink. And he
has to be totally shielded from stress."
Nina Silver straightened up, willed her mind
to clear, and looked at Manny Rucker with a kind of defiance. She
loved her husband. She would protect him, care for him, heal him.
For this she didn't need diplomas, certificates, prescription pads.
"He'll be best off at home," she said. Then her expression softened
and she almost smiled. "Besides, this is Key West. What kind of
stress could there possibly be?"
16
What kind of stress?
For starters, the subtle subliminal stress
of finding oneself the subject of rumors, whispers, the sort of
breathless gossip that attends such odd occurrences as a slightly
famous neighbor's return from the dead.
Nothing could be clearer than that Augie
Silver was not yet ready for company, much less a full-scale
reemergence into society. When Nina bundled her husband into their
seldom-used old Saab and drove him to Manny Rucker's Fleming Street
office, it was with the intention of getting him there and back
again unseen.
But Key West is a small place, a
herself starting to cry. She struggled not to, because doctors'
offices make everyone feel like children being spoken to sternly
but well-meaningly by a grownup, and, absurdly, pathetically, it
seems important to be brave and well behaved. Still, she thought
she could feel her own stomach shrinking up like a puddle in the
sun, her own spleen swelling like a sodden sponge, her kidneys
growing parched and brittle, tubes and passageways caving in like
long-abandoned tunnels.
Manny Rucker noticed that her face was
collapsing and decided not to acknowledge it. She was not the
patient and there was nothing to be gained by coddling.
"He's had a concussion," the doctor resumed.
"That's rather a vague concept, concussion is. It basically means
he's been clunked on the head and something went kerblooey. We
don't yet know if he's fully recovered his memory or where the gaps
might be. We don't know if the loss might recur. Probably he's now
at somewhat higher risk of Parkinson's and of stroke."
Manny Rucker flipped shut the manila folder,
and Nina Silver allowed herself to exhale. She thought she'd heard
all she had to listen to. She was wrong.
"There's one other thing," the doctor told
her. "He's had a heart attack."
Nina's eyes went out of focus and settled
vaguely on the buttocks of the fat woman awaiting her injection.
"Heart attack?"
"There's a pronounced irregularity in the
EKG that wasn't there before," said Rucker. "It's clear evidence.
Too much time has passed to gauge the severity from the blood
enzymes. But there's no doubt that something happened."
The room was falling away from Nina Silver,
the angles between walls and floor and ceiling becoming jarring,
oblique, and insane. Her other reunions with Augie, the ones in
dreams, had never been so complicated, so fraught. "He told me his
chest ached, his arms, when he crawled into the dinghy."
Rucker nodded. "Very possibly he was having
the attack while he was in the water. Truly amazing he didn't
drown."
There was a long silence. In the examination
room, Augie Silver, all alone, was rousing himself from a catnap;
his bony fingers clutched the edges of the table and he gamely
strained to sit himself up without assistance. His wife was trying
equally hard to ask a simple question. She opened her mouth three
times before the words squeezed past her clenched throat.
"Will he die?"
Rucker folded his hands and skidded his huge
chair a little closer to the desk. "Eventually," he said. "But he
hasn't died yet, and I'm not going to bet against him now. I think
he'll recover, I think he's got a good shot at a normal life span.
But he needs a very long and very total rest. He's got to get the
weight back. If he can't do it at home, he's got to go to the
hospital—"
"He doesn't want to do that."
"He's made that clear," said Rucker. "That's
why I'm making it a threat. He has to eat. He has to drink. And he
has to be totally shielded from stress."
Nina Silver straightened up, willed her mind
to clear, and looked at Manny Rucker with a kind of defiance. She
loved her husband. She would protect him, care for him, heal him.
For this she didn't need diplomas, certificates, prescription pads.
"He'll be best off at home," she said. Then her expression softened
and she almost smiled. "Besides, this is Key West. What kind of
stress could there possibly be?"
16
What kind of stress?
For starters, the subtle subliminal stress
of finding oneself the subject of rumors, whispers, the sort of
breathless gossip that attends such odd occurrences as a slightly
famous neighbor's return from the dead.
Nothing could be clearer than that Augie
Silver was not yet ready for company, much less a full-scale
reemergence into society. When Nina bundled her husband into their
seldom-used old Saab and drove him to Manny Rucker's Fleming Street
office, it was with the intention of getting him there and back
again unseen.
But Key West is a small place, a
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