Don't Ever Get Old

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This is a work of ction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this

novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used ctitiously.

.

An imprint of St. Martins Publishing Group.

.Copyright 2012 by Daniel Friedman. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martins Press,

175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.minotaurbooks.com

ISBN 978-0-312-60693-0

First Edition: May 2012

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1

In retrospect, it would have been better if my wife had let me stay

home to see Meet the Press instead of making me schlep acrosstown to watch Jim Wallace die.

Id known Jim since back when I was in the service, but I didnt

consider him a friend. So when Rose interrupted my programs to

tell me shed just got a call from the hospital and that Wallace

was in intensive care and asking for me, I said Id have plenty of

time to see him at his funeral.

You have to go visit him, Buck. You cant ignore a dying mans

last request.

Youd be surprised, darling, by what I can ignore. I got a long

history of being ignorant.

I capitulated, though, after I lodged my token objection. I saw

no point in ghting with Rose. After sixty-four years of marriage,

she knew all my weak points.Jim was downtown at the MED, too far away for me to drive.

It was getting hard to remember where things were and how


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2 DAN I E L F R I E DMAN

they t together, so my world had become a gradually shrinking

circle, with the house in the middle of it. But that excuse wouldnt

save me; Wallaces daughter, Emily, offered to come and pick meup, even though Id never met her before.

Thank you for doing this, Mr. Schatz, she said as she backed

her car out of my driveway. I know it must seem weird that

Daddy is asking for you, but hes nearing the end, and theyve got

him on a lot of stuff, for the infection and for the pain, and for his

heart. Hes sort of drifting back into the past.

She was a couple of years past her ftieth, I guessed; the esh

around her jawline was just beginning to soften. She was wear-

ing sweats and no makeup and looked like she hadnt slept in a

long time.

Hes not so coherent all the time, and sometimes, when he

looks at me, Im not sure if he knows who I am. She stied a sob.

This was shaping up to be a real swell morning. I made agrunting sound that I thought might seem sympathetic and started

to light a cigarette.

Her face kind of pursed up a little. Do you mind not smoking

in my car?

I minded, but I let it slide.

Visiting people in the hospital was a pain in the ass; I knew

going in that they wouldnt let me smoke, and I always worried a

little that they wouldnt let me leave. I was eighty-seven years old

and still buying Lucky Strikes by the carton, so everyone gured

I was ripe to keel over.

Jim Wallace was in the geriatric intensive care unit, a white

hallway full of ltered air and serious-looking people. Despite all

the staffs efforts to keep the place antiseptic, it stank of piss anddeath. Emily led me to Jims room, and the glass door slid shut

behind us and sealed itself with a soft click. Norris Feely, Emilys

overweight husband, was sitting in a plastic chair, staring at game


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D O N T E V E R G E T O L D 3

shows on a television mounted on the wall above the bed. I thought

about asking him to switch it over to my talk program, but I didnt

want to give anyone the impression that I was willing to stay forvery long.

Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Schatz, he said, without looking

away from the screen. Pop has told us a lot about you. He ex-

tended his hand, and I shook it. His ngers were plump and

sweaty, and he had more hair on his knuckles than he did on his

head, but his nails were manicured and coated with clear polish,

so they stood out like little pink rhinestones stuck onto some hir-

sute, misshapen sausages.

A weak voice from the bed: Buck? Buck Schatz? Wallace was

hooked up to an IV, a heart monitor, and something I thought

might be a dialysis machine. He had a tube in his nose. His skin

had taken on a waxy yellow pallor, and the whites of his eyes were

brownish and lmy. His breath came in slow rasps and smelledlike disease. He looked horrible.

You look good, Jimmy, I said. Youll beat this yet.

He let out a rattling cough. Reckon not, Buck. I suppose Im

not too long for this world. He waved a feeble hand, a mostly un-

successful attempt at a dramatic gesture.

I wish things were different, I said, which meant that I

wished Jim had been kind enough to die without bothering me

about it.

God, howd we get so old?

If Id seen it coming, Id have got out of the way.

He nodded, as if that made a lot of sense. It means so much

that youre here.

I didnt see why it was so important to Jim to share his nalhours with somebody who thought he was kind of an asshole.

Maybe he found comfort in familiarity.

He pointed a quivering nger at Norris and Emily. Go away


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4 DAN IE L FR I E DMAN

for a minute, he told them. Gotta have some old war talk with

Buck, in private.

Dad, the war was sixty years ago, said Emily. Her nose wasrunning, and her upper lip was damp with snot.

Dont tell me whens what. Jims eyes seemed to slide out of

focus for a moment, and it took him a couple of deliberate blinks

to regain his bearing. I know what I need to say, need to say to

Buck. Get.

Daddy, please. Her voice trembled as she spoke.

Maybe Id better go home, I said hopefully. But Jim had

gotten hold of my wrist, and he was hanging on with surprising

strength.

No, Buck stays, he wheezed as he jabbed a nger in his

daughters direction. Privacy.

Norris draped a protective arm over Emily and guided her

gently out of the room. The sliding door clicked shut behindthem, and I was left alone with the dying man. I tried to pull my

arm out of his sallow claw, but he held tight.

Jim, I know youre a little confused, but the war was a long

time ago, I said.

He sat up a little, and his whole body shook with the effort.

Those sunken yellow eyes were bulging in their sockets, and his

loose jowls twisted with anguish. I saw him, he said. Phlegm

rattled in his throat. I saw Ziegler.

Hearing that name was enough to knot my guts up. Heinrich

Ziegler had been the SS ofcer in charge of the POW camp

where we were stuck in 1944 after our unit got cut off and over-

run in southern France.

Zieglers dead, Jim, I told him. Shot by the Russians duringthe fall of Berlin.

I know he wasnt so good to you, Buck, when he found out

you was Jewish.


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Without thinking, I rubbed with my free hand at the ridges

of scar tissue on my lower back. He wasnt so good. But hes dead.

I was sure this was true. Id gone looking for Ziegler after thewar.

Probably dead. Probably by now. But I seen him. Forgive me.

He was still hanging on to my wrist, and I was starting to feel

nauseous, either from what Jim was saying or from the stink

coming off him.

What do you mean?

I was working as an MP, manning a roadblock between East

and West in 1946, and he rolled up in a Mercedes-Benz.

No. I felt a lump rise in my throat. Not possible.

Jims stare was xed on the wall, and he didnt seem to hear

me. He had papers with a different name, but I knew him when

I saw him, he said. Lord help me, I let him go.

Why? My mouth had gone dry. Side effect of all the damnpills I took. I swallowed, hard. Why would you do that, Jim?

Gold. He had lots of those gold bars, like in the movies. I

remember, the whole back end of the car was riding low from the

weight of them. He gave me one, and I let him get away.

Son of a bitch.

We didnt have no money. Never had none growing up. And

we wanted to buy a house. We wanted to start a family.

I didnt say anything. I tried to wrench my arm away from him,

but his grip held. One of the machines next to his bed started

beeping louder.

Forgive me, Buck, he said. Im going over, very soon. Im

scared to die. Scared of being judged. Scared Im going to hell for

the bad things Ive done. I cant carry this weight with me. Tellme its all right.

I tugged my arm a little harder. I had to get out of there; I was

going to be sick. Forgive you? You knew what kind of a monster


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6 DAN I E L F R I E DMA N

Ziegler was. You saw the things he did to our boys. You saw the

things he did to me, for Gods sake. All a mans got is his integ-

rity, and you sold yours, Jim.I gave a sharp yank, trying to extricate myself from his grasp,

but he hung on, looking at me with pleading eyes. I gave up on

getting away and, instead, leaned in close to him. If theres a hell,

the two of you belong there together.

He must not have liked that, because his whole body con-

vulsed, his back arched, and the heart monitor started screaming.

Two doctors and a nurse ran into the room, and through the

open door, I could see Emily in the hallway with tears streaming

down her face.

Hes coding, shouted one of the doctors. We need a crash

cart.

The other doctor pointed at me. Get him out of here.

Id be happy to go, Doc, if hed just let me. Jims hand wasstill wrapped around my wrist.

But the doctor was already pounding on Jims chest and squeez-

ing the respirator bag over his mouth. The nurse came over to me

and pried the clenched ngers off my arm. She pushed me back,

out of the way, as the doctor hit Jim with the electric paddles.

Jims body jumped. The doctor with the paddles looked to the

nurse.

Anything? he asked.

No.

The machine was still wailing.

Gonna hit him again, said the doctor, turning the voltage

knob on the debrillator.

Clear. The body seized up again, but the line on the monitorhad gone at.

The other doctor kept working the oxygen bag. I rubbed at

my wrist; purple bruises were blossoming out from where Jim


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had squeezed. A couple of years back, my doctor put me on

Plavix, a blood thinner, to keep me from having a stroke. The

stuff made me bruise like an overripe peach.I pulled out my pack of Luckys and icked at the silver Dun-

hill cigarette lighter I carry around, but my hands were shaking

so much, I couldnt get the damn thing to spark.

You cant smoke in here, the nurse told me.

He dont look like he minds much, I said, gesturing at Jim.

Yeah, well, his oxygen tank probably minds, mister, she said,

and she swept me into the hallway. The sliding glass door clicked

shut behind me.

Norris was leaning against the wall, his face a slackened, puffy

mask; Emily was pacing the oor, crying.

I touched her arm.

Theres nothing more you can do for him, I said. But I need a

ride home.

Don't Ever Get Old

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