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FICTION

PEOPLE LIKE THAT ARE THEONLY PEOPLE HERE

BY LORRIE MOORE

rain. A start: the Mofller finds a blood! clot in the Baby's diaper. What is dm

story? Who put this here? It is big andi bright, Mth a broken, khald-colored

vain in it. Over the weekend, theBaby had looked listless andspacey, clayey and grim. But todayhe looks fmeÿoo what is dais thing,startling against the white diaper,llke a tiny mouse heart packed inmow? Perhaps it belongs to some-one else. Perhaps it is somethingmensmlal, something belongingto the Mother or to the Babysitter,something the Baby has found ina wastebasket and for his own de-mented baby reasons stowed awayhere. (Babies--they're crazy!What can )ÿu do?) !n her mind, theMother t"akes this away ÿom hisbody and attaches it to someoneelse'a. Tbere. Doesn't that makemore sense,)

Still, she phones the children's-hospital clinic. Blood in the diaper,she says, and, sounding alarmedand perplexed, the woman on theother end says, "Come 'n now.

[ Suck pleasinglyinstant service!

i Just say "blood." Just say "diaper."] Look what you get[i In the ÿninafion room, the

pediatrician, the nurse, and thehead resident all seem less alarmed andperplexed than simply perplexed. At

st, stupidly, the Mother is calmed bythis. But soon, besides peering and raying"Hmm," the doctorÿ the nurse, and thehead resident are all drawing their moothsin, bluish and tlght--mornlng glories

t sensing noon. They fold their armsacross their wkite-eoatad chests, unfoldthem agahi, and jot things down. The),order an ultrasotmdi Bladder and kidnelz.H esthecardiGodoÿms aws, turnleft.

In Radiology, the Baby ÿnds amÿouÿ,

A BEGINNING, an end: there on the table, haked against the Mother, the dog. ÿlq.ÿatthehe&

the)ÿsay toseems to be neither. The whole as she holds trim sdil against her legs and "!'he surgeon Will speak to you, sa)ÿthing is like a cloud that just waist, file Radiologist's co!d scanolng theRadlologlst.

lands, andeverysvherehisideklafi, dinf diskmovlngahouttheBabysback, The LAxeloufind gsomething.Baby whimpers, looks lip at the Mother. "The surgeon will speak to youÿ"Iz'fls get oul of bere, lfis eyes beg. Pick me the Radiologist says again. "There seemst(plTbe Radiologist stops, freezes one of to be something there, but the sur-

geon will talk to you about it.""My uncle once had something

on bJs lddney," seys the Mother."So they removed the kidney andit turned out the someflfing wasbenign?'

The Radiologist smiles a broad,ominous smile. "That's always theway it is," he says. "You don't"lÿow exactly what it is until it's inthe bucket."

"In the bucket," the Motherrepeats.

'ÿ!'bat's doctor talk," the Radi-ologist says.

"It's very appealing," says theMother. "It's a very appealing wD'to talk.ÿ SwMs nfbUe and blood,mmÿ:ard and maroon in a pail, thecolors ofÿm African flag or someexuberant salad bar: in thebucke[-ÿhe imagines it all.

"The surgeon will see yousoon," he says agÿn. He touslesthe Baby's ringlety hair. "Cutekid," he says.

"Are you taking notes?ÿ Wo. " 'You're not?" "lg'r's see now," says the Sur-

.k.t geon, in one of!ÿ exam-inlng rooms. He has stepped in,

fllen stepped outÿ then come back inagain. He has crisp, fiowning features,sharp bones, and a tamfis-ln-Bennudatam He crosses bls blue-cottoned legs.He is wearing clogs.

The Mother knows her own face is abig wlfite dumpling nf worry. She is stillwearing her loeg, darkparka, holding theBabl; who has pulled the hood up overher head because he always thinks it'sfunny to do that. Though on certainwind), mornings she would like to thinkshe could look vagudy romantic llke this,

"No, 1 can Z Not tbM I write flrfion. This isn't fiction. ÿPhotograph of the attthor by Mark Lyon.

the mma)' swirls ofoceartic gray, mad dicksrepeatedly, a single moment within thelong, cavernous weather map that is theBaby's insides.

"Are you finding sometNng?" asksthe Mothel; Last year, her Unde Larrybad a kidney removed fur somethingthat turned out to be benign. Theseim-aging machines! They are like dogs, ormetal detectors: they find everytlaing butdon't know what they've found. That'swhere the surgeons come in. They'relike the owners of the dogs. Giÿ me l&tt,

i

J

i

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like some French Lieutenant's Womanof the Prairie, in all her saner momentsshe knows she doesn't. She knows shelooks ridlcdlous--like one of those aui-nlals made out of twisted party balloons.She lowers the hood and slips oce armout of the sleeve. The Baby wants to getup and play with the light switch. Hefidgets, fusses, and points.

"He's big on lights these days," e.x2olainsthe Mother.

"Tlmr's O.1L," says the Surgeon, nod-cling toward the light switch. "Let himplay with it." The Mother goes andstrands by itÿ and the Baby begizls tam-ing the lights offand on, offand on.

"What we have here is a Wilms'tumor," says the Surgeon, suddenlyplunged into darkness. He says "yarner"as if it were the most nomml thing in theworld.

"vVilms'?" repeats the bclother, Theroom is quickly on fire again with lightÿthen wiped dark again. Among the threeof them here there is a long silence, as ifit were suddenly the middle of the niglrt."Is that apostrophe's' or 's' apostrophe?ÿ'tile Mrther says finally. She is a ÿvrltsrand a teacher. Spelling can be impor-tant--perhaps even at a time llke this,though she has never before been at atime like this, so there are barbarisms shecould easily commit ÿvithout knowing.

The lights come on; the world isdoused and exposed.

"'S' apostxophe," says the Surgeon."I thinlc" The fights go back out, but theSurgeon continues speaking in the dark."A malignant tumor of the left kidney:"

Wait a minute. Hold on here. TheBaby is only a baby, fed on oÿ,auic ap-plesauce and so)' milkÿ little prlnce!-and he was standing so dose to her dur-ing the ultrasound. How could he havethis terrible thing? It most have been 13erkidney, A fiÿes kidney. A DDT klthley.The l'vlother clears her throat. "Is it pos-sible it was my kidney on the scan? Imean, I've never heard of a baby with atumor, and, frankly, I was st,anding veo,close." She would make the blood hers,the tuznor hers; it would aL! be sometreacherous, farcical mistake.

"No, that's not possible," says the Sur-geon. The light goes hack on.

'`it's not?" says the Mother. Walt un-tLl it's in the buthet, she thinks. Don't beso sure. Do we have to 'wait tl)tlil [tÿs iÿ1the btwket to find oft! a mistake has boccimade?

"ÿ.ÿe wig start with a radical neplirec-

tomy," says the Surgeon, instantlythrown into darkness again. His voicecomes from nowhere and eveÿvhere atonce. "And then we'll begin xaith chemo-therapy after that. These minors usuallyrespondÿrywel] to chemo.*

"I've never heard of a baby havingcherno," the Mother says. Baby andCliemo, she thinks: the)' should nevereven appear in the same sentence to-gether, let alone the same life. In herother fife, her life before this day, she wasa believer in alternative medicine. Che-modler.apy? Unthinkable. Nox% sud-denly, alternath,e medicine seems thewacko maiden aunt to the Nice BigDaddy of Conventional Treatment. Howquickly the old girl faints and gives wa);leaves one just standing there. Chemo?Of course: ehemo! ÿrh),, by all means:chemo. Absolutely! Chemo[

The Baby flicks the switch back on,and the walls reappear, big wedges oflight checkered with small framed water-colors of the local lake. The Mother hasbegun to cry: all of life has led her here,to tiffs nioment. After this there is nomore life. There is something else, some-thing stumbling and unlivable, some-thing mechanical, something for robots,but not life. Life has been taken and bro-ken, quleldy, like a stick. The room goesdark again, so that the lÿ'iother can crymore freely. How can a baby's body bestolen so fast? How much can oneheaven-sent and unsuspecting child en-dure? Why has he not been spared thisinconceivable late?

Perhaps, she thinks, abe is being pun-ished: too many babysitters too early on.("Come to Mommy! Come to MoronWBabysitter!" abe trsed to say. But it was ajoke]) Her llfe, perhaps, bore too openlythe marks mid wigs of deepest drag. Herunmothedy thoughts had all been noted:the panicky hope that his nap would lastjust a little longer than it did; her occa-aional desire to kiss Ithaa passlonate!)* on themouth (to make out with her baby!); herongoing complaints about the very vo-cabulary ofmothethood, how it degradedthe spe4dcer. ('Is dais a people onesle? Yes,ifs a very people oneaie!") She had, more-over, on three occÿslons used the formulabottles m flcaÿ vases. She twice let theBaby's ears get fudÿrwith wax. A few af-ternoons last month, at snack time, sheplaced a bowl of Cheerios on the floorfor him to eat, like a dog. She let himplay with the Dustbuster. Just once, be-fore he was born, she said, "Health),? I

just wmat the kid to be rich." A joke, forGod's sake. After he \vas born, she an-nounced that her life had become a dailysequence of mlnd-wrecklng chores, thesame ones over ÿd oÿrr again, like a needby Mrs. Camus. Another joke! Thesejokss will kill you. She had told too of-ten, and with too much enjoyment, thestory of how the Baby had said "Hi" tohis high chair, waved at the lake waves,shouted "Goody-goody-goody" in whatseemed to be a Russian accent, pointedat his c3,es and said "Ice." And all thatnonsensical baby talk: wasla't it a stitch?Canonital babbling, the language expertscalled it. He recounted whole stories init, totally made up, abe could tell; he em-broidered, he t]shed, lie exaggerated.What a card! To friends she spoke of hiseating habits (ÿrrots yes, tuna no). Shemeutioned, too much, his sidesplittinggiggle. Did abe have to be so boring? Didshe have no consideration tot others, forthe intellectual demands and courtesiesof human society? Would she not evenattempt to be more interesting? It was acrime agalnst the human mind not evento tÿ,.

Now her lyaby, for all these reÿonsÿlackof motllerly geatitode, mothedyjudgment,motherly pmporfionÿvlil be taken aÿy.

The room is fluorescently ablazeagain. The tÿlother digs .around in herparka pocket and comes up with aKleenex. It is old and thio, llke a mashedflower savedfrom a dance; she dabs it ather eyes and nose.

"The baby won't suffer as much as)xm," says the Surgeon.

And who can contradict? Not theBab); who in his Slavic Betty Boop voicecan say only manta, dada, cheese, ice, bye-

bye, otttside, boogie-baogie, goody-goody,eddy-eddy, and car. O¢ÿ/]lo is Eddy? Theyhave no idex) This will not suffice to ex-press his mortal suffering. Who oua saywhat babies do with their agony andabock? Not the), themselves. (Babytaik:isn't it a stitch0 They put it all no placeanyone can really see. The3, are llke adifferent race, a different species: theyseem not to experience pain the way wedo. Yeak, thafs it:. their nervous systemsare not as dilly furmed, and they just don'texperience pain the way we do. A rune tokeep one humming through the war."You'll get through it," the Surgeon says.

"How?" asks the Mother. "How doesone get through it?"

"You just putyour head down and go,"says the Surgeon. He plcks up his file

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iz

"tÿAKV. notes," says the Husband,A. after coming straight home from

work, midaftemoon, hearing the news,and saying all the words out loud--sÿ-very, metastasis, dialysis, transiOlant--then col!apsing in a chair in tears. 'Wake

notes. We are going to need the money.""Good God," cries the iVIother. Ev-

crythlng inside her suddenly begins tocower and shrink, a thinning of boncs.Perhaps this is a soldier's readiness, butk has the whiffof death and defeat. Itfeels llke a heart attack, a failure of x¢tlland cotwage, a power failure: a failure ofevarything. Her face, when she glimpsesit in a mirror, is cold and bloated withshock, her eyes scat'let and shrunk. Shehas already started to wear sunglasses in-doors, like a celebrity wldmÿr. From wherewill her own strength come? From somephilosgphy? From some ffigfid little phi-losophy? She is neither stalwart nor real-istic and has trouble with basic concepts,such as the one that sa)ÿ cvents move inone direction only and do not jump up,torn m'ound, and take themseh, es back.

The Husband begins too many ofhis sentences with "What if.." He is try-ing to piece everything together, likea train wreck. He is trying to get thetrain to town.

"We'll just take all the steps, movethrough all tile stages. We'll go wherewe have to go, we'lÿ huntÿ we'll find, we'llpay what we bare to pay. What if wecan't pay?"

"Sounds llke shopping.""I cannot believe this is happening

to our little boy," he says, and starts tosob zgmn.

What is to be said? You turn justsligb dy and there it is: the death of yourchild. It is p'.m symbol, part devil, andin )'our blind spot all along, until it isupon you, Then it is a fierce little coun-try abducting you; it bolds you squarelyinside itself like a cellar room, the bestboundaries of)'ou are the botmdades ofit. Are there xÿindoxÿ? Sometimes aren'tthere wlndoxÿs?

THE IVlother is lint a shopper. Shehates to shop, is generally bad atit, though she does like a good sale. Shecannot stroll meaainghdly through anger,denhd, grief, and acceptance. She goesstraight to bargaining and stays there.l-low mudÿ? She c.,dls out to the ceiling, tosome makeshift consttucdon of holinessshe has desperately though not uncrcagvely

folder, He is a skilled mamml laborer. Thetricky emotional stuffis not to his liking.The babies. "!'he babies! Vÿrbat can be saidto console the parents about the babies?'Tll go phone the oncologlst on duty to letlfim know," he says, and leaÿ the room.

"Come here, ,ÿveetie," the Mother sa)ÿto the Baby, who hm toddled offtowarda guns wrapper on the floor. "VCe've gotto put your jacket on,ÿ She picks him upand he reaches for the light witch again.Light, dark. Peekaboo: Where's baby?Where did baby go?

At home, she leaves a message--Urgenfl Call me!--for the Husband onhis voice mail. Then she takes the Babyupstairs for his nap, rocks him in therocker. The Baby waves goodbye to hislittle bears, then looks toward the win-dow and sa)% "Bye-bye, outside." He has,lately, the habit of waving goodbye toeverything, and now it seems as if hesensed some imminent departure, madit breaks her heart to hear hhn. ÿye-bydShe slings low and monotonousl); likea small appliance, which is how lie likesit. IIe is drows); dozy, drifting off. Hehas grown so much in the last yearhe hardly fits in her lap anymore; Irislimbs dangle offlike a Pieth. His headrolls slighdy inside the crook of herarm. She can feel him falling backwardinto sleep, Iris mouth round and openllke the sweetest of poppies. All the lul-labies in the world, all the melodiesthiÿeaded through with maternal melan-choly no','," become for her---abandoned

as mothers can be by working men andnapping babies--tbe songs of hard, hardgrief. Sitting there, bowed and bobbing,the Mother feels tlÿe entirety of herlove as worry mad heartbreak. A quickand imÿvocable alchemy: there is nolonger one unworried scrap left forhappiness. '`if you go," she keens knv intohis soapy neck, into the ranuncnlus coilof Fhs e.'u', "we ate going with you. We• re nothing whhout you. Without you,we are a heap of rocks. \ÿ!ithout you, weare V, vo stumps, vdth notbAng any longerin our hearts. Wherever this takes you, weare following; we wllI be there. Don't bemare& We are going, too, wherever yougo. That is that. That is thar."

resembled in her mind and prayed to; adoubter, never before given to prayer, sliemtÿt now reap what she has not sown; shemttst reassemble an entire altar of worshlpand beggqng. She tries for noble .abstrac-tions, nothing too anthropomorphic, justsome Higher Morality, though if tiffsparticular Highness looks something likethe M,'mager at Marshall Field's, sucldnga Frango mint, so be it. Amen. Just tellme what you want, requests the Mother.And how do you want it? More daafitableacts? A billion, starting now. Chnritahiethoughts? Harder, but of COURSE! Ofcourse! Pll do the cooking, honey, I'll paythe rent. Just tell me. Exatse me? Well, ifnot to you, to wbom do I speÿ? Hello?To whom do I have to speak aroundhere? A higher-up? A superior? Wait?] can wait. I've got the whole damn day.

The Husband now lles next to heron their bedÿ sighing. "Poor little guycould stuÿ'ive all this only to he killed ina caÿ crash at the age of slxteen," he sate.

The Mother, bargaining, considersdais. "We'll take the car crash," she says.

"Wliat?""Let's Make a Deal! Six'teen is a full

life! x,'Ve'll take the c,xr crash. We'll takethe car crach in front of which CarolMerrÿ is now standing."

Now the Manager of Manqhall Field'sreappears. "To take the SurprisES OUt is totake the life out of life," he sa}ÿ.

The phone rings. The Husband leavestheroom.

"But l don't want these surprises," saysthe l'vlo ditÿ'. "Here[ You take dlese surprise!!"

"To know the narrative in advanceis to turn ).ourself into a machine," theManager continues. "What makes hu-mans human is presisely that the)" do notknow the future. That is why they dothe fateful and amusing things they do:who can say how ,'mything will tun1 out?Therein lies the only hope for redem )-t on, discover),, and--let's be flank--fun,tim, frail There might be things peoplewill get away with. And not just moteltowels. There might lie great illicit loves,endufingjo)ÿr falth-sliaking accidentswlth fÿ,rm maclfinery. But you have to not"lÿow in order to see what stories ),our

life's efforts bring you. Wlie myÿ teD, is all."The Mother, though shy, bas grown

co1ÿrontationaL "Is this the kind of bogus,random crap they teach at merchandisingschool? We would like fewer surprises,fewer efforts and m)ÿtefies, thankyou. Kthrough 8; can we jast get K through 8?"It now seems llke the hcldest, most beau-

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PEOPLE LIKE THAT ARE TIlE ONLY PEOPLE HERE 61

drill, most musical phrase she's everbeard: K through 8--file veryliltÿ Thevery thought.

The Manager continues, tryingthings out. "I mean, the whole con-ception of 'the story,' of cause andeffect, the whole idea that peoplehave a chic as to how the world works,is just a piece of laughable metaphysi-cal colonildlsm perpen'ated upon thevlld country ofthne,"

Did they own a gun? The Motherbegins looking through drawers.

The Husband comes back in theroom and obsen,es her. "Ha] TheGreat Havoc That Is the Puzzle ofAll Life!" he says of the MarshallField's management policy. He hasjust gotten offa conference call withdm insurance company and the hos-pital. The surgery will be Friday. "It'sall just some dirt), capilallst's idea ofa philosophy."

"Maybe it's just a Pact of narra-th,e, and you really can't politidze it,"says the Moflaer.. It is now only thetwo of them.

"Whose side ÿre you on?""i'm on die Babis skle.""Axe )ÿu taking notes for dais?"<'No."

'+You're not?"

"No. 1 can't. Not this! I writetlctlon. This isn't fiction."

"Then write nonfiction. Do a pieceofjotlrnalism. Get two doll,ms a word."

"Then it has to be role and full of in-formation. I'm not tvained. I'm not thatskillcd. Plus, lhave a convenient personalprinciple about artists' not abandoningart. One shoukl never turn one's back ona vivid imagination. Even the wholememoh'thlng antmys me."

"Well, make things up but pretendflle)?re real."

"I'm not flint insured.""You're making me nervous."

"Sweefie, darling. I'm not dial good.I can't do thh. ] Gin dÿvhat can l do? 1can do quasi-amusing phone dialogue.I em do succinct descriptions of weather. 1can do screwball outings with dee finally pet.Sometimes ] tan do dlose. Honey, ] ordydowhat I can, I do lhecarefidlmniÿxofday-dream. I do t& marshy ideas trpon 'whkh in-limate llfe is bull1. But this? O u r baby withcancer?I"m sorry, lÿ¢]ystop was two stationsback. This is irony at its most gaudy andcareless. This is a Hieron)anus Bosch offactsand figures and blood and ga'aphs. This isa nlgbtmarc of nan'ative slop. "!]ais cannot

"Gee, be loolÿjmt llke hh stapect sketch."

be designed. This cannot even be noted inprepasafion for a de.sign--"

'%re're going to need the money.""To say nothing of the mond beund,'uies

ofpecunlary recompensein a situation suchits tiffs=-"

"\¥hat iftbe odaer Iddneygucs? Whatif he needs a wanspI,'mt? Where are themoral boundaries there? What are wegoing to do, have bake sales?"

"We can ÿ the house, l hate this house.It makes me craÿ¢."

"And we '!1 five--where, ,again?""The Ronald McDonald place. I hear

it's nice. It's the least McDonald's can do.""You have a keen sense o£justlce.""l try. What can 1 say?"The Husband buries lais face in his

hands: "Our poor baby. Hmv did thishappen to him?" He looks over and staresat the bookcase that serves ÿs daeir night-stand. "And is any one of these babybooks a help.;m He picks up dm Leack,the Spock. die WI/hat to 'Expect.""l,a.qaerein the pages or index of any of theÿe doe.qit say 'dEemofllentp)? or 'Ffickman cath-eter' or 'renal sarmma'? \a?nere does it ÿJ,,

'carcinogenesis' or 'met0stasls'? You knowwhat these books are obsessed with? llold-btgafuckhlgspaon." He begins httding thebooks offthe nlghtstand and against thetÿar wa!l.

Hey," says the Motber, trying tosoothe. "Hey, he)5 hey." But, comparedwith his storm), roaq IEer words axe thoseof a backup singerÿa Shoodell, a Pilÿ-a doo-wop ditty. Books, and now morebooks, conthme to fly,

,Is fainthearted' one word or two?Student prose has wrecked her spelling.

It's one word. Two words--faint

hearted--what would that be? Thename of a drag queen.

TAKE NO'rÿ.[n the end you suffÿ:r alone. But atfile begimaing )x3u suffer wldx a Mlole lotolÿothers. \¥hen your clfild hÿs cancer youare instantly whisked away m anotherplanet:, one of bald-headed little boys. Pe-diatric Oncology. Peed-Onk, You wash),our h.-mds for thirty seconds in antibae-

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terlal soap before you =tee allowed to enterduo ugh the swinging doors, You put paperslippers on jÿur sboes. You keep )ÿur voicedoxw. "Almost all the &ildren are boys,"one of the nurses sayÿ. "No one knows why.It's been documented, but a lot of peopleout there still don't realize it," The littleboys are all from sweet-sounding places,Janesvilla mid Appleton--liNe haaithndtowns with giant landf!lls, agriculturalrunoff, paper factories, Joe McCarthy'sgraÿe. (Alone a site of great to:dcity, thanksthe Mother. The soil should be tested.)

All the ham tittle boys look like broth-eva. They wheel their I.V.s up and downthe single corridor of Peed-Onla Some ofthe lively ones, feeling good for a day, tidethe lower bars of their I.V.s while theirlarge, cheerful mothers wbizz them alongthe halls. Wheed

THE Mother does not feel large andcheerful. In her mind she is seatlÿ-ing, acid-tongued, xwaith-thin, and &ain-smoking out on a fu'e escape somewhere.Below bet lie file gentle undulations of theMidwest, with all its ,aspirations to bÿ--to be what? To be long Island, How it

i has succeeded! Strip mall upon strip mall.Lurid water, poisoned potatoes. The

i Mother drags deeply, blowing clouds ofi smoke out over the disfigured cornfields.

When a baby gets cancer, it seems stopldever to have given up snmldng. ÿ,¥hen a

I baby gets cancer, you thhflq Whom arewe kidding? Let's all light tip. When a

i baby gets cancer, you drink, ÿvVho c, mae up! with thisidea? What celestial abandon gave

rise to this? Pour me a drink, so I can]i refuse to toast.{ The Mother does uot knowhow to be

one of these other mothers, with theirblond hair and sweaÿanta and sneakersand deternthled pleasantness. Sbe doesnot think that she can be anything simi-lax. She does not feel remotely like them.She knows, for instance, too many peoplein Greenwich Village. She mail-ordersoysteÿ and tinunisÿ from a shop in SoHo.She is dose friends with four actual ho-mosexuals. Her husband is asking her mTake Notÿ,

\,Vhere do these women get theirsweatpanta? She will find out.

She will start, perhaps, with the cos-tome and work from tiÿere.

Sbe will live according to the bro-mides: Take one day at a time. Take apositive attitude. Ta& o hike] She wishesthat there were more interesting thingsthat were useful and true, but it seems

now that it's only the boring things thatam useful and true. One day at a tfi:,te. AndAz least ÿ have our health. How ordinary.How obvious. One day at a time: youneed a brain for that?

WHILE the Surgeon is fine-boned,regal, and laconicÿthey havecorrect[], guessed his game to be dou-bles-there is a bit of the mad, over-caffeinated scientist to the Oncologist.He speaks qhickly. He knmvs a lot ofstudies and numbers, He can do themath. Good! Someone should be ableto do the matld "It's a fiÿst but wimpytumor," he explains. "!t typically metas-tasiTÿs to file lung." He rattles offsomenumbers, time frames, risk sÿatisfics. Fastbut wimpy: the Mother tries to imaginetiffs combination of traita, tries to thinkand thlnkÿ and cart only come up withClaudia Oak from the fourth grade,who blushed ,and ,'draost ÿvpt when calledon in class but ha gym could oumm ev-eryone in the quarter-roll% fire-door-to-fence dash. The Mother thinks nowof this tumor a.s Claudia Osk. The)' aregoing to get Claudia Oak, make hersorry. All righfl Claudia Osk must die.Though it has never been mentionedbefore, it now seems dear that ClaudiaOak should have died long ago. "vVhowas she, anyway? So conceited, not let-ring anyone beat her in a race. Well,bey he),, he)ÿdon't look now, Claudia!

The Husband nudges her. ÿAxe youlistcding?"

'q'he chances of this happening evenjust to one kidneyare onein fifteen thou-sand. No,v, given all these other factors,the chances on the second kidney areabout one in eight."

"One in eight," says the Husband."Not bad. As long as it's not one in fif-teen thousand`ÿ

The M_other studies the trees ÿnd fish,along the ceiling's edge in the Save tbePlanet xÿallpaper border, gave the Planet.Yes! But the windows in this ve0, build-ing don't open, ,and diesd fumes ,are leak-ing into the ventilating system, nearwlfich, outaldc, a delivery truak is parked`The alais nauseous and stale.

"Really," the Oncologist is saj4ng, "ofall the cancers he could get, this is prob-ably one of the best."

'%Ve win," sa)ÿ the lÿ'Iother."'Best,' ] know, hardly seems the tight

word, Look, you two pmbably need to getsome resL We'll see how the surgery andhistoloD, go. Then werll start with dmmo

tlae week foUowing. A tittle light dlemo:vinctisfine and--"

"Vincrlstlne?' interrupts the Mother.'q, rVine of ChtistF'

"Tile names are strange, i imoÿ: Theother one we use is actinomycln-D. Some-times called dacfummydn. People movetbe 'D' around to the front."

"They move the 'D' around to tileont," repeats the Mother.

"Yup," the Oncologqst says. "I don'tknow why, they just doV

=Clÿist didn't survive Iris wine," saysthe Hushand.

"But of course he did," says the On-co!ogist .and nods toward the Baby, whohas now found a cupboard fidi ofhospliallinens mÿd bandages and is yanking themall out Onto tha floor. "I'll see you guys to-molrow, ,after the stugery." And with thatthe Oncologÿst leaves.

"Or, rather, Christ was Iris wine,"mumbles the Husband. Everything heknmvs about the New Testament he h,ÿsgleaned from the soundtrack of "God-spell." "His blood was the ÿ;me. \'Vhat agreat beverage idea."

"A little light chemo. Don't you likethat one?" says the Mother. "Eine kldnedactinomycin, l'd like to see Mozartxÿte that one up for a big ÿ,'ad o' cash."

"Come here, honey," the Husband says

SLOW DAZZLEJls earl), as 1939, Adolf Fassbender(1884-1980) seemed galled hy thestale of photograplq. "lUaybe thnes,condltlom have something to do

ilh it, "be romphn)ted ÿSpeed, rest-lessness, ambillom." The lvz,enliglheenttay was overtakhtg hhn. HisPictorialist eewvre ÿws resohttel)ÿ oM-

fashioned, tllthot,gh & rÿcussed themovemenls firsl wave (hum theturn of the centmy) with a sharÿo;o odemistl),ridaTÿ ÿ£he llq.* ":e Night,'made on Christmas Eve, 1932, istCenÿnlPar,ÿ dtMtg a /ate-afÿootÿblizza,d, is one of:he bigl, lights ofthe Fassbender show opening 1hisweek at Gallery 292, in SoHo. Thebuilditlgs on the Plaza ÿere imÿis-ible but for a faint glow; the arlislgo{ off'just one lhree-and-a-half-minute exposure before his shutler

fi'oze. Out of raging wind amlsnow he coaxed Ibis ÿzÿollj; lampli':tlOgtlt171ÿa lrihllle ?lOt to $peeffhit1 lo contentmen¢ and re$1.

!

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i 64 1HE NEW "#DICKER. JANUARy 27,1997

'-/l& Harding---lm-kaps you ca, give us some input from l& smtig& commumty.

to the Bah),, who has now purled offbothhis shoes.

"It's bad enough when they refer tomedical science as an inexact science,"says the Mother. "But when they startreferring to it as an ÿt I get extremelynelwoHs."

"Year. If we wanted art, Doc, we'dgo to an art museum." The [Ius-band picks up the Bab): "You're an art-ist," he says to the Mother with therant of accusation in his voice. "Theyprobably think you find creativityreassuring."

The Mother sighs. "I just find it ineal-table. Let's go get something to eat." Andso they take the elevator to the cafeteria,where there is a high chair, ,and where, notnoflcing, they all eat a lot of apples withthe price tags still on them.

BECAUSE his is not unrl to-morrow, theSurge'ÿ'iBab) likes the hospi-tal. He likes the long corridors, downwhich he can run. He tikes eve0chlng onwheels. The flower carts in the lobby!("Please keep your boy away from theflowers," says the vender. "We'll buy thewhole display," snaps theMothe5 adding,

"Actual children iiÿ, a ckildreds hospital--unbelievable, isn't it?") The Babylikes theother little boys. Places to go! People tosee{ Rooms to xwmder into[ There is In-tensive Care. There is the Trauma Unit.The Lab), smiles and waves. What a littleCancer Personalig,! Bandaged citizenssmile and wave back. In Peed-Onk thereare the bald little boys to play ÿ4th. Joe),,Erlq Tim, Mort, and Tod, (Mon[ Tod9There is the four-year-old, Ned, holdinghis little deflated robber bail, the one withthe intriguing euding hose. The Babywaits to play with it. "It's mine, leave italone," says Ned. "Tell dm bah), to leaveit alone."

"Lab,% you've got to share," says theMother from a dÿalr some feet away.

Suddenly, from down neox the Tin)'Tim Lounge, comes Ned's mother, largeand blond and sweatpanted. "Stop that!Stop it" she cries out, daslfing toxrard theBaby and Ned and pushing the Babyawa)ÿ "Don't touch flmfl" she barks at theLab)5 who is on!}, a baby and bursts intotears because lie has never been yelled atllke this before.

Ned's morn glares at eveg'one. '`Thisis draw'rag fluid from Neddy's lived" She

pats at the rubber thingand staxts to cry alitde.

"Oh, nay God," saysthe Mother. She com-forts the Baby, who isalso crying. She andNed, the ooIy dry-eyedpeople, look at eachother. '[I'm so sorry,"she says to Ned andthen to his mother. 'Tinso stupid. I thoughtthey were squabblingOVer a toy,"

"It does look likea to);" agrees Ned. Hesmiles. He is an angel.All the little boys areangels. Total, sweet,bald little angels, andnow God is tryingto get them back forhimself. Who are they,mere mortal women,

in the face of this, fltispowerful and over-whelming and inscru-table thing, God's ÿ41.1?They ,are the mothers°that's who. You can't

liave hlm! they shout everyday. You dinyold man! Get out of &rd Hands of!!

"I'm so sorry," says the Mother ,-.g,'fi n.I dldn't know."

Ned's mother smiles vaguely. "Ofcourse you didn't know," she sa)% andwalks back to the Tiny Tim Lounge.

THE Tiny Tim Lounge is a littlesitting area at the end of the Peed-Onk comdor. There are two small sofZas,a table, a rocking chair, a television, anda VCR, There aÿe various videos: "Speed,""Dune," =Star ]ÿars." On one of the loungewalls there is a gold plaque with the mu-sidan Tiny Tim's name on it. years ago,his son was treated at this hospital, and sohe dormted money for this lounge. It is acwamped little lounge, wblch one suspectswould be larger if Tiny Tim's son hadacmal!y lived. Instead, he died here, atdtis hospital, and now there is this tinyroom whidÿ is part gmtitode, p:u't gener-osity, part Furkyot¢.

Sifting through the vldeocassettes, dmMother wonders ÿvbat science fiction couldL" L" L" L" L" L" L" L" L" Lÿm to comge te \'ilth the sdence fiction ofcancer itself,," a tumor, with its diflÿrenti-atad muÿwle and bone cells, a dump of wild

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PEOPLE LIKE THAT AIÿ THE ONLY PEOPLE HEllE 65

nothing and iÿ mad, ambitious desire tobe somethJngÿsomething inside you, in-stead of you, agother orgauism but witha monster's architecture, a demon's sabo-

tage and chaos. Think of leukemla, a tu-mor diabohca!ly taking liquid form, thebetter to swim about incognito in theblood. George Lucasÿ direct that!

Sitting with the other parents in theTiny Tim Lounge, the nlgh! before thesurgery, having put the Baby to bed inhis high steel crib two rooms down, theMother begins to hear the stodes: leuke-mia in ldndergartenÿ sarcomas in LittleLeague, neurobhstomas discovered at sum-met camp. Eric slid into lhh d base, but thenthe saÿfle didn't heal. The pÿenta pat oneanother's forearms and speak of otherchildren's hospitals ÿs if they were resorts."You were at St. Jude's last winter? Sowere we. What did you think of it? Weloved she staff."Jobs have been quiÿ, mar-riages hacked up, bank accounts ravaged;the parents have seeminglp endured theunendurable. They speak not of tbe/ÿosd-bilily of corn,s brought on by the chemo butof the number of them. "He ÿ in his fuÿtcoma last July," says Ned's mother. "ÿt wasa scar), 6me, but we pulled through?

Pulling through is what people doaround here. There is a kind of braveryin their lives that isn't bravery at alL It isautomatic, unflinching, a tÿx of man ,andmachine, consunfing and unquestionableobligation meeting illness movefor move in a giant, evetl-Stevengame of chess: an unending roundof something that looks like shad-owboxing--though belween lovemad death, which is the ÿadow?"Everyone admires us for ourcourage," says one man. 'q'hey

har, e no idea what dmy're talkingabout."

I could get out of here, thinksthe Mother. i coukl just get ona bus and go, never come back.Change my name. A kind ofwltness-relocatlon thing.

"Courage requires options," theman adds.

The Baby might be better off."Tbere are options," says

a woman with a thick suedeheadband. "You could give up.You could fall apart."

"No, you can't. Nobody does.l've never seen it," says the man.

VVell, not really fall apalÿ.." Tben

the lounge is quiet. Over the VCR some-one has taped the fortune from a fortunecookie. Optimism, it says, is what allowsa teakettle to sing though up to its neckin hot water. Underneath, someone elsehÿ taped a clipping from a summer horo-scope. Cattcer rtdet.¢ it says. Wbo wouldtape dfis up? S0mebodÿ/s tweh,e-year-oldbrother. One of the fatherÿJoey's fa-ther--gets up and tears them both off,makes a smalHÿ.,ad in his fist.

The re is some mstllng ofmagazlne pÿoÿ.The Mother dears her throat. 'ÿT'my

Tim forgot the wet bar," she ÿys.Ned, who is stil! up, comes out of his

room and down the corridor, whose lightadim at nine. St'reading next to the/',']oth-er's chair, he says to her, "Where ,rue youfrom? What is wrong with yottr baby?"

IN the little rooni that is theirs, shesleeps fitfully in her sÿveatpants, oc-caslonally leaping up to check on theBaby. This is what the sweatpants arefor:. leaping. In case o f Fa'e. In case orgy-thing. In case the difference between dayand night statts to dissolve and there is nodifference at a!l so why pretend. In thecot beside her the Husband, wbo hastaken a sleeping pill, is snodng loudly, Iris,arms folded about his head in a kind ofodgaml. How cotdd either of them havestayed back at the house, with its emptylfigh chair and empty crib? Occasion.'d!y

'ÿ4notherphs and vinegar?"

tbe Babywakes and cries out, .'rod she boksup, goes to him, rubs Iris back, rÿcangesthe Tfinens. The dock on the metal dressershows that it is five after three. Thentwenty to live. And then it is really morn-ing, the beginning of this day, Nephrec-tumy Day. W'dl she be glad when it'sover, or barely alive, or both? Eack day ofthis week has arrived huge, empty, .andmÿ,nown, like a spaceship, ,and dais one

pedally is lit ml incandescent gray,"Ne'll need to put tiffs on," says John,

one of the nurses, bright and earl); hand-hag the Mother a thin greenish garmentwith roses and Teddy bears printed onit. A wave of nausea hits her: this smock,she tlfinks, xvill soon be splattered with--wÿth what?

The Baby is awake but drowsy. Shelifts off. his pajamas. *Don't forget, bu-bdeh," she whispersÿ undressing anddressing him. "We will be with you everymoment, ever), step. When you thlnkyouare asleep and floating off far mvay fromeverybody, Mommy ÿ11 still be there." Ifsbe hasn't fled on a bus. "blommy ÿd31take ÿare of you. And Daddy, too." Shehopes the Baby does not detect her oÿnlfear and uncertainty, which abe must hidefrom him, llke a llmp. He is hungry, nothaving been allowed to eah and he is nolonger amusod by this new place but wor-ried about its hardslfips. Oh, my bab);she thinks..And the room starts to swim

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66 THE NEW YORitEff, JANUARY 27,1997

] allttle, TheHttsbmÿdcomesintotakeover. at hemp.'q]ÿsway,"says,'mofuernutse, nmvnolongermisinfummfionalbutjma-i '¢lÿakeabreak,"hesaystoher.ÿPll',*".dkhlm and the Mother follows. 'ÿ[ust put the itofi.'ti, andsbetouchestheMothetÿsarm.

around for five minutes." Baby down on the table.ÿ Tile Mother shakes her off and goes toShe leaees but doesn't know where to In the video, the mother holds the find the Husband.

go. In the halhÿ-ay she is approached by a baby and fumes ftom the mask me gently She finds hhll in the lÿge mulbert7kind ofsocialworker, a customer-relations waved under the babys nose until he falls SurgeD.Lounge, where he has been takenperson, who had given diem a video to asleep. Now, out ofview oPcamera or so- and where there is tÿee hot chocolate inwatch about the anesthesia: how the par- cial worker, the Anesthesiologist is ram- small plastic-foam cups. Red cellophanecntaccompanlesthedÿIdintotheoper- ioustogetthlsunderwayandnotlettoo gadands festoon the doonva)ÿ. She hasating roomÿ and how gentlyp nicely the mech gas leak out into the rcom gener- totaUyforgoÿenltlsasckisetoChrlsmaasdrugs are administered, ally. The occt.lpationaI hazard of this, iris as dÿ. A pianist in file corner is playing

"Didyouwatchthevideo?" chosen profession, is gas exposure aald "CaxoloftheBells,'tmditsoundsnotonÿ,"Yes," says the Mother. nerve damage, ÿuad it has started to wony unfestlve but sc'ary, like the theme from"ÿ¢Vasn't it helpful?" him, No doubt he fretÿ about it to hls w'd'e "The Exordst.""Idon'tknow,"saystheMother. every night. Now he turns the gas on ,'uad There is a ginxat dock on the far xwalL"Do you have any questions?" as[ÿ the quickly clamps the plastic mouthpiece it is a kind of porthole into file opevat-

video woman. Do)ÿt/have any qttes/iot/$? over the Bab);s cheeks andlips, ing room, a way of assessing the Babyssked of someone who has recendylandcd The Baby is startled. The Mother is ordeeh forty-five minutes for the Hick-

in this fearfid, alien place seems to the startled. 'l'he Baby starts to scream mid man implanvÿ two mad a halflioursfor the! Mother an absurd and amazing little redden behind the plastic, but he cannot neplarectomy. And then, .-ÿer that, three! courtesy.'I]leÿ'eqrspecifidtyofaquestkin be heard. He thrashes. "Tell him it's months ofchemotherapy. The magazine

would give the fie to the overwhelming O,K.," says the nurse to the IV[other. on her lap stays open at a vaby-hued per-i strangeness of everything around her. O.K.?"It's O.1(.," repeats the Mother, fume ad.

=Not right now," says the Mother. holding his hand, but she lmows he can 'Sthlnottsklngl otes"saystheHusbaTKl."Right now I drink I'm just going to go tell it's not O.[L, because he can see that "Nope."to the bathroom." not only is she still wearing that stopid "You kilow, in a wa); this is the [rind

When she comes back to file Bab)"s paper cap but her words are mechallical oftlfiogyou've alctÿ),s written about."i room, everyone is there: the Surgeon, fue and sÿ-al!owedÿ and she is biting her lips to %_%u ase really someflfing, you knowI Anesfllesiologist, all the nurses, the social keep them from trembling. Panicked, he that? This is life. This isn't a 'kind of

worker, ln thelr blue caps and scmbs they attemptstoslt, hecamÿotbreathe, hisanus thing.'"look like a cletch of forget-me-nots, and reachup. Bye-b),e, outside. Andthen, qulte "But tiffs is the kind of thing that fic-forget them who could? The Baby, lnkis quickl); his eyes shut, lieuntenses,-mdhas tlon is: it's the unlix,able life, thestrangeBttle Teddy-bear smock, seems cold and lidlen not into sleep but aside to sleep, an room tacked on to the house, the extrascared, lle reaches out and the Mother odd, kidnapping kind of deep, Iris terror moon that is circling the earth unbe-lifts him from the Husband's amls, rubs now hidden someplace deep inside him. knmwst to science."his back to ÿ-arm ltim. "How did it go?" asks the social worker, "/told you that."

"-vVell, it's time!" says the Surgeon, waiting in tile concrete outer room. The "I'm quoting you."forcing a stnlle. Mother is hysteriotL A nurse has ushered She looks at her watch, drinking of the

Shallwege. sa)ÿtheAncÿtheslologlst, herout. Baby."Howlonghasltbeen?""ÿ,enat follows is a blur of obedlence "Itwasn'tat alllike the fiina strip]" abe "Not long. Too long. In the end,

and bright lighta. They take an elevator cries. "it wasn't like flae film strip at all!" those're the same things."down to a blg concrete room, the Irate- "The film strip? You mean tile video?" "What do you suppose is happening toroom, the grceoroom, the backstage of the ÿks the social worker, hlm fight this second?"operating room. Lining the walls ÿlong "It wasn't like that at al![ It was bru- Infection? Slipping kifivcs? "I don'tshelves full of blue surgical ou tilts. "Chil- talandunforgivable." know. But you lmow wKat? I've getta go.dren often become .'if'raid of the color "ÿa/hy, that'stardfile,"shesays, herrole ]'vegottajust walka bit.'Tbe Husbandblue," one of the nurses says. But of ..r- gets up, wallts around the lounge, thencourse. Of course! "Now, which one of -,,- comes back ÿmd sits down.you would fike to come into the opevat- The synapses between the minutes aremg room for the anes hesla, unswinÿnable. An hour is thick as fudge. ;

"I will," sa)ÿ the Mother. The Mother reds depletad; she is a string"Are you sure?" sa)ÿ the Husband. of empty t'in cans attachod by xvire, some-"Yup." She kisses the Babys hair. Mr. thlng a goat wonld sniff'and chew, some-

Curlyhcad people keep calling him here, thing now ,and then enlivened by a jolt ofand it seems both rude and nice. Women electricity.look admiringly at hlslong lashes and ex- She h ears their na rues being calledclalnaÿ "Ahva)ÿ the boys! Ahva)ÿ the bo),s[" over the in tercom. ÿYes? Yes?" She stands !

Two sttrg]cal nurses put a blue smock up quickly. 1 Icr voice has flosxaa out be- :

hgp://archives.newyorker.com/g!obal/print.asp?path=/djvu/Oonde%2ON ast/New%20Yorker/1997_01_27&pages= pageOOOOO60,page000O061,page0000062,pag... 9/23

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PEOPLE UKE THAT AI{E THE ONLY PEOPLE HERE 67

gone. She and d*e Husband approachtile main desk, where a man looks up atthem and raffles. Before him is a Xetoxedlist of ÿatients' names. "That's our littleboy right there," sÿ s the Mother, seeLagthe Baby's nafne on the list .and point-Lag at it. '¢ls there some word? Is every-thlng O.K.?"

'Tea," ÿeys the man, ÿ'our boy is doingfine. They've just finished with the cath-eter and they ÿ moving on to the kldney."

"But it's been two hours already! Oh,my God, did something go wrong, whathappened, what went wrong?"

"Did somedling go wrong?" The Iqus-band tugs at his col/at.

"Not really. It just took longer thanthey ÿxpecte& I'm told everythingis fine.They vcantedyou to know."

"Thank you," says the Husband. Theytam and walk back toward where theywere sitting.

'Tm not going to make it," sighs theMother, sinking into a tZake-leather ch,oJrshaped somewhat like a baseball mitt."But before I go Ym taking baff dfis hos-pital out wkh me."

"Do you want some coffee?" asks theI Iusband.

"I don't know," says the Mother. "No,] glmss not. No, Doyou?'

"Nah, I don't, either, I guess," he says."Would you like part of an orange?"

"Oh, maybe, I guess, if you're havingone." She takes a temple orange from herpurse and jttst sits there peeling its diffi-cult skin, the flesh rupturing beneath herfinger% the juice trickling down herhands, stinging the hangnails. She and tileHusband chew and ÿ,Mlow, discreetly spitthe seeds into Kieenc-'q mad read finmphoto-copies of the latest medical research whichthey begged from the interne. They read,and undedlne, and sigh and dose theh'eyes,and after some time the surgeD, is over. AIIUlSe fiÿ3m Peed-Onk comes down to tellthem.

'Tom" little boy's in recovery rigbt now,He's dolngwcll. You can see Ifim in aboutfifteen minutes."

pestsr shch as .raccoons or rabbits at bay.

And herÿ is the "even better deaF": Buy tt,,'o Rodclsonix IX for $139.9gand we'll send you a third one* with our compliments--absolutely FREEÿ

HOW can it be described? 1 low canany of it be described? The ÿipand the story of the trip are always twodifferent ttfingÿ. The narrator is the onewfin liÿ greyed home but then, of leftward,presses her mouth upon the traveller'smouth, in order ro make the mouth work,to ma'ke the mouth sa); say, sa): One cart-not go m a place and speakofit, one can-

The besfsdling author of The Art of Fictionthrows open rite curtains of his oÿal workshop..

IThe Practice of WrÿLÿngI

y David Lodge"Small gems. the sort of essays you want to

underline and commit to memory.... In dlscugsMg thework and lives of indMdual writers, Mÿ Lodge demon-strates both his acuity as a critic and his novelistic eye

for the telling emotional detail, the ironic t\s{st:'-- Tgle New York Times

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68 THE NEW YORKER, JANUA[tY 27,1997

"You're sh'ategically st'lTmted, but you're no longo'vital z'o my into'ests."

not both see aud tu}5 not rÿUy. One cango, and upon returning make a lot ePhodmotions and indications with the arms.The mouthitsdf, worklng at the speed oflight, at the eyes instructions, is necessar-ily smmk still; so fist, so much to regonÿ,it hangs open and dumb as a gutted ball.All that unsayahki life/That's where thenÿu'fator comes ill. The nÿtrrator comes

with her kisses and mimicry and tidyingup. The narrator comes and makes a slow,fake song of the mouth's eager devastation.

h is a horror and a mhÿde to see him.He is lyingin hls crib in 1ÿ morn, ttibed up,splayed like a boy on a cross, his arms slif-!ÿned into earcÿooaaI "no-no"s so that he caÿ>not yank out the tubes. Theÿe is the blad-der catheter, the natul-gastdc tube, andthe Hickman, width, beneath the skin, isplugged into his jugular, then popped outhis thest wall ,and capped with a long phs-tic cap. There is alarge bandage taped overhis abdomen. Groggy, on a morphine drip,still he is able tulookat herwhenÿ maneu-vering throngh all the vinyl wiring, sl m leansto hold }tim, and when she does he beghlsto cry, but cry" silendy, without motion ornoise. She has never seen a baby cry with-

out motion or noise. It is the crying of anold person: silent, bc)vMol:mioe,shattered.In someone so dny, it is frightening and ttn-natuÿ. She wants to pick up the Babyandmrÿut oPthere, out of there. She wantsto whip out a gun: No-nos, el:? Thb wholething is wba! I tall a no-no. "Don't youtouch lfim[" sbe wants to thout at the sur-geom and flÿe needE nurses, "Not anymore[No more! No morel" She would crawl upand lie beside him in the crib if she could,But instead, because ofalltfis intrlcate w/r-hag, sbe must lean and cuddle, sing to lfim,songs ofpedl ,'rod glghe "We gotta get outofthls phce, if it's the last dfing ÿe ever do.Weguttaget outofdfis place. Baby, there'sa better life forme and for l'ou.ÿ

Very 1967. She was deven then, andimpeessinnable.

The Bahy looks at her, pleadingly, hisarms outstretched in surrender. To where?,'Vhere is there to go? Take me! Take me!

TIIAT night, post-op night, theMother and the Husband lie altoatin their cots. A fluorescent lamp nearthe crib is kept on in the dark. The Babybreathes evenly but dfinly hi his drugged

sleep. The morphine in its first flood-ing doses apparently makcÿ him feel asif he were falling backward--or so theMother has been told--and it causesthe Baby to jerk, to catch himself overand over, as if he were being droppedfrom a tree. "Is this right? !sift theresomething that should be done?" Thenurses come in hourly, different ones--the night shifts seem strangely shortand frequent. ]f the Baby stirs or frets,the nurses give him more morphinedlrough the Hi - -ccccccccckman catheter, then leaveto tend to other patients. The Motherrises to check on him hersdfin the lowlight. There is gurgling from the clcarplastic suction tube coming out of hismouth. Brownish dumps have collectedin the tube. What is goh]gon? The IVlotherrings for the nurse, ]s it Renee or Saralaor Darcy. SIe s forgotten.

"Vÿhab what is it. mtmnurs the Hus-band, waking up.

"Something is ÿvcong," says the l'vlother."It looks like blood in his N-G tube7

"Vqhat?" The Husband gets out ofbed. He, too, is wear'rag saÿ'atpants.

The nuvseÿValedeÿpushes open theheavydoor to the room and enters quiedy."EveDChing O.K.?"

"There's something wrong here. Thetube is sucking blood out of his stomach.It looks like it may have perforated hisstomach and now bo's bleedingintemall):Loold"

Valerie is a saint, but her voice is thestan&rd hospital saint voice: an infurlat-hag, pharmaceutical calm. It sa)% Evoy-thing is normal he,ÿ. Death is normal. Painh ÿtormaL Nothing is abtmtTnaL So there isnothing to gel excited ahottL "Well, now,let's see." She holds up the plastic tube andtries to see inside it. "Hmm," she says. 'TIIcall the attendhag physlcirm."

Because this is a research and teach-ing hospital, all the regular doctors areat home sleeping in their Misslon-stylebeds. Tonight, as is appmenfly the case

ery weekend night, the attending phy-sician is a medical strident. He looks fif-teen. The authority he attempts to con-vey he cannot remotely inhabit. He isnot even in the same building wlth it.He shakes eveiyone's hand, then strokeshis chin, a gesture no doubt gleaned fromsome piece of dinner theatre Iris parentstook him to once. As if there were anactual beard on that chin! As if bears/gsmlÿh on that chin were even possible!"Our Towd'! ÿC.Jss h'fe Kate"! "Barefoot

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70 THE NEW YORKER, ,JANUARY 27,1997

in the Park"! He is attempting to convince try to wean him off the morphine a lit-if not to impress, de, and see how he's doing on Monday."

"We're in trouble," the Mother whls- "Is he gning to be O.IC?ÿpars to the Husband. She is fired, fired of "The boy? Tbe boyis going to be fineÿ"yoong people grubbing for gaades. ÿVe've he says, their taps her slid]yon the ¢Jaouldar,got Dr. 'Kiss.Me [(ate' here." "Now, you take care. It's Saturday. Drink

The Husband looks at her blanklyÿ alitftexvine."a mixture of disorientation and divorce.

The medical student holds the tubing ÿ'ÿVER the weekend, while the Babyinhlshands."Idon'treallyseeanything," ÿ slceps, theMo&ermdtheHusbandhesays, sit together in the Tiny Tin1 Lounge.

He flunk!! 'Tou don't?" The Mother The Husband is restless and makes caf-aboves her way in, holds the dear tubing eteria and sundry runs, mnrfing errandsin both hands. 'Whar," abe says. ÿRight for everyone. In Iris absence, the otherhereaMhere.'Justthispastsemesterabe parents regale her further with theirsaid to one of her own students, "If you sagas. Pediatric cancer and chemo stories:don't see how this essayis better than that dae children's amputations, blood poison-one, then I want you to just go out into ing, teeth flaking like shale, the learningthe halhvayÿd stand there untilyou do." delays and disabilities caused by chemols it inaportÿt to keep one's voice down? frying the youngÿ budding brain. ButThe Babystays asleep. Heis drugged and strangely optimistic codas me tacked on:dreaming, far away. endings as stiff and loop), as carpenter's

ua Dram, saysthemedicalstudent."Per- laee, cfispandempCO, aslettuce, redculatehapsthere'salitfle irrlt'atlonin &estomach." ,as a net'--atb words. "After all that busi-

"A/Jtdelrdtation?" The Motbergsows hess with the tutor, he's better now, andI furious. "This is blood. These are dumps fitted with new incisors by my w'ffe's

mad dots. This stupid thingls sucking the onus" a s huaband, who did dental schoolllfe right out of ltim!" Life[ She is start- in two and a hall:years, ffyou can believeingtoer); that. We hope for the best. We take

The), turn off the suction and bring things as theycome, Lifeis hard."in antacids, which they feed into the "Life's a b'g problem,' agrees theBaby through the tube. Then they turn Mother. Part of her welcomes and in-the suction on again. This time oft "low." vires all their tales. In the few long days

"What was it on before?" asks the since this nightmare began, part of herHusband. has become addicted to disaster and war

, "Hi h ....i g , says Valene. ÿDoctoÿs orders, stories. She only wants tu hear aboutthough ] don't knmv why. I don't know the sadness and emergencies of others.why these doctors do a lot of fire things They are the only situations that can jointheydo." hands with her own; everything else

"Maybe they're--not all that bright?" bounces off her shiny shield of re-suggests tbe Mother. She is feeling rdief sentment andunsytupathy. Nothingand rage simultaneously: there is a feel- else can even stay in her brain. Froming of prayer and litigation in the air. this, no doubt, the philistine world isYet essentially she is grateful. Isn't she? made, or should one say recoalted? To-She thinks she is, And sfillÿ and still: gether the parents lmddle all day in thelook at all the things you have to do to Tiny Tim Lounge-no aeed to watchprotect a clfild, a hospital merely an in- "Opral2 Theyleave"Oprch" in the dust.tensitkadon ofli£e's cruel obstacle course. "Oprah" has nothing on them. They

chat matter-of-factly, then fall silent

THE Surgeon comes to visit on Sat- and watch "Dune" or "Star Wars," inurdsy morning. He steps in and which there are brlght and shiny to-nods at the Bab); who is awake but glazed bots, whom the Mother now sees not as

i from the morphine, his eyes ÿ.vo doric,unseeing grapes. ÿThe boy looks fine,"he announces. He peeks under the Ba-by's b,'uailagu. 'of be sfirches look good,"he says. The Baby's abdomen is stitchedall the way acroÿ, llke a baseball. "And the

l other kidney, when we looked at it yes-

i. terday face to faceÿ looked fine. W'e'U}

robots at all but as human beings whohave had terrible things happen to them.

So/ÿrs, ofthelr friends visit with stuffedanimals and soft "Looldng g0od"s forthe dozing baby, though the room is waypast the stuffed-animalllmlt. The Ivloillerm'maages, once moreÿ a plateful of Mint lvli-lano cookies and cups oftakeoot coffee forguests. All her nutso pals stop by--thetwo on Prozac, the one obsessed with theword "penis" in the word %appiness," theone who reeent!y had her hair foiledgreen. 'Tour friends put the de infln desiÿdr" says the Husband. Overheard, orrecorded, all madtal com,crsatlon somÿdaas if someone must be joking, though usu-,'diy no one is.

She loves her friends, especially lovesthem for coming, since there are timesthey all fight and don't speak for weeks.Is this friendship? For now and hereÿ itmust do and is, and is, abe swears it is.For one, the)' never offer inapromptuspiritual lectures about daathÿ how it ispart of life, its natural ebb and flow, howwe all must accept that, or other such ut-terances that make her want to scratch outsotuchody's eyes. Like true friends, theytake no hardyor degant stance Iooselychor-eographed from some broad perspective.They get right in there and mutter "JesusChrist!" and shake their heads. Plus, file),are the only people who will not onlylaugh at her stupid jokes but oftiÿr upstupid ones ofthelr own. !ÿmt doyauget

¢setl yott crass Tiny Tim ÿqlb a pit bull?A child's illness is a stMn on the mind.They" know how to laugh in a flute)',desperate waÿ-unlike the people vilm aremore her husband's friends and who seemjust to deepen their sorrowfni giÿ.es, nod-ding their heads in Sympathy. HowExiling and Estranging are cveryhody'sSympathetic Expressions! When anyouelaughs, she thinks, O.K. Hooray] Abuddy. In disaster ,as in abow business.

Nurses come and go; their chirpyvolees both startle and soothe. Some ofthe other Peed-Onk parents stick theirheads in to see hmv the Baby is and oRÿrencouragement.

Given Hair scratches her head: "Ev-eryone's so friendly here. ls there some-one in this place who isn't doing all thisairy, scripted optimlsm--or are peoplellke that the only people here.;a'

'¢!t's Modem Ivliddle IVlediclne meetsthe Modemlÿ41ddic Family," sa}ÿ the Hus-band. "In the Modem Middle 1,¥est,"

J

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Someone has brought in ÿkeottt kimdn,and they all eat it out in the hall by theelevators.

pAREN'['8 are allowed use of theCourtesy Line."You've got to have a second abild,"

sa),s a friend on the phone, a friend fromout of town. "An heir and a spare, That'swhat we did. We had another child toinsure we wouldn't off ourselves if wekisrour first."

"Really?"'ÿ'm serious."

"A forrnÿl suicide? Wanhln't you justdrink yourself into a lifelong stupor andlet it go at that?"

"Nope. I knew how I ÿuld do it evemFor a while, until our second came along,I had it all planned."

"You did? What did you plan?'"I can't go into too much detail, be-

use--hl, honefl--the kids are here nowin the room. But In, l spell out the generalidea: R-O-P-E."

SUNDAY evening she goes and sinksdown on the sofa in the TinyTim Lounge nexÿ to Fnÿ, Joe)?s tither.He is a short, stocky man with thecurrentless, flat-llned look behind theeyes that all the parents eventually gethere. lie has thaved Iris head bald in sol-idarity with his son, His little boy has beenbattling cancer for five )ÿars. It is now inthe fiver, and the ratnor around the cor-ridor is that Joey has three weeks to live,She knows that Joe}/s motherÿ Roseanne,left Frank years ago, V.vo years into diec,'mcer, and has remarried and had an-other child, a gqrl named Britxany. TheIVloflmr sees Roseanne here sometinaeswith her new fife--the cute tittle glrl andthe new fidl-hairod husband, who l','iflnever be so maniacally and debilJÿflnglyobsessed with Joey*s illness the wayFrank,her first husbend, is. Rosemme comes tovlsit Joey, to say hello ,and now guodbye,bur she is not Joey's main man. Frank is.

Frank is full of stories--about thedoctors, about the food, about the nuvsesÿabout Joey. Joe)', affecdess from trismeds, sometimes leaves his room andcomes out to watch TV in his bathrobe,He is jaundked and baldp and thoughhe is nine he looks no older than six.Frank has &coted the last four and a half),ears to savlng Joeys" life. When the can-cer ÿvas first diagnosed, the doctors gaveJoe) a twenty-per-cent chance of flying

sLx more months. Now here it is almostth,e ),eats later, and Joeys still here. It isall dtle to Fÿlk, who, early on, quit his jobas ÿce-president of a consulting firm inorder to commit lfimselftotally to his son.!-Ie is proud of everflhlng he's given upand done, but he is rite& Part of him nmvreally bdieves that things are coming toa close, dmt this is the end. He says tiffswithout teats. There are no more tears.

'ou have probably been throughmore than anyrne else on this corridor,"says the Mother.

'`i cmdd tell you stories," he says.There is a sour odor between them, andabe realizes that neither of them hasbathed for days.

'qÿel! me one. Tell me tbe worst one." Sheknows he hates bis ex-w'tfe and hateÿ hernew husband even more.

"The worst? `i'he}?re all the worst.Here's one: one morning I went out forbreakfast with my buddy--it was theonly time I'd left Joey alone ever, left hhnfor two horus is all-and when 1 cameback his N-G tube was full of blood.They had the suction on too high, and itwas sucking the guts fight out of him."

"Oh, my God. That just happened tous," said the Mother.

"It did?""Friday night.""You're kidding. They let that happen

again? 1 gave them such a chewing outabout that!"

"I guess our hick is not so good. Weget your very worst story on the secondnight we're here."

'`it's not a bad place, though.""It's not?"

"Naw. i've seen worse. I've takenJoeycwerywhere."

"He seems very strong." Troth is, atthis goint Jocy seems like a zombie mÿdfrightens her.

'ÿoey's a fucking genhis. A biologi-cal genius. They'd given }tim six monthsremenlber,ÿ

The Mother nods."Six months is not very long," says Frank.

"Six months is notN ng. He was four and ahalf years old."

All the words are like blows. She feelsflooded with affection and mourning forthis man. She looks away, out the vim-

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The New Yorker, Jan 27, 1997

THE NEW YORKER, JANUARY ÿ, 1997

the fatigue in his voice seems to over-whelm him. "Heft be that forever, Ex-cuse me," he says. "I've got io go check.His breathing hasn't been good• Ex-cuse me.*ÿ

"ÿ"ÿOOD news and bad," says the%..30nculoglst on Monday. He has

knocked, entered the room, and nowstands there. Their cots are unmade.One wastebasket is overflowing withcoffee cups. "We've got the patholo-gist's report. The bad news is that thekidney they removed bad certain le-sions, called "rests,' which axe associatedwith a higher risk for disease in the otherkidney. The good news is that the tumoris Stage 1, regular cell strucvare, andunder five hundred grams, whichqualifies you for a national experimentin whick chemotherapy isn't done butyour boy is simply monitored 'Mth ul-trasound. It's not all that risky, giventhat the patient's watched closely, buthere is the literature on it. There areforms to sign, if you decide to do that.Read all this and we can discuss it fur-ther. You have to decide within four da)*."

LesiOns? Rests? They dr), up andscatter like M&M's on the floor, Allshe hears is the part about no chemo.Another sigh of relief rises up in herand spills out. In a life where there isonly the bearable and the unbearable,a sigh of relief is an ecstasy.

/

qS/o themo* rays the husband. "Do youreeonmaend that?"

The Oncnlogist shrugs. What cas-ual gestures these doctors ale permitted!"I know dlemo. I like daemo," says theOncologÿst. "But this is for you to decide.It depends how you feel."

The Husband leans fonvard. "Butdon't you think that now that we havethe upper hand with this thing weshould keep going? Sbould,l't we stompon it, beat it, smash it to death with thechenlo?"

The Mother swats him angrilyand hard. "Honey, you're delirious!"She whlsper% but it comes out as ahiss. "This is our lucky break." Thenshe adds gently, '%Ve don't want tileBaby to have chemo,"

The Husband turns back to theOneologlst. "What do you think?"

"It could be," he says, shrugging. "Itcould be flx/t this is your lucky break. Butyou won't know for sure for five years."

The Husband turns back to theMother. "O.l(.," he says. "O.K."

THE Baby grows happier and strong.He begqns to mm'e ,and sit and eat.Wednesday morning they are allowedto leave, and to leave without chemo. TheOncologist looks a tittle nelvous. "Areyou nervous about this.w asks the Mother.

"Of course I'm nervous." But heshrugs and doesn't look that nervous.

o

7 don '11mow how you do 17. IfI badyotwjob, I'd go nuts."

"gee you in six weeks for the ultrasound7he says, then he waves and leaves, look-ing at his big black shoes.

The Baby smiles, even toddles arounda litdeÿ the sun bursting through theclouds, an angel chorus crescendoing.Nurses arsh,e. The Hickman is takenour of the Bab)?s neck mid chest, anti-biotic lotion is dispensed. Tha Motherpacks up their bags. The baby sticks ona bottle of juice ',unl does not co,,

"No chemo?" says one of the nurses."Not even a lltfle ckemo?'

"We're doing warch-and-walt," saystheMother.

The other parents look envious butconcerned. They have never seen aÿxychild get out of there with his hairand wlfita blood cells intact.

"Will you be O.K.?" says Ned'sotheY,"The wony's going to "kill us," says the

Husband."But if all we have to do is worry,"

chides the Motherÿ "eveay day for a him-died yeitrs, it'll be easy. It'll be nothing,I'll take all the worry in the world ifit wards offthe thing itself."

"That's right," says Ned's mother."Compared to everything else, com-pzxed to all the actual events, the worryis nothing."

The Husband shakes his head.'Tin such an amateur," he moans.

"You're both doing admirably," saysthe other mother. "Yourbaby's lucky, and 1 wishyou allthe best7

The Husband shakes• her hand warmly. 'ÿThank

! you,' he sit) s. ''You'ÿ e been

wonderful,"

Another mother, themother of Eric, comes upto them. 'ÿ/t'ÿ all vet),hard,"

!( she says, her head cockedto one side. "But there's a

lot of collateral beautyalong the way."

CollatevaI beauty? Whois entided to such a thing?A child is ill. No one isentitled to any collateralbeauty.

"Thank youÿ" says dieHusband.

Joey's father, Frank,comes up and embracesthem both. "it's a journe);"he says. He chucks the

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PEOPLE LIKE THAT AtiE THE ONLY PEOPLE HERE 78

Baby on the dfin. "Good luck, little man."'+Yes, thank you so much," sa)ÿ the

ix-'Iother. "We hope d'dngs go well vdthJoey." She kilows that Joe}, bad a hard,terrible night.

Frank shrugs and steps back+ "GottaI go," he sa)ÿ. "Goodbye!"li "Bye," she says, and thetÿ he is gone.i She bites the inside of her llp, a bit tear-/ ily, then bends down to pick up the dia-l per bag. which is now stuffed with lit-1

tie miimals; hefium balloons are fled toits zipper. Sbouldering tire thing, theMother feels she hÿs just won a prize.All the parents have nowvanished downthe hall in the opposite dlreetioe. TheHusband movcs close. ÿqth one armhe takes the Baby front heri with theother he nlbs her back. iIe can see sbeis stÿng to get weepy.

"Axcn't these people itice? Don't youfeel better hearing about their lives?"he ÿtsks.

Wlly does lie do dais, form dubs allthe time--why does even this societyofstÿrlng soothe him? vxriaen it comesto death ÿid dying, perhaps someone inthis family ought to he more of a 8nob. ;

"All these nice people with tbelr ibrave stories,' 1 e continues as the++, maketheir way toward the elevator bank, wav-ing goodbye to tile nursing staff+as theygo, even the Baby ÿ+iaving shyly. Bye-I9,e! Bye-byd "Don't )ÿu fed consoledknowing we're all in dae same boat, thatwe're all in this together?"

But who on earth wotdd want to be! in this boat? the b.'iother thinks. Thiss boat is a 111ghimare boat. Look wherei it goes: to a silver-and-whlte room,

where, just before your eyesight andii hearing and )'our abill9, to touch or betouched disappear entirely, you musti watch your chl!d die.

Rope! Bring on the rope."Let's make o r oÿ\n way, sa)ÿ the

Mother, ",-uÿd not in dfis boat."Womatl Overboard! She takes the

Baby back fcom the Husband, cups daeBab)ÿs cheek in her hand, kisses his browand then, qttickly, Iris flowery mouth.

¢1The Bab) s heart-ÿhe can hear lt--drtims with lit'e. "For as long as I live]'says the Mother, pressing file elevatorbutton-ÿup or down, everyone in the codh+qs to leave this wayI"l never want tosee an)/ofthese people again."

The alumni, tZacnlty, students, and friends of

Trinity Collegeproudly congratnlate

Edward AlbeeClass of 1950

p]ayyvriÿhtand rei-ÿipient of

Kennedy Ceÿater:Hgriors of 1996for "tJÿe unique mad invaluable contribution"

he has made to die ctdtnral life of our nation thronghplays dlat have "shaped the course of modem drama."

Nationally recognized for die excellence of its liberal arÿs education, TrinityCollege is proud of its students mad facul t3,, whose creath4ty and achievementshave earned tl!em distinguished aÿvards indudlng Ptditzers, GttggenhelmsÿMacArthurs, a1:d now a Kenned)- Center Honor,

THERE are the notes.N oÿ', where is the money? €