Call It Sleep (63 page)

screamed, de—
)

Jangle! Angle! Angle! Angle!

“Dere! It's comin'!”

“Look! Look hod dere!”

      “Orficer!”

    Angle! Jang!

“Christ's about time!”

The crowd split like water before a prow, reformed in the wake, surged round the ambulance, babbling, squall—

(
scended. Down! Down into darkness,

darkness that tunneled the heart of

darkness, darkness fathomless. Each

step he took, he shrank, grew smaller

with the unseen panels, the graduate

vise descending, passed from stage

to dwindling stage, dwindling. At

each step shed the husks of being,

and himself tapering always downward

in the funnel of the night. And now

a chip—a step-a flake-a step-a shred.

A mote. A pinpoint. And now the seed

of nothing, and nebulous nothing, and

nothing, And he was not.…
)

ing, stabbing the dark with hands. “Ppprrr!” Lips flickered audibly as the blue-coat rose. With one motion, palm wiped brow, dug under sweat-stained collar. Softly bald, the bareheaded, white garbed interne hopped spryly from the ambulance step, black bag swinging in hand, wedged whitely through the milling crowd. Conch-like the mob surrounded, contracted, trailed him within the circle, umbiliform—

“Lectric shot; Doc!”

    “De hospital!”

“Knocked him cold!”

“Shock?”

“'Zee dead?”

“Yea, foolin' aroun' wid de—”

“Shawt soicited it, Doc!”

    “Yea, boined!”

“Vee sin id Docteh!”

“Git back, youz!” The officer crouched, snarled, but never sprang. “I'll spit right in yer puss!”

“Mmm!” The interne pinched the crease of his trousers, pulled them up, and kneel—

“Guess yuh better take 'im witchuh, Doc. Couldn't do a goddam t'ing wit—”

    “He's gonna hea' de heart! See?”

(
But—
)

ing beside the beveled curbstone, applied his ear to the narrow breast.

“Shoe's boined. See it, Doc?”

    (
the voice still lashed the nothingness

    
that was, denying it oblivion. “Now find!

    
Now find! Now find!” And nothingness

    
whimpered being dislodged from night,

    
and would have hidden again. But out

    
of the darkness, one ember
)

“Take it off, will you, let's have a look at it.”

    (
flowered, one ember in a mirr—
)

“Sure!” Blunt, willing fingers ripped the

    (
or, swimming without motion in the

    
motion of its light.
)

buttons open,

    “Hiz gonna look.”

(
In a cellar is
)

dragged the shoes off,

(
Coal! In a cellar is
)

tore the stocking down, re—

(
Coal! And it was brighter than the

pith of lightning and milder than pearl,
)

vealing a white puffy ring about the ankle, at

(
And made the darkness dark because

the dark had culled its radiance for

that jewel. Zwank!
)

    “Is it boined?”

      “Can't see, c'n you?”

which the interne glanced while he drew

“Waddayuh say, Doc?”

a squat blue vial from his bag, grimaced, un-

(
Zwank! Zwank! Nothingness beati-

fied reached out its hands. Not cold

the ember was. Not scorching. But as

if all eternity's caress were fused and

granted in one instant. Silence
)

corked it, expertly tilted it before

(
struck that terrible voice upon the

height, stilled the whirling hammer.

Horror and the night fell away. Ex-

alted, he lifted his head and screamed

to him among the wires— “Whistle,

mister! Whistle!
)

the quiet nostrils. The crowd fell silent, tensely watching.

“Amonya.”

      “Smells strong!”

    “Stinks like in de shool on Yom Kippur.”

(
Mister! Whistle! Whistle! Whistle!

Whistle, Mister! Yellow birds!
)

On the dark and broken sidewalk, the limp body gasped, quivered. The interne lifted him, said sharply to the officer. “Hold his arms! He'll fight!”

    “Hey look! Hey look!”

      “He's kickin'!”

(Whistle, mister! WHISTLE!”)

“W'at's he sayin'?”

“There! Hold him now!”

(A spiked star of pain of consciousness burst within him)

    “Mimi! He's awright! He's awright!”

      “Yeh?”

      “Yea!”

    “No kiddin'! No kiddin'!”

“Yeh!”

    “Yuh!”

      “Yeh!”

    “Oi, Gott sei dank!”

XXII

“THERE you are, sonny! There you are!” The interne's reassuring drawl, reached him through a swirl of broken images. “You're not hurt. There's nothing to be scared about.”

“Sure!” the policeman was saying beside him.

David opened his eyes. Behind, between them and around them, like a solid wall, the ever-encroaching bodies, voices, faces at all heights, gestures at all heights, all converging upon him, craning, peering, haranguing, pointing him out, discussing him. A nightmare! Deliverance was in the thought. He shut his eyes trying to remember how to wake.

“How does that foot feel, sonny?” The routine, solicitous voice again inquired. “Not bad, eh?”

He was aware for the first time of the cool air on his naked leg, and below it a vague throbbing at the ankle. And once aware, he couldn't shake off the reality of it. Then it wasn't a dream. Where had he been? What done? The light. No light in the windows upstairs … His father. His mother. The quarrel. The whip. Aunt Bertha, Nathan, the rabbi, the cellar, Leo, the beads—all swooped upon him, warred for preeminence in his brain. No. It wasn't a dream. He opened his eyes again, hoping reality would refute conviction. No it wasn't a dream. The same two faces leaned over him, the same hedge of humanity focused eyes on his face.

“Looks like he's still too weak,” said the interne.

“Yuh goin' t'take him wid ye?”

“No!” Grimacing emphatically, the interne shut the black bag. “Why, he'll be able to walk in less than five minutes. Just as soon as he gets his breath. Where does he live?”

“I don' know. None o' dese guys know— Say, w'ere d'yuh live? Huh? Yuh wanna go home, dontchuh?”

“N-nint' street.” He quavered. “S-sebm fawdynine.”

“Nint' Street.” The crowd reechoed. “Say ufficeh,” a coatless man came forward. “Det's on de cunner Evenyuh D.”

“I know! I know!” The policeman waved him back with surly hand. “Say, Doc, will ye give us a lift.”

“Sure. Just pick him up.”

“Yea, ooops! Dere ye go!” Burly arms went under his knees and back, lifted him easily, carried him through the gaping crowd to the ambulance. His head swam again with the motion. He lay slack on a long leather cot between greenish walls, aware of faces whisking by the open doorway, peering in. The interne seated himself at the back, called to the driver. The bell clanged, and as the wagon jolted forward, the policeman mounted the low step in the rear. Behind the ambulance, rolling on rubber-tired wheels on the cobbles, he could hear the voices calling the way. “Nint' Street! Nint' Street!” The throb in his ankle was growing in depth, in dullness of pain, permeating upward like an aching tide within the marrow. What had he done? What had he done? What would they say when they brought him upstairs. His father, what—? He moaned.

“That doesn't hurt you that much, does it?” asked the interne cheerily. “You'll be running around to-morrow.”

“Yer better off den I tawt ye'd be, said the policeman behind him. “Cheezis, Doc, I sure figgered he wuz cooked.”

“No. The shock went through the lower part. That's what saved him. I don't see why he was out so long anyway. Weak, I guess.”

Behind beating hooves and jangling bell, he felt the ambulance round the corner at Avenue D. The policeman turned to look behind him and then squinted sideways at David's foot.

“His shoes wuz boined in front. An' he's got it up on de ankle.”

“Narrowest part.”

“I see. Dat'll loin yuh a lesson, kid.” He disengaged one hand from the ambulance wall to wave a severe finger at David. “Next time I'll lock yiz up. Wot flaw d'yuh live on?”

“T-top flaw.”

“Would have t'be,” he growled disgustedly. “Next time I will lock yiz up—making me woik, an' takin' de Doc away from a nice pinocle game. Wot dese goddam kids can't t'ink of. Geez!”

The ambulance had rounded the second corner and came to a stop. Grinning, the interne leaped down. Stooping over and grunting as he stooped, the policeman lifted him in his arms again and bore him quickly through the new throng that came streaming around the corner. On the stoop, several children recognized him and bawled excitedly, “It's Davy! It's Davy!” A woman in the gaslit corridor cradled cheek in palm in terror and backed away. They mounted the stairs, the interne behind them and behind him remnants of the crowd, children of the house, following eagerly at a wary distance, jabbering, calling to him, “Watsa maddeh? Watsa maddeh, Davy?” Doors opened on the landings. Familiar heads poked out. Familiar voices shrilled at others across the hallway. “It's him! F'om opstehs. Veh de fighd voz!” As they neared the top the policeman had begun breathing heavily, shedding thick hot breath on David's cheek, grunting, the lines on his scowling, tough, red face deep with exertion.

The top floor. David's eyes flashed to the transom. It was lit. They were in. What would they say? He moaned again in terror.

“Where is it?” the red face before him puffed.

“Over—over dere!” he quavered weakly.

The door. The arm under his knees slid forward. Beefy knuckles rapped, sought the knob. Before an answer came, the door, nudged forward by his own thighs, swung open.

Before him stood his mother, looking tense and startled, her hand resting on his father's shoulders, and below, seated, his father, cheek on fist, eyes lifted, sourly glowering, affronted, questioning with taut and whiplike stare. The others were gone. It seemed to David that whole ages passed in the instant they regarded each other frozen in their attitudes. And then just as the policeman began to speak, his mother's hand flew to her breast, she gasped in horror, her face went agonizingly white, contorted, and she screamed. His father threw his chair back, sprang to his feet. His eyes bulged, his jaw dropped, he blanched.

For the briefest moment David felt a shrill, wild surge of triumph whip within him, triumph that his father stood slack-mouthed, finger-clawing, stooped, and then the room suddenly darkened and revolved. He crumpled inertly against the cradling arms.

“David! David!” His mother's screams pierced the reeling blur. “David! David! Beloved! What is it? What's happened?”

“Take it easy, missiz! Take it easy!” He could feel the policeman's elbow thrust out warding her off. “Give us a chanst, will yuh! He ain't hoit! He ain't a bit hoit! Hey Doc!”

The interne had stepped between them and David, staring weakly through the sickening murk before his eyes, saw him pushing her resolutely away. “Now! Now! Don't get him excited, lady! It's bad! It's bad for him! You're frightening him! Understand? Nicht ver—Schlect! Verstehen sie?”

“David! My child!” Unhearing, she still moaned, frantically, hysterically, one hand reached out to him, the other clutching her hair. “Your foot! What is it, child! What is it darling?”

“Put him down on the bed!” The interne motioned impatiently to the bed-room. “And listen, Mister, will you ask her to stop screaming. There's nothing to worry about! The child is in no danger! Just weak!”

“Genya!” his father started as if he were jarred. “Genya!” He exclaimed in Yiddish. “Stop it! Stop it! He says nothing's wrong. Stop it!”

From outside the door, the bolder ones in the crowd of neighbors that jammed the hallway had overflowed into the kitchen and were stationing themselves silently or volubly along the walls. Some as they jabbered pointed accusingly at David's father and wagged their heads significantly. And as David was borne into the bedroom, he heard one whisper in Yiddish, “A quarrel! They were quarreling to death!” In the utterly welcome half-darkness of the bed-room he was stretched out on the bed. His mother, still moaning, had followed, and behind her his restraining hand upon her shoulder came the interne. Behind them the upright, squirming bodies, pale, contorted faces of neighbors clogged the doorway. A gust of fury made him clench his hands convulsively. Why didn't they go away? All of them! Why didn't they stop pointing at him?

“I was just this minute going down!” his mother was wringing her hands and weeping, “Just this minute I was going down to find you! What is it darling? Does it hurt you? Tell me—”

“Aw, Missiz!” the policeman flapped his hands in disgust. “He's all right. Be reasonable, will yiz! Just a liddle boined, dat's all. Just a liddle boined. Cantchuh see dere's nutt'n' wrong wid 'im!”