Cheapskate in Love (8 page)

Without hesitation, Linda replied, “Give me an umbrella.”

Thinking that they had no choice but to return to the car,
Bill pulled an umbrella out of the backpack and handed it to her, lying, “Too
bad it had to rain. It’s such a nice place to walk. The trails just go on and
on. It’s so invigorating, such good exercise. We should come here again soon.”
Bill secretly planned never to come back for any reason whatsoever.

Linda opened the umbrella and held it over her head. “Rain
doesn’t matter,” she declared. She resumed walking on the trail in the same
direction as before.

Bill watched her walk away, and his willpower collapsed. Without
opening an umbrella for himself, he began to follow her, more slowly than ever,
his eyes fastened on the ground. A sense of doom lay heavy upon him. He saw no
way to escape the torture Linda was inflicting upon him. By the time she tired,
he would be exhausted. He felt like a prisoner of war, deep in the enemy’s
territory, from which there was no hope of rescue. The rain began to fall a
little harder, and his hair stuck to his scalp. They were ascending a rather
steep incline, and on the right side the ground dropped away from the rocky
path precipitously.

A drop of rain ran into his eye, and Bill looked up at the
sky to see if there was any sign of lightning. That would be a reason, he
thought, to force Linda to return. While gazing upward, he stubbed his foot on
a rock. Jerking his foot back from the pain, he lost his balance and fell to
the side off the trail. He landed on his back, six feet down the slope, where
the ground evened out slightly. He lay on top of the backpack, as drops of rain
came through the canopy of tree branches above him, sprinkling his face.

For a moment, he didn’t move. He had made a considerable
amount of noise falling from the trail, and he wondered if Linda was returning
to see what had happened. He couldn’t hear her. Since he was uncertain that she
would come looking for him, he tried to raise himself.

“
Ooooww
,” he screamed. In his
fall, Bill had pulled a muscle in his back. “Linda, help. My back.” He tried to
move again. “
Ooowww
.” Louder he shouted, “Linda,
help.”

After a few minutes, Linda returned to the spot on the trail
above him. Holding her umbrella steady over her head, she looked at him without
any feeling, as if she was at a Chinese fish market selecting what she would
have for dinner.

“Linda, I hurt my back,” he whined. “You have to help me. I
can’t move. I think I need an ambulance. See?” Bill tried to roll on his side.
“
Ooowww
, my back.” He returned to lying flat on his
back. As he lay on the ground in the uncomfortable position on top of the
backpack, pain, fatigue, and need were plainly visible on his face. He lifted
his hands a little toward Linda, beseeching her for help.

In response to his appeal, without moving or displaying any
emotion, she told him, “Get up.”

Chapter 9

At church the next day, Helen did not see Bill. It was
unusual for him to be absent. He was almost always at the same service she went
to, sitting close to the front on the right side, near the statue of the Virgin
Mary. In that sculpture, Mary was depicted as an attractive, young woman without
her child, raising her hands from her sides, as if she was about to give a warm
embrace. That sculpture was why he sat there, Helen had thought many times
before.

When Helen didn’t see Bill at the service, instinctively she
knew that something was wrong. He might lust after pretty young
women—real women, not statues—and wish out loud for frequent play
time with one of them, but that was just talk. She was sure of it. He had been
repeating such things since he was a teenager, she sensed. For many years, she
had seen that he was a regular churchgoer and active within the church
community. She couldn’t explain to herself what might have prevented him from
attending church, especially since it seemed that he had broken up with Linda
again three days earlier. When he wasn’t trying to please a pretty young thing
like Linda, Helen was quite certain he wasn’t doing much of anything, except
moping.

When she returned to the apartment building after church,
Helen asked Jonathan at the front desk if he had seen Bill. “No, not today,” he
said. “Yesterday, he went hiking with Linda. Or that’s where he said he was
going.”

“Really?” said Helen. “He went hiking?” She knew he was not
the outdoors or athletic type.

“They were supposed to go to Bear Mountain.”

“I wonder if he saw a bear there,” she said.

“Maybe he walked with one.”

“He probably got mauled,” she conjectured. “I think someone
should see what shape he’s in.”

“Maybe he’s still in the bear’s cave,” Jonathan suggested.

“That’s doubtful,” she said, walking toward Bill’s
apartment. “Bears only like other bears. Bill is more of a weasel.”

When Helen arrived at his apartment, she listened outside
the door. She didn’t hear anything on the inside. Pressing her ear to the door,
she thought she discerned some low human noises, but she wasn’t sure. Standing
back from the door, deliberating, the idea came to her to look into the
apartment from the outside, so she went to the nearest exit.

When she came to the window of his apartment—she had
gone through the bushes and flowers that surrounded the apartment building, so
she was next to the glass—his blinds were open. One section of his window
was slightly ajar, so it was possible to hear any sounds that came from inside.
Placing her face against the glass, she could see his bed, which was the
nearest piece of furniture to the window. On the bed, she could make out a body
that appeared to be Bill’s. Although the middle section had the round mound
that she associated with him and the clothes looked familiar, it was difficult to
identify the body clearly. The head was angled away from the window, and there
was a pillow in between the head and her line of vision. Whoever’s body it
might be was still fully clothed. Even shoes were on the feet. As she was
wondering who it was, moans of deep pain and complete exhaustion arose from the
body, and Helen was positive they came from Bill. She tapped on the window with
her index finger to get his attention.

“Bill, Bill. Are you all right?” she asked. There was no
reply, so she tapped harder.

“Bill, answer me. Are you OK? Do you need some help? What’s
wrong?”

He moaned. Weakly, he motioned with a hand, waving at her to
leave. In a faint voice, which she could barely hear, he said, “Go away. Go
away.” He did not know or try to see who was at the window. He was too
miserable to care about anyone beside himself.

Helen understood what she had to do. She disappeared from
Bill’s window, breaking the bushes and flowers in her haste to get away.

Approximately five minutes later, there was loud, urgent
pounding on Bill’s door, which rudely stirred him awake. He opened his eyes. A
voice he identified as Jonathan’s disturbed his rest even more. “Bill, are you
in there? Open up.” Bill responded, as well as he was able to, “Go away. I’m
busy.” But no one heard him. He could then distinguish a woman’s voice in the
hallway, which said, “I think he’s hurt. He wasn’t in church at his regular
time. He rarely misses this service. He’s usually an usher.” He realized Helen
was speaking and scowled.

Bill heard keys being tried in the locks of his door and
feebly attempted to move from his bed and prevent an intrusion, but he only
succeeded in raising his head a little. He was so physically weak that he
decided to stay where he was and hope that the proper keys would not be found.
He let his head drop back on the pillow and lay still, anticipating that he
would soon be left alone. Not long afterwards, he was cruelly disappointed. His
door was unlocked, and Helen rushed into his apartment past Jonathan, who held
the door open for her.

She went straight to Bill’s bed, without stopping to notice
the state of mess the apartment was in, and stood over him, looking at him with
genuine concern. “Bill, what’s wrong?” she asked solicitously. “Should I call
an ambulance?”

Because of the intruders inside his apartment, Bill made a
greater effort to raise himself and show once and for all that he was not in
need of any special attention. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” he assured them. He
shifted his weight to his right side, which was nearest the door of his
apartment, and struggled to push himself into a sitting position. Helen
observed how long it took him to do this without saying anything, although she
was thinking plenty. When he had raised his torso halfway from the bed, he
irritated his torn back muscles and shouted in extreme pain, “
Oooowww
.” He flopped back onto the bed like an ice skater,
who
suddenly loses his footing and falls.

“Bill, tell me what hurts,” Helen demanded.

“My back. I can’t move my back,” he admitted. Pain made him
humble and honest.

Jonathan, who was still standing at the door, heard him and
said to Helen, “I’ll go call an ambulance.”

“Bill, we’re going to get an ambulance for you,” she said.
“Don’t move. That may make the injury worse. The ambulance should be here...”

“No. No ambulance,” he interrupted. “I don’t need an
ambulance. I’m fine. I just need to rest. I’ll be OK, if I just get some rest.”

“Bill, don’t be stubborn,” Helen warned. “You’re hurt, and
you should see a doctor to make sure there’s no serious damage.”

“I’m all right,” Bill replied. “I just had a little fall. It
was nothing. You can go now. Thanks for checking on me. I’ll lock up behind
you.”

He started to move sideways on the bed to reach the edge. He
wiggled his legs, then his rear, then his shoulders, repeating the process
again and again, until he could swing his legs off the bed and stand up. He
moved as fast as a caterpillar.

“Don’t try to move,” she said. “Just lie there. No, don’t
move. You don’t need to get up. We have the keys. Don’t move.” Helen attempted
to hold him on the bed with gentle, coaxing pressure, but Bill brusquely swung
his legs, and the rest of his body rolled off after them, because he was unable
to lift his torso. It hurt his back too much to try to rise into a sitting
position. He was also too weak to grab onto the bed and catch himself. Helen
tried to push him back from falling, but he was too heavy, and she was too
mild-mannered. He fell to the floor on his side with a firm thud.

Kneeling next to him, she asked, “Are you OK? Bill, are you
OK? I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop you.”

Shaking off the slight daze from the impact of another fall,
he groaned, “Oh, my back, my back.”

“Let’s get you up on the bed again. It’s more comfortable,”
she urged.

“No. Let me lie here,” he told her, trying to move into a
more comfortable position. “I’m—
ow
!—
I’m fine. Lock the door behind you when you go. I’ll
be all right.
Ow
!”

“Let me help you get on your back,” she said. “That would be
better.” He didn’t resist, as she pushed and pulled him with both of her hands,
until he lay flat on his back.

That position brought some relief to the invalid, and he lay
on the floor without more
struggle
.

“If you don’t want a doctor, at least let me get you some
pain medication,” she suggested.

Bill paused to consider what she said. On the one hand, he
did not want to appear dependent on the assistance of others. In his mind, that
would be an indication of age and weakness. On the other hand, he really needed
the medicine.

“OK. Extra strength aspirin would be good,” he said.

“I have some codeine,” she offered.

“Even better,” he replied. The thought of receiving a
powerful, pharmaceutical drug made him feel as if he was already starting to
recover.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back,” she advised.
Standing up, she hastened out of his apartment. Jonathan left with her, locking
the door behind.

When Bill was sure they were gone, he felt his strength
return. In reality, it was his pride, masquerading as
strength,
that
came back. He decided to show them that they had merely caught him
at a bad moment. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He didn’t
need any pain medication. He certainly didn’t need any kind words. He would be
standing at the door when Helen came back with the codeine, and he would wave her
away, saying she should find a suitable subject for her well-meaning charity.

But there was a slight hitch in his plans: It was still
extremely painful for him to move. Despite yelling and cursing so loudly that
residents up and down the hallway outside his apartment could hear, and even
people at the swimming pool turned to look in his direction, wondering if
someone was being murdered, Bill could only raise, push, and pull himself back
onto the bed. There he lay, trembling, sweating, and panting, waiting like a
wounded animal for Helen to return.

Chapter 10

An hour later, Bill was sleeping soundly on his bed. He had
taken the codeine pills from Helen, with very little show of self-reliant pride.
In fact, because he only had strength to raise his head a little, he had
allowed her to put the pills in his mouth and drank two cups of water from the
glass that she held to his lips. She could see from the way he greedily slurped
up the contents of the first glass that he was thirsty, so she demanded that he
have another glass. Like a sick child, he submitted without any argument,
although his mouth contorted itself into a slight pout at being told what to
do. Within minutes of finishing the second glass of water, he had slipped into
the world of dreams.