The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (51 page)

A few gulls floated in the gray sky. There was little food to be scavenged from the shoreline—evidence of the destructiveness of the radiation on marine life. Colorful, flower-like anemones and starfish, common tideline inhabitants, were absent, leaving tiny crabs alone and isolated.  Cecil watched the fiddler crabs scurrying about in empty snail shells, oblivious to the big man towering above them.

He sat there in solitude for over an hour. At last, he realized that evening was drawing near, and since he didn
’
t wish to be late for visiting hours, he hunched deeper into the jacket, and trekked the lonely trip back along the beach, then to his car.

It was a distressing concern that had gradually encroached on his peaceful existence. Thoughts of Althea kept taunting him, distracting him. He missed the proper exit from the freeway, as the nagging, persistent thoughts continually interfered with his concentration, reminding him of his vulnerability. Again he exited onto the wrong street.

Out of patience, he swung the car into a sharp U-turn in the middle of the block, and headed toward a flat, sprawling complex of medical buildings. A white, square sign identified the facility by its new name, Beckman Radiation Treatment Center.

Her room was in the south wing overlooking a field of parched yellow grass. She had been awaiting him throughout the day even though he wouldn
’
t arrive until visiting hours. He was that kind of man—prompt, precise.

Two empty paper cups rested on the aluminum bed tray, an indication that medication had been given.

“
Hello, Althea.
”
He glanced at her fine features, crowned by thick dark hair. This was the first time he had seen her tresses loose, and not done up in the chignon. A gray streak had appeared among the darker strands.

“
Cecil. I
’
m glad you
’
re here. It has been so long.
”

He seated himself across the room.
“
Not since we met in Washington,
”
he said.
“
Exactly four months ago.
”
He shifted about uneasily. Was it going to be hard to find things to say now? In Washington, and until he had left the plane, they
’
d had a steady running conversation.

“
You
’
re thinner. You
’
ve lost some weight,
”
she remarked.

“
Yes,
”
he replied.
“
I have.
”

“
Come closer and let me get a good look at you.
”

Obediently he walked over to the bed.

“
I like you in those clothes. They
’
re very casual. Do you know I always picture you in a suit and tie?
”

He colored slightly.
“
I decided it was time I started enjoying life a little more, Thea. So I began a new image, I guess you
’
d say.
”
She seemed tired and weary to him, although he could not have expected anything else.
“
Your eyes look tired. You
’
re not sleeping well, are you?
”
he asked.

She presented a flicker of a smile.
“
Not very. But you—I want to hear about you. What business do you have in Los Angeles?
”

“
Oh, it
’
s nothing. At least it
’
s nothing important. It can wait until you tell me why you were transferred to Beckman.
”

Her large black eyes dropped to the sheet, avoiding his stare.

“
Althea, what
’
s wrong?
”
he asked.

She tore a tissue from its box and it was then that he saw the tiny pools of tears that had collected in the corners of her eyes. Her tears moved him, he wanted to touch her, but he refrained.
“
Tell me. Maybe I can help, Thea. I did once before, remember?
”

“
No, no. It
’
s not that. I
’
m not expecting you to help. There is nothing you can do,
”
she answered despondently.

“
But you emailed me. You said that you did want to see me again,
”
he began.
“
You said....
”

“
Maybe I was wrong. I probably shouldn
’
t have contacted you— not after all this time.
”

“
Nonsense. It was you who had said that we shouldn
’
t see each other, not me,
”
said Cecil.

“
You were too serious, Cecil. You wanted—well, you want something that I
’
m not sure I can give,
”
she said, blotting at the tears.

“
What? Friendship, companionship? Look, we
’
re not senile. There
’
s plenty of time for us to enjoy living.
”
His words had come out harshly, something he hadn
’
t meant. He wanted to be tender and gentle, but wasn
’
t sure how.

The tears had dried. She was composed as she searched his face for some hidden meaning.
“
I have missed our conversations—our long talks, Cecil. What do you do with your free hours now?
”
she asked innocuously.

“
Read. Sleep. Putter in my garage.  Play on the computer.  Search out new places to take interesting photos.
”
At the mention of the photography his face brightened.
“
I work with digital material. I have some fabulous photoshop programs. They do everything. Some of my photos have been published in magazines, Thea.
”

“
Haven
’
t you made new friends—friends at Calmar? Around your apartment?
”
she asked.

He idly toyed with a snap on his jacket.
“
People don
’
t interest me all that much. You know that.
”

“
They should, though. You are such a strong man. Kind. Considerate. You have so much to offer to friends.
”

He looked past her, out at the darkening night.
“
I
’
ve never had close friends—not before you. When I
’
m with them I don
’
t know what to say. I can
’
t make small talk like other people do.
”

“
We talked,
”
she said.
“
For nearly five solid days you and I talked about everything under the sun. Didn
’
t we?
”

He nodded.
“
And that
’
s just it. You
’
re the only person I
’
ve ever known that I could really communicate with.
”

“
But that doesn
’
t mean there aren
’
t others around with whom you can share your interests.
”

Shrugging, he said,
“
I haven
’
t looked for them, though, and actually, I don
’
t really need anyone.
”
It was a cold, hard assertion, put in such a way that no further discussion was invited. Suddenly the room was too small, choking him.
“
Why did you contact me, Althea? Why? Or are you sorry that you did?
”

“
When I wrote the email I wanted to see you, Cecil. I know now that it was unfair of me—selfish of me—but I was so far down, so depressed. I felt that if I could just talk with someone for a few minutes, someone who really understood my aloneness, that I
’
d be heartened, and could face the days before me.
”

He laid his hand across hers.
“
You
’
ve been through a lot, Thea. Much too much. What is it, Thea? Tell me.
”

“
Dr. Parsons, my surgeon, is going to amputate my left foot, Cecil. He said that there was no other alternative. Not after six months.
”

Instinctively he drew his hand back.
“
Amputate? Your foot? But why?
”

“
The blisters—the radiation. It won
’
t heal. There is nothing else to do but remove it,
”
she choked.
“
I... it
’
s.
…
oh, it
’
s horrible!
”
she cried out.

“
Well, but my God, Althea, an amputation, it
’
s bad, of course, but....
”
He hesitated, reluctant to say anything that could be misconstrued, misinterpreted.
“
It could be....
”
and he stopped short of saying the word worse.
“
Could it be the surgeon made a mistake? Maybe you should consult someone else—get another opinion.
”

She was suddenly strangely quiet; there were no outbursts after that one admission to being frightened.

“
Doctors have made errors before, Althea. Perhaps another method of treatment by someone new...another doctor....
”

“
Dr. Parsons only confirmed the opinion of the physicians who have treated me over the past six months, Cecil. It
’
s very definite to these men that allowing the condition to remain would be further damaging to my body.
”

“
The other foot—what about it? Isn
’
t it healing?
”
he asked.

“
Yes. Slowly. They think.
”

“
Then, I can
’
t believe they won
’
t give this more time.
”

“
No. The decision has been made,
”
she said with finality.

He walked around to the window and stood, staring out into the darkness. He was shaken by the news. Althea was almost reconciled to the amputation, but to Cecil, the prospect had jolted his system. He wanted to weep for her, but how could he do that if she wasn
’
t crying for herself? Little did he know that her sobbing had lasted half the day that the decision to amputate was made. By now her tears were gone and left in their place were visions of her future without the aid of one limb—a bleak empty future, it must have seemed to her. Still turned toward the night he asked,
“
How can you accept this with such calmness?
”

“
I
’
ve known for several days. I
’
ve had some time to make mental adjustments. In a way, I suppose I
’
m lucky. While thousands have died, I survived to lose a foot.
”

“
It could be worse,
”
he said quietly.

“
Once I didn
’
t think so. Once I thought I
’
d rather die than be left a permanent cripple. But the desire to live can
’
t be shoved aside that easily.
”

The man was silent, his back to her.

Noises from the hall seeped through the closed door.

“
When is it to be done?
”
he asked.

“
Tomorrow. In the morning.
”

A metal cart was being pushed by the room, causing a rattle of wheels against tile flooring.

“
What time?
”
asked Cecil.

“
Ten o
’
clock.
”

A voice, muffled by the walls, its words indistinctive, permeated the room from the hallway.