Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt

Author:Frank McCourt
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Scribner
Published: 1998-12-17T06:00:00+00:00

The bed has cool white sheets. The nurses have clean white uniforms and the nun, Sister Rita, is all in white. Dr. Humphrey and Dr. Campbell have white coats and things hanging from their necks which they stick against my chest and all over. I sleep and sleep but I’m awake when they bring in jars of bright red stuff that hang from tall poles above my bed and they stick tubes into my ankles and the back of my right hand. Sister Rita says, You’re getting blood, Francis. Soldier’s blood from the Sarsfield Barracks.

Mam is sitting by the bed and the nurse is saying, You know, missus, this is very unusual. No one is ever allowed into the Fever Hospital for fear they’d catch something but they made an exception for you with his crisis coming. If he gets over this he’ll surely recover.

I fall asleep. Mam is gone when I wake but there’s movement in the room and it’s the priest, Father Gorey, from the Confraternity saying Mass at a table in the corner. I drift off again and now they’re waking me and pulling down the bedclothes. Father Gorey is touching me with oil and praying in Latin. I know it’s Extreme Unction and that means I’m going to die and I don’t care. They wake me again to receive Communion. I don’t want it, I’m afraid I might get sick. I keep the wafer on my tongue and fall asleep and when I wake up again it’s gone.

It’s dark and Dr. Campbell is sitting by my bed. He’s holding my wrist and looking at his watch. He has red hair and glasses and he always smiles when he talks to me. He sits now and hums and looks out the window. His eyes close and he snores a little. He tilts over on the chair and farts and smiles to himself and I know now I’m going to get better because a doctor would never fart in the presence of a dying boy.

Sister Rita’s white habit is bright in the sun that comes in the window. She’s holding my wrist, looking at her watch, smiling. Oh, she says, we’re awake, are we? Well, Francis, I think we’ve come through the worst. Our prayers are answered and all the prayers of those hundreds of little boys at the Confraternity. Can you imagine that? Hundreds of boys saying the rosary for you and offering up their communion.

My ankles and the back of my hand are throbbing from the tubes bringing in the blood and I don’t care about boys praying for me. I can hear the swish of Sister Rita’s habit and the click of her rosary beads when she leaves the room. I fall asleep and when I wake it’s dark and Dad is sitting by the bed with his hand on mine.

Son, are you awake?

I try to talk but I’m dry, nothing will come out and I point to my mouth. He holds a glass of water to my lips and it’s sweet and cool.

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