Sensei by John Donohue

Author:John Donohue [Donohue, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: YMAA Publication Center
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

12. Night Noise

When Art married Marie, he converted to Catholicism, so amid the tubes and beeping machines of the lCU, there were the whispered implications of the Last Rites. The priest was youngish, with that well-fed and sincere look priests get before the hard life they choose drives them to furtive sins and quiet resignation. For now, he sat uncomfortably with us in the waiting room, pink-faced and round, ready to speak, eager to comfort. But he took a look at Micky and the other cops who had come to be with the family. They were hard-faced men. The priest wisely squashed his impulse to tell us all the Good News. No one was in the mood for it.

Marie sniffed once or twice but held it together. Dee sat with her. Art’s daughter, red-eyed and washed out, stared at a world that had been blown apart and revealed as the uncertain place it really was. It was a hard thing to learn. At any age.

They couldn’t say whether Art would make it. We waited around the hospital, not saying much. It was a busy place, and each group keeping vigil thought they were somehow special, but we were all the same. For every red-eyed cluster, the universe had contracted into a tight knot of people hesitant to come to grips with the grim possibilities before them. It had been a long night, but it seemed like there were better things to do than just wait. The cops arranged shifts: some stayed; some went back out on the streets. After a while, I emerged into the bright sunlight, blinking with the suddenness of the glare and the harsh, relentless way of the world.

The ride home was a leaden progression through different mental landscapes. The growing summer heat beat in through the windshield, fighting with the air conditioner for dominance. It added to the general feeling of impending disaster. For distraction, I watched the scenery rush by, but it didn’t work. My eyes were open, but I was really just seeing the aftermath of that night.

There is nothing so frantic as the scene where a policeman has been taken down. A transit cop at the Eighth Avenue station had heard the shots and called for backup—the radios Micky and Art were using were encrypted stakeout sets that couldn’t reach the police communication network. A cruiser from the local precinct was the first on the scene, both cops nervously waving guns and lights around until they were sure who all the players were. By that time, Asa had joined us by Art’s side, which was a good thing; if he’d still been crouched in the corner with a sword, the cops would have drilled him for sure.

The ambulance got there at about the same time. Two beefy guys in tightly tailored uniform shirts snapped on latex gloves and got to work. They surveyed the scene and knelt down across from Micky.

“Shit,”one breathed. He was looking at the mess of Art’s chest and his stump, trying to figure out what to do first.

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