The Wasties by Frederick Reuss

Author:Frederick Reuss
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780307429575
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2007-12-18T00:00:00+00:00

H.R. considered my question, and put the letter aside. “I don’t know,” he said, his face holding its own against his mind’s uncertain judgment. It was the first true union between Inner and Outer I’d ever seen in him, and probably something he hasn’t had pointed out since his mother caught him stealing glances at her and closed the door on him for the first time in his life. “Light a candle?”

I shook my head.

“Wait for the wind to die down?”

I shook my head.

“Make sure you have plenty of dry wood?”

I shook my head, enjoying the game now and eager to keep it going.

“I give up.”

I shook my head.

“No. I mean, tell me,” he said, not realizing how close he’d just come to the answer. I wanted to kiss him, shoved the toys off my lap and lunged forward. He stood up, startled, and I fell to the floor at his feet. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you alright?” He helped me up. “What was that all about?” An uncertain smile had crept across his face. As I settled back into my Laz-E-Boy, he checked his watch. “It’s about time for me to go. Can I get you anything?”

I shook my head.

He put Gina’s letter on my writing table, pausing for a moment to look at the view from the window. The mountains were spread in late autumn outline across the horizon. It was a bright, crisp Knickerbocker morning and although there was no snow on the ground, the sunlight dazzled and blinded. “It’s a beautiful day,” he said at last. “You should try to get outside for some fresh air.”

But I had stopped relying on matches long ago, so I didn’t.

Every journey begins and ends with a reorientation. Doctors tend to focus on the cardinal estrangements of person, place and time—at least that was my impression when the Bellevue doctor began his examination with what he very politely described as a brief review. His questions were of the yes/no, rather than the either/or kind, and required nothing more from me than a nod or a shake.

“Can you hear me?”

A nod.

“Can you see me?”

A nod.

“Can you speak?”

“Can you speak?” the doctor asked again.

What was I supposed to say? Yes, Doctor. I have always made my home in language. I’m regular semiotic encyclopedia, as a matter of fact. But from the way he continued to look at me, I could tell he had no semiotics in him; and he moved on to the next question, hustling along as if to capture me in perjury. I tried to whistle up a little euphoria, get some wind into the sails of the mood swelling up inside. But he just touched my shoulder and pressed me back down onto the gurney. “It’s alright. Just relax.” When I opened my eyes he said, “Shall we continue?”

I blinked, but failed to achieve full visibility. I blinked and blinked and blinked and continued blinking until, gradually, the atmosphere in the room began to coalesce into a full-blown Weltanschauung and a pattern of ideas began to emerge, all begging, just begging to be accepted.

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