The Inner City by Karen Heuler

Author:Karen Heuler [Heuler, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9781927469347
Publisher: ChiZine
Published: 2013-02-15T05:00:00+00:00

BEDS

There are twelve beds in the hospital ward today; tomorrow there will be eleven.

My right-hand bedmate is instantly conciliatory to the hospital staff: “Of course you are overburdened,” she says, her voice dripping with compassion, “and there is at least one person here who is creating his own disease, just for attention. At least one,” she says, and shuts up, her hands placed saintly on the top bed sheet.

“Is that me? Is that who you mean?” This comes from the end of the row against the wall, at the end of the line. “I have been dragged about by life—do you think you can be dragged all over the place without being wounded? That life doesn’t wound you? That life doesn’t kill you? There’s no worse thing than that. I ask you,” he said, pointing to the nurse with her cart of medications. “Do you have a cure for life?”

“Oh, we all get cured of that eventually,” the nurse said, largely ignoring him and moving on. “I want to watch you take that, now,” she said severely to the skinny man past the conciliatory woman, who took it glumly and popped it in but didn’t swallow. “It could be you on that bed tomorrow, dearie. Is that what you want?”

He swallowed hastily and she put a tick on the chart on her clipboard.

“Where’s the bed going?” I asked. They all had such narrow concerns; their fear overruled their curiosity. One bed less, one patient less; what did it matter? I was feverish and wobbly; they would let me stay. Surely. Neither the healthiest nor the sickest. Safe.

She handed me three pills and a pink liquid, and never looked to see if I took any of it. Was that a good sign?

“This one over here,” the bed opposite me said. She was younger than most of us, and she often had cheery people tromping in and out. “With the annoying voice. Get rid of that one.” I gloated over her spitefulness. Young and spiteful! Let her be the one.

“Don’t you think I know about my voice?” the accused woman said. “Isn’t that why I’m here? I will do anything, suffer anything to fix it, this curse of mine. I know how irritating my voice is, I hear about it over and over; I see how people turn away. I cringe when I speak,” she said, closing her eyes and bringing her hand up to her throat. “How I detest it. Imagine—hating it and unable to stop it. It is a terrible fate. Terrible, terrible.”

“The least you can do is stop talking about it so much,” her tormentor said. “Like some electronic screech, you should really start using a pen and a pad. Give us all some relief.”

“And you think I don’t suffer?” the horrible voice asked. “To see how people react, to hear how you insult me: do you think I am heartless, soulless, without feelings, cursed as I am with a voice that doesn’t suit me, doesn’t match me—”

“Oh, it matches you, all right.

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