The Heart Does Not Bend (29 page)

He turned down a side street and drove on the sidewalk, almost hitting two pedestrians. He stopped abruptly and shouted, “Unnu nuh hear ambulance wid siren? Unnu nuh know fi move outa de way? Mi will ride right over unnu, yuh know!”

He slammed on the gas. The group scattered, some climbing over people’s fences. They knew he meant business. The ambulance picked up speed, bumped over potholes, dodged cars and bicycles, its siren blaring all the way to the hospital.

When we finally came to a stop at the private wing of the University of the West Indies Hospital, the attendants were waiting for us. But there was no doctor. He hadn’t arrived. The receptionist said she’d page him. Aunt Joyce and Grand-aunt Ruth arrived with Cousin Ivan and Cousin Icie. We waited and waited.

Aunt Joyce cussed. “Dese blasted people in dis country, dem don’t know a blasted thing. Dis is de worst country to get sick in. Where dis doctor deh?”

The receptionist played deaf. My grand-aunt kept cussing. When it got too loud for her to ignore, the receptionist mouthed, “Mi nuh responsible.”

“Mi nuh care if yuh nuh responsible. But weh de doctor, how come yuh nuh know where him is?” Aunt Joyce demanded. “Yuh nuh work here? You people never responsible for anything yet.”

Grand-aunt Ruth said quietly, “Lady, please admit her, she is mi dear older sister and we want de best care for her.”

“Ah can’t do anything, m’am. Dis is a private hospital and nobody can be admitted without a doctor’s signature.”

“Den unnu going to mek mi sister dead in de hospital hallway? Ah so unnu wicked?” Aunt Joyce was shouting now. Visitors coming in and out of the hospital paused and watched. Grand-aunt Ruth tried to quiet her.

“Quiet? Quiet? Mek dem finish kill mi sister? Not a rass. Ruth, if mi ever sick, yuh just put mi on de next plane to America. Mi nuh waan fi sick out here. Dem know nutten ’bout medical care. Look pon mi poor sister. She a go dead in a hospital hallway because of dem blasted idiot who claim dem is medicine people.”

“Aunt Joyce, come mek we tek a little breeze outside,” Icie offered.

“No, Icie, yuh gwaan. Mi sister a dead and mi can’t keep quiet and see it.” Then she yelled, “Murderers, murderers, unnu is murderers.”

Two security guards approached to ask her to keep her voice down, but she turned her wrath on them. The nurse who’d come with us in the ambulance asked the receptionist for a quiet waiting room off the hallway. We wheeled Mama in and closed the door.

“It not good for de patient to hear all of dat. Even though she confused, that kind of talk won’t help wid her
recovery. She might look like she nuh conscious, but she hearing everything,” the nurse said to me.

I went outside and asked Aunt Joyce to cuss more softly. The receptionist kept paging the doctor.

“Is what kind of doctor dat? Dis is sheer irresponsibility. Him probably in some woman’s bed right now and turn off him beeper.”

The receptionist took offence. “M’am, Dr. Ford is a very respectable and responsible man. Ah beg yuh not to say things like dat.”

“Beg mi? Yuh can say anything yuh want about yuh Dr. Ford, and I will say what comes to my mind. All I know is dat mi sister a dead. De other hospital say come here, dat dem arrange wid Dr. Ford to admit her and now we cyaan find him. A better wi did tek her down to Kingston Public Hospital ’mongst de gunman and tief. She woulda get treatment long time.”

The phone rang. “Dat was de doctor,” the receptionist informed us when she hung up. “He didn’t know that dere was a patient waiting and he cyaan take on the old lady. Him have too many other cases.”

Aunt Joyce started in again and now I was thankful that she was there. “Imagine in dis posh hospital nuh doctor not around fi look pon mi sister. What is dis, a hospital or a rass claat morgue?”

“M’am, yuh upsetting de patient. Please quiet yuh voice,” the nurse said. “Dis won’t do her any good. I have to ask you to be considerate of her.”

Helplessly I looked at Grand-aunt Ruth and the others. Cousin Ivan was pacing the hallway. I went back to Mama. Her frightened eyes were searching the room.

“Molly, mek mi dead. Mi life done,” she said in a bird’s whisper. “Come closer.”

Her eyes had no focus. She was dying. “Mi only have one wish and dat is fi you and Vittorio and Ciboney fi live good.”

“Mama,” I said, “yuh not ready fi dead. Peppie and Glory and everybody else soon come.”

I leaned down and held her. My tears fell on her eyes.

“Mi only have one regret, mi sorry mi never get de chance fi tek Maud and tell her about de glory of de Lord,” she whispered. I stroked her hair and another tear fell. Her grip on me loosened. She was struggling to breathe. I looked over at the nurse, my eyes begging for a miracle.

“She not in grave danger,” the nurse said. “She’ll pull through.”

I went out to join the others. Aunt Joyce’s shouting had become even louder and had attracted the attention of several people passing by, including a young doctor.

“Doctor, mi poor sister almost dead. She in a little room off to de side and we cyaan get nobody to look at her. Ah tell yuh, doctor, something radically wrong wid dis country. De government is piss—”

The doctor laughed. “I will take her on. Where she is, mek mi check her.”

I led him to the little room and he examined her.

“Okay, I will admit her and tek de case.”

We couldn’t thank him enough.

“Check wid de receptionist,” he said, “and mek her show yuh de administrator’s office fi discuss payment.”

“Semi-private or private room?” the woman there asked. “De private room will cost two thousand dollars per day and
we need a deposit for a minimum of a week. Mek mi read out other costs. De medications is separate money, de oxygen separate. De doctor service is another fee. De specialist is another separate money.” She paused for me to take it all in.

“Now here is a list of things for yuh to bring for de patient,” she said, handing me a sheet:

“As yuh know is a private hospital, so we will provide de sheets and diapers.”

The private room was very basic, very spare, painted a dull lilac. Its saving grace was its view from the window—the Blue Mountains. When Mama felt better, she would enjoy it. The doctor was in the room with the others when I got there.

“Miss Galloway, I need to ask some questions about de medications your grandmother was taking.”

I told the doctor that her pills were in her purse at home. I didn’t know the names. Mama’s eyes were closed, but she mumbled, “Vasotec, Adalat, XL.” He thanked her. She
kept repeating the list. “Vasotec, Adalat, XL. Vasotec, Adalat, XL.…”

“Thank yuh, m’am,” he said, and chuckled.

“Vasotec, Adalat, XL. Vasotec, Adalat, XL.…”

Aunt Joyce said, “Mi sister is a real comedian.” We all laughed.

Later the doctor told us to go home. She was in good hands, he said.

The next morning we arrived to find Mama staring up at the ceiling, her hands in tight fists.

“Maria, a me, yuh sister,” Grand-aunt Ruth said, but Mama didn’t respond. I went to her and held her hands. She turned and looked at me but there was no sign of recognition.

“Mama, Glory on her way,” I said. “She coming in from Atlanta today, and Uncle Peppie coming tomorrow.” Mama turned and stared through the window at the Blue Mountains. She was hooked up to an IV drip, and an oxygen mask covered her face. She pulled it off and said, “Get mi out of here. Ah don’t want to stay here.”

“Mama, let mi put de oxygen back on. Yuh need it.”

She resisted, so Aunt Joyce and Grand-aunt Ruth held her still while I put the mask back on her face. She calmed down for a moment, but wouldn’t look at us, only the ceiling, folding and unfolding her hands. Then she tried to take off the mask again.

I rang for the doctor. “Please, what is wrong with her?” I asked. “She not acting herself.”

“We had to give her some medication last night to quiet her. She was fighting the nurses. She’s a strong woman, yuh
know, and the nurses couldn’t control her. She kept climbing out of bed. Next time, we will have to restrain her. Is a dangerous situation.”

I nodded. “Yes, I understand.”

We sat beside her until the medication wore off and recognition came back. She looked around, but there was no smile.

“Unnu tell Glory and Peppie?”

“Yes, Mama. Glory coming tomorrow and Peppie on the weekend.”

“Yuh tell Vittorio and Ciboney?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Where Mikey?”

“Him coming soon,” I lied. I had called Uncle Mikey that morning. He hadn’t come.

“Freddie, yuh get in touch wid him?”

“Yes,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“Tell dem fi come soon.”

“Yes, Mama.”

An orderly brought a tray of food for her, but she wouldn’t eat. “Aunt Maria, let mi feed yuh, yuh need yuh strength,” Icie coaxed, but Mama’s lips remained tight. She slipped in and out of sleep only to stare at the wall. She wouldn’t talk to us. She began to recite the names of her medicines again. Aunt Joyce and I looked at each other and smiled, easing our anxiety.

“Unnu go out and get some air,” Grand-aunt Ruth advised. “I will stay here.”

We walked out into the sunlight and through the peaceful grounds of the university. Once we were back inside, Aunt Joyce began to cry.

“Come, Joyce, mek we go home and rest. We come back later. Molly, you come eat some food and come back,” Grand-aunt Ruth said.

“Is okay, Grand-aunt, ah not hungry, and when ah get hungry ah will pick up something in de cafeteria. You all go.”

They left. “Glory coming soon,” I said to Mama, hoping to get her talking. She pulled off the oxygen mask but didn’t respond; she was still reciting the names of her medicines.

At last she stopped and looked at me. “Close de door,” she whispered.

When I had, she said, “Molly, ah waan fi leave dis place. Help mi.”

“No, Mama, dis is where yuh will get better.”

“Ah waan fi leave here. I waan to go home to mi own bed.”

She tried to climb out of bed, and I held her down, but she was too strong for me. I pressed the buzzer and a nurse came, followed by the doctor. They gave her another injection and the bed rails were pulled up. I sat and watched her sleep as the blue sky turned grey, then charcoal black.

Morning came and a gentle breeze greeted Mama through the windows, but she still looked trapped and unhappy. Glory would be coming soon, and I didn’t want her to see Mama like this. I combed and plaited her hair in cane rows. I sang to her as I wiped her face with a damp washcloth, rubbed on a little face cream and put Vaseline on her dry lips.

“Mama, Glory coming today,” I said. I had hoped for a response but got none. I started to sing softly.

There was a moment of recognition as if she was trying to remember where she had heard the song.

“Mama, Glory coming today,” I repeated. She didn’t answer. I filled a basin with water, washed between her legs, changed her diaper and got her into a fresh nightgown.

Glory arrived, exhausted but happy to find her mother alive. She hurried over to the bed and kissed her on the cheek. Mama didn’t hug her back or talk to her. She looked irritated and pulled at the oxygen mask.

“Mama, don’t,” Glory said.

Mama’s hands went back to her side.

“How yuh feeling, Mama? Yuh hungry? Yuh want water or anything?”

Mama just lay there on the bed looking at the ceiling, folding and unfolding her hands, looking at them as if they had not been with her all her life.

I told Glory about the medication, and she went to find the doctor. The nurse told her he would be in later and explained why they had to put Mama on that medication. We waited and waited. The doctor didn’t come that night. Finally I called a taxi to take us to Grand-aunt Ruth’s and made arrangements for the cab driver to pick us up early the next morning.