The Eden Express_ A Memoir of Insanity - Mark Vonnegut [104]
Joe pulled into the hospital. The big red sign, EMERGENCY ENTRANCE. The dam was right alongside of me now. Oh, shit, the bomb is going to blow. “Keep driving, Mac. I said we had to meet faith by the water. This isn’t where you met me.”
“Come on, Mark,” Joe said apologetically, “we have an appointment.”
“OK,” I said, scared to death, trying to steady myself for whatever was ahead. I couldn’t move. It was awful. It was over.
Joe came around to my side of the bus and opened the door and took my arm. “Come on, Mark. I’ll go with you. This won’t be so bad.”
I was clutching my “important papers.” My birth certificate, immigration forms, passport, etc.
“OK,” I said weakly, and let Joe lead me out of the car into the hospital. “Did we have to come to the emergency entrance?”
“Relax, Mark, relax.”
Joe left me in a chair. I didn’t look around. I was too scared. He went and talked to a nurse in a low voice I couldn’t quite catch. It was all arranged. It’s not up to me any more. If it ever was, it’s not now. Joe and the nurse came over and they led me to a little curtained-off place with a bed on rollers. The nurse left Joe and me there for a bit.
“Now, Mark, this isn’t going to hurt. Whatever happens, everything is going to be all right.” I just kept looking at him pleadingly. Why hadn’t he taken me to the camp site, to the beach, like I had asked? He had betrayed me.
“I don’t know what your problem is, Mark, but I’m sure it’s bigger than mine,” he said, gesturing vulgarly at his crotch. It seemed like a joke in questionable taste.
“Here, Joe, take this,” I said, giving him all my identification. “I want you to have it.” He looked puzzled.
“Are you sure, Mark?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Take it.”
“The doctor will be here in just a little bit,” Joe said, and he left.
I sat there for what seemed like years, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Were they going to operate on me? Cancer? Sterilization? Lobotomy? I couldn’t get anywhere with it. So I just sat there and waited.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Miller.” There didn’t seem to be anything unusual about him. Was he a faith healer? Did he know what my problem was? Was he going to do something about it? What had Joe and Mary told him?
“What seems to be the problem?” Good question. Here I was in the emergency ward, just what was the problem? Why hadn’t someone asked me that before? It seemed so straightforward. What was the problem?
“Well, I think my friends are worried about me.” It sounded stupid as soon as I said it. I had to be able to do better than that. He just sort of nodded knowlingly. “They’re worried about me not passing my immigration physical.” That seemed even sillier. Why should they be worried or not worried about my passing my immigration physical? What was the problem?
Stainless steel, gleaming lights, plastic curtains, iridescent floor tiles. One foot in front of the other, counting out nothing, doing my best to answer the questions. Doing my best to make sense to the doctor. One foot in front of the other, on my own power, avoiding looking at anyone. Following my imaginary trail of crumbs. Past all the sick and dying, the coughing, the pale, crippled, confused faces. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
One way or the other I found myself back in the front seat of the Microbus. Relieved, breathing a little easier. But all was still not well in Mark land. The sky still threatened destruction. There was still a tenseness in me and the people around me. I guess more was required than just seeing Dr. Miller. There was a little piece of paper. It was a prescription for pills I was supposed to take “if the going gets rough.” I think I put Kathy in charge of that. How was I supposed to tell when the going got rough? Cyanide to take before I got into the wrong hands? What were right hands, what were wrong hands? Where did the Royal Canadian Mounties stand on all this? The faith healing thing Joe had said on the way still bothered me. Were they going to turn me over to Oral Roberts? Fly me to Israel