The Laying on of Hands - Alan Bennett [42]
‘I go all over. I went to York last week. Saw the railway museum. There’s stock in there I drove. Museum in my own lifetime. I’ll tell you one thing.’
They stopped.
‘What,’ said Midgley.
‘I wouldn’t like to have to polish this floor.’
They resumed.
‘You still schoolteaching?’
Midgley nodded.
‘Pleased your dad, did that. Though it won’t be much of a salary. You’d have been better off doing something in our Hartley’s line. He’s up there in the £30,000 bracket now. She was talking about a swimming pool.’
They stopped at the entrance to Intensive Care while his uncle stood, one arm stretched out to the wall, taking the weight off his leg.
‘Is your Aunty Kitty here?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought she would be. Where no vultures fly.’
AUNTY KITTY GOT UP and did her ‘I am too upset to speak’ act. ‘Hello, Kitty,’ said Ernest.
‘I always thought I should be the first, Ernest.’
‘Well you still might be. He’s not dead yet.’
‘Go in, Ernest.’ She dabbed her nose. ‘Go in.’
Uncle Ernest stood by his brother’s bed. Then he sat down.
‘This is summat fresh for you, Frank,’ he said. ‘You were always such a bouncer.’ He stood up and leaned over the bed to look closer at the bleeps on the scanner. They were bouncing merrily. A nurse looked in.
‘You’re not to touch that.’
‘I was just interested.’
‘He’s very ill.’
She paused for a moment, came further into the room and looked at the scanner. She looked at Uncle Ernest (though not, he noticed, at Frank) and went out.
‘It’s all mechanised now,’ he said.
There was no sound in the room. The brothers had never had much to say to each other at the best of times. Without there being any animosity, they felt easier in the presence of a third party; alone they embarrassed each other. It was still the case, even though one of them was unconscious, and Uncle Ernest got up, thankful to be able to go.
‘Ta-ra then, butt,’ he said.
And waited.
He wanted to pat his brother’s hand.
‘I went to York last week,’ he said. ‘It hasn’t changed much. They haven’t spoiled it like they have Leeds. Though there’s one of these precinct things. It’s the first time I’ve been since we were lads. We went over on our bikes once.’ Instead of touching his brother’s hand he jogged his foot in farewell, just as the nurse was coming in.
‘He’s very ill,’ she said, smoothing the coverlet over his brother’s feet. ‘And this is delicate equipment.’
‘I went in,’ she said in the canteen later, ‘and there was one of them pulling a patient’s leg about. He had hold of his foot. It’s an uphill battle.’
UNCLE ERNEST’S SON Hartley came with his wife Jean and their children, Mark (14) and Elizabeth (10). Hartley hated hospitals, hence his demand for full family back-up. He was actually surprised that Mark had condescended to come: a big 14, Mark had long since passed beyond parental control and only appeared with the family on state occasions. The truth was that Miss Pollock, who took him for Religious Knowledge and who was known to be fucking at least one of the sixth form, had pointed out only last week how rare were the opportunities these days of seeing a dead person, and thus of acquiring a real perspective on the human condition. Mark was hoping this visit might gain him some status in the eyes of Miss Pollock. Sensitive to the realities of birth and death, he hoped to be the next candidate for ‘bringing out’.
They were all going up in the lift.
‘Think on,’ said Hartley. ‘It’s quite likely your grandad’ll be here. I don’t want you asking for all sorts in front of him.’
‘No,’ said his wife. ‘We don’t want him saying you’re spoiled.’
‘Though you are spoiled,’ said Hartley.
‘Whose fault is that?’ said Jean.
The steel doors folded back to reveal Denis saying goodbye to Uncle Ernest.
‘Now then, Dad,’ said Hartley. ‘Hello, Denis. This is a bad do.’
Jean kissed the old man.
‘Give your grandad a kiss, Elizabeth.’
The child did so.
‘Come on, Mark.’
‘I don’t kiss now,’ said the boy.
‘You kiss your grandad,’ said Hartley and the boy did so and a nurse, passing, looked.
‘How is he?’ said Hartley.
‘Dying,