The Painted Drum - Louise Erdrich [94]
“They can treat pneumonia, it’s safer to get pneumonia than a lot of things.”
“Yeah,” said Ira. “I was scared though. How about you?”
“Me,” said Morris, touching his hair, which was bunched up over the bandages, “I think I have finally done it. Maybe I’ll go blind now, all the way blind. One of my cornea’s all scratched up, the other got ulcerated. They just told me. Anyway, the suspense will be over.”
“You won’t be able to drive,” said Ira.
“Well, I wasn’t supposed to, really, I should have told you. I’m sorry about that.”
“You tried,” Ira said. “If you hadn’t gone in the woods after my kids and the snow got so bright, maybe your eyes wouldn’t have quit on you.”
“It was gonna happen,” Morris said. He patted the covering on his eyes, adjusted the bandages. “So, your kids okay, really?”
“The girls won’t talk to me yet.”
Morris nodded, as if that made sense. “Give them time to come out of it,” he said. “There’s water, too, in that pitcher. The nurse just put new ice in.”
“They taking good care of you?”
“Yes,” said Morris. “Morphine. They know me from before.”
“You been in for your eyes then?”
“Other things, too,” said Morris. “Where you supposed to live now?”
“I don’t know yet. Bernard, maybe. I never asked him though.”
“Your mom’s dead.”
“Long time ago.”
“And I heard about it when your dad died. He was a spiritual man, I knew him.”
“My dad knew how to give names. They gave him the ceremony. It was because he had dreams. He couldn’t stop his dreams. They kept coming at him. It turned out he was meant to do certain things that would put his dreams to use.”
She stopped. “Ma’iingan,” she said. “He gave that name to you.”
“Your dad said that was the only time he ever gave that name out.”
“That name meant a lot to him because wolves saved his life, once, I guess.”
“Amen,” said Morris. “My name saved me, too.”
“How?” said Ira.
“That’s for another visit,” Morris said. “I got to hook you in somehow.”
Ira went quiet because she didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t know whether she wanted to be hooked in or left on her own. “Anyway,” she said, “Popeye?”
“Yeah, too bad about that.”
“You don’t like your nickname?”
They both laughed.
“Well, I must go,” said Ira. “Bye.” She leaned over and put her hand in Morris’s open hand. He held her hand a minute. Just held her fingers with his fingers. Then he carefully let go.
Had she missed the lunch trays? Ira was so hungry that she was beginning to feel all wobbly down the center. She walked quickly back to her children and first checked on Apitchi, then went to Shawnee and Alice’s room. There was no sign of lunch yet. She lowered herself into a chair. She noticed a little box of Sugar Pops on the table next to Shawnee’s bed, and she wanted to say, “Are you going to eat those?” But she thought that Shawnee might give her that stare that she had given her before.
“What are you watching?” she asked.
“Powerpuffs.”
“It’s stupid,” Shawnee said.
“No, they’re good!” said Alice.
I’d better call up Bernard, thought Ira. Or maybe go look for him when he comes on his shift. She heard the rumble of the lunch cart coming down the corridor and her stomach pinched hard. An aide brought two trays in, each with a piece of skinless chicken, a spoonful of rice with some vegetables mixed in, a salad with pale pink tomatoes, and green Jell-O. There was a carton of milk and a few sticks of celery and carrots. Ira cut up Alice’s meat. The girls ate everything. When they were done, Ira put their trays back outside, on the cart.
“I’m going to see Apitchi now,” she told Shawnee and Alice. On the way out she asked a nurse if there was an extra tray. The nurse said no. Ira said that if anybody didn’t eat their tray could she have it, and the nurse looked closely at her.
“You got money for the cafeteria?”
“No,” said Ira. “I’m here with my children.”
“I’ll make sure they order a supper tray for you,” the nurse said. “In the meantime, come over here.” She took Ira to a small closet kitchen. From the little refrigerator, she took two cartons of chocolate milk, two yogurts, and