CZ Studio and Radio Verte presents The Wild Wind by Corey Zimmerman.
Chapter 20.
The Wild Wind by Corey Zimmerman.
Trains often pass through the valley, but this train was unusual, consisting of colorful box cars and elongated flat cars carrying large wagons.
As its whistle screamed, the brakes screeched and it came to a halt at the asylum depot.
A large mural painted brightly on the side of the first red box car depicted a giant roaring lion with the word circus arched above.
The engine barely came to a halt before an army of rustabouts unload a fleet of wagons onto the platform.
Dr. Zola watched from the attic window of the Bronson building, his phonograph playing.
When he spotted the first of the gilded wagons pulled by horse to the summit of the bluff, it didn't take long for patients in attendance to drift from their cottages in the wonder at the caravan that circled upon the front lawn.
Daily life at the asylum had come to a sudden standstill and everyone gathered to watch the tent city go up in a matter of hours, everyone gawking in bafflement at the array of clowns, midgets, and freaks.
Zebras were fed and camels led to the pond for a drink.
An elephant had its toenails trimmed and a lion paced its cage, roaring at anyone who approached too closely.
The tent city soon occupied a significant portion of the lawn with the big top nestled right in the middle of it all.
Candy peddlers, lemonade, farm prawn fans, sausages, and roasted peanuts.
The environment was pungent, thrilling with the wide array of sensational sounds, colors, and exotic smells to take in.
The air was electrified for the entirety of the globe had arrived right at the doorstep of the hilltop.
An hour before the show, as the sun was settling into the horizon, the fireflies bedazzled, and the crowds of patients, attendants, and their families,
and many locals were lured into the sideshow tent by colorful lithograph posters illustrating the marvels inside,
and by a velvety voice peeler, shouting,
Step right up, folks, step right up! Witness firsthand the bearded lady, the skeleton man, the dog-faced boy.
Innumerable bodies, nimble and muscular, fat and hairy, others shockingly thin, flexible, glass and fire-eating, legless and armless,
midgets, jugglers, platespinners, magicians, contortionists, Siamese twins, in a tramp clown and tattered clothes,
stumbling about seemingly wasted on rye, a swirling madness of bewilderment, leaving one to wonder,
Who exactly are the crazy ones?
The sideshow tent led to the menagerie tent, where the audience must pass before going into the main performance, in the big top.
Along the way, the bears' lounge, offering sights of the large grizzly being fed chunks of meat.
Onward for the lion's den, where the large main cat paced anxiously in its cage,
past the corral of colorfully painted horses, adorned in feathers, peacocks fidgeting nearby,
an array of exotic animals in beautifully carved wagons lining the perimeter,
an elephant followed by camels, llamas, a bison and zebras, all forming a line circling the tent.
A lively brass circus band instructed the million audience stumbling about that it was time to head inside the big top for the main program.
The candy peddlers chatted and skirted about the carnivorous tent,
a massive canvas space propped aloft by huge poles and ropes that could hold over a thousand people,
as the main event began, everyone was seated, Bookbinder, Fanny and myself,
immersed in the dizzying sea of the oddest audience this circus had ever had by all means.
In the vast sea of faces stretching out in every direction,
one would have never known by their exceptional behavior the excessive degree of insanity in the stands.
The Grand Parade
A procession of animals and performers marked the start of the show.
A rider on horseback grabbed the spotlight as he sprang suddenly to his feet upon his horse, sweeping round and round at double the speed,
as he put one foot on the horse's head and the other on its shoulder,
the horse and he both leaning into the ring at an angle which seemed to threaten at any moment to send him whirling into the sawdust, the audience unable to breathe.
Wonder mixed with a little dash of fear, grace, power and speed, with archnek and flashing eye,
they flew around the ring at the rate of 8-10 miles an hour.
Then another rider straddled two cantering horses while other horses bearing flags passed between his legs,
the massive audience applauded the daring act of horsemanship by a child on his bareback steed,
in a series of leaps backward and forwards turning and twisting, riding the beast in every sort of fashion on every part of him except his ears and tail,
an equestrian gymnast sweeping around the ring once then twice clinging with arms and legs upside down from the creature's neck.
After the elephant rose up on its hind legs, scantily clad performers in blazing splashes of peacock blue, orange, molten red, yellow, grass green, plum and gold,
their athletic prowess and sleek muscular bodies performed a stark majesty of acrobatic feats that startled and subdued the spectators into silent worship.
A woman standing just five feet in height stood in a cage with the lion, and the excitement of the crowd rose to its highest pitch,
with the enormous jaws of the beast open for the reception of the woman's skull.
A man dressed in glittery silver with a broad smile waved large at the crowd before climbing into a silver-painted cannon.
After a countdown of ten in a shattering blast, he was shot fifty yards across the air, landing perfectly in a net on the far end of the tent.
Applause erupted by those lucid enough to understand a world gone mad before their eyes.
Following this act, a wire walker with a balancing pole walked out upon the tightrope.
He tossed the pole to the ground below as he started alternating between walking and running across the rope and occasionally lying on his back or standing on his head or turning somersaults.
He was followed by a four-man pyramid that cycled across the tightrope on his heels, everyone gasping with fear and amazement,
as others gibbered to themselves chewing off their nails as a man fired a cannonball into his own stomach, the crowd gasping for a breath.
Clowns in red-striped cotton stockings with full trunks dotted red and black, faces painted white with lead with red noses, rode donkeys in tandem,
and a clown and his donkey sat down to supper together sharing a carrot pie before bellowing a charming duo.
A bear named Teddy coming into the ring, walking on his hind legs, arm in arm with a drunken clown who offered Teddy a bottle.
Teddy took the bottle, put it to his mouth, tumbled down, and rolled about in a drunken stupor.
The trapeze performance began, 20 feet in the air, when the performer jumped off the high platform so that gravity created a swing.
At the far end of the first swing, she swung back above the audience, and then at the far end of the second swing, she released the bar,
and after a triple somersault, she was caught by another performer who hung by his knees on another trapeze.
The grand finale began with a stunt called the Sleight of Death, as a tall man walked onto the tightrope and stood on his hands near one of the guidelines that dropped at a 45 degree angle, where it was anchored to the ground.
He lowered his head onto the guideline, and with no safety harness, he let go with his hands and with the speed of gravity, slid down the wire on nothing but his head, and just before he collided with the ground, he performed a backflip landing to his feet.
The exacerbated crowd burst into applause, but immediately grew silent to the sight of an illustrious Spanish lady in a rose-red, leafy dress with silky runner hips,
looking like the loveliest parasol, who walked out to the end of a high dive 45 feet above a small pool below.
The crowd held its breath, and Fanny squeezed my hand, and I could see Book squirming on the bench out of the corner of my eye.
The Spanish lady then slowly leaned forward, diving off head first, and she flew through a series of tissue paper-covered hoops, one after the next plummeting toward the earth.
My teeth clenched, Fanny's grasp tightened, and Book squirmed squirmier, and when she gracefully plunged into the pool of water with hardly a splash, and we all exhaled at once,
the big top erupted in one loud ceaseless roar that echoed down the ravines and across the river and into its deep waters, to be carried onward.
An arousing array of colorful horses then raced around the outer edge of the ring as a clown helped the lady from the pool. Upon leaving the ring, the Spanish diver bowed smiling and throwing a kiss to the crowd,
and another directly toward Dr. Zollo, the master behind the curtain, who rose to his feet clapping mightily.
After the performance, attendance led the overstimulated patients out of the big top, where the cannonball man was in the menagerie, offering to let anyone who dared punch him in the gut as hard as they may.
And before anyone noticed, Big Ben walked up with a pie-covered face and punched him right in the gut without warning, knocking the wind right out of him, causing him to hunch over, gasping for air.
Nurse Kate rushed over and grabbed onto Big Ben and began to apologize to the breathless man profusely, but out of embarrassment and struggling to speak, he simply waved her on, and Fanny began to laugh hysterically, and she began to cough.
And cough and cough and cough, herself lunged over, desperate for a breath, as Book's eyes widened in concern, as a half-dozen clown chased a midget in circles around the long striped pant legs of a man on stilts and a top hat, who cocked back his neck and with a swig from a bottle, held a torch before his lips, and exhaled a scorching breath of fire, its bright orange hue reflecting off Book's glossed-over eyes.
The following morning, unfamiliar with the new apparatus, its loud ring almost gave Nurse Nancy a heart attack as she jumped a foot off her poor old stool. Stumbling about with the receiver, she finally answered,
Hilltop State Hospital, may I help you? A faint voice of a telephone operator emitted from its speaker, attempting to inform Nurse Nancy. She was connecting her with the Grandview Police Department. Nurse Nancy listened intently, with eyebrows raised, eyeballs bouncing back and forth, as a deep voice rattled on. Kate could hear the voice as Nurse Nancy responded with an apologetic tone.
Yes, Officer, we will send someone along immediately. Yes, Officer, I understand. Thank you. We are very sorry for the inconvenience.
Nurse Nancy fumbled again, attempting to hang up the receiver, until Nurse Kate walked over from the paperwork she was filing and hung up the telephone for her, asking what had happened.
The police have Big Ben. He went down to the diner again after the blueberry pie. They got him locked up in a cell. They want to know if we want to come down and get him. Otherwise, they said they're sure they can figure out what to do with him. Oh my, said Nurse Kate, but don't worry, I said someone would be right down.
Nurse Kate ran down the hill and took the first train to Grandview Station, and jumped on the Main Street trolley to the jail. As she entered, a husky officer with a thick, sweaty mustache, standing behind a counter, was much entertained to see a petite woman such as Kate had come to pick up such a huge man.
Kate could hear Big Ben's crying before she saw his large frame curled into a ball in the back corner of the cage, his massive arms wrapped around his legs, which he had pulled in tight to his broad chest.
When Ben saw Kate, he stood up, all seven feet, exposing the blackberry pie that stained his face and shirt. Kate would be ashamed to admit, she almost giggled.
Ben, she said with a sigh, you had a whole pie to yourself last night at the circus. Look at the mess you have made of yourself.
The officer with a large, sweaty mustache said, Ben, is that what they call this monster? And what is your name, sweetheart?
Nurse Kate, I am responsible for Ben. I assure you Ben is harmless and not a monster. I'd like to take him home now if you don't mind. He has been through a lot after all, being locked in a cage like an animal.
This Ben of yours, the officer interrupted with a deep and malicious chuckle.
This beast, he said, looking around for a fellow smirk from the other officers distracted with other tasks.
He damn near destroyed the diner and scared the daylats out of all the patrons. Lucky he didn't hurt anyone. We might have had to put him down.
Kate cleared her throat, attempting to maintain her composure, and responded, Oh my, I am so sorry to hear that. We will pay for all the damages and make sure it never happens again.
But I assure you Ben was only after the pie. I am certain he was surely afraid of the commotion. You see, Ben may be a huge man, but he has the mind of a child.
Sweetheart, you honestly believe you can wrangle this looking over at Ben and his giant frame. This beast all by your lonesome?
Yes, I am in charge of patient transport. With all due respect, ma'am, it took four of our men to get him in that cage.
There is no way I am opening that door until you get a half a dozen of your strongest men down here in a pair of shackles.
With all due respect, officer, we do not shackle our patients. He is not a criminal nor a beast as you suggest. He is a man. An ill man.
Ill? He is a damned animal. Belongs far off in the wilderness or in a cage at the circus or better yet, put down before he hurts someone, the officer said, slamming his fist on the counter.
Ben let out a wail, which attracted the attention of a man in the cell over, sprawled out on his bunk with yellow cowboy boots perched on the bars.
The blonde, shaggy-haired man lifted his head in a raspy hungover voice, yelled, keep it the hell down. Can't a man get some shut eye around here?
Boy, you better watch your lip, shouted the officer, smacking his baton down on the counter.
Kate flinched and Ben let out another moan as he jumped in his skin.
One of the other officers approached the mustached officer and gave a whisper to his ear and Kate walked over to the cage saying, Ben, it's okay. I'm here to take you home. Everything will be okay.
You know what comes after dinner tonight, right, Ben? Ben moaned again. What comes after dinner, Ben? P-p-p-pie? Ben replied with a stutter.
Kate held her hand outward toward Ben and he responded like a child to a mother and his composure softened.
Turning back toward the counter, Kate spoke, as I said, officer, we will pay for the damages and make sure this never happens again. Now may I please take Ben home?
Turning back toward Ben, Kate said, Ben, please apologize for the mess you made and then we can go home.
And after dinner, we will share a slice of Miss Margaret's pie. Come on now, Ben. Say you are sorry. Go on now, Ben.
Ben stuttered with his chin down to his chest in a low, slow voice. I'm sorry.
Please, officer, I'd like to take Ben home now. You are out of your goddamn mind. Maybe you spent too much time in that loony bin on the hilltop yourself, lady.
Now it ain't my fault if he picks you up and snaps you in two. Yeah? Grabbing the keys off the wall, waddling from out behind the counter, cautiously opening the cell door, making sure to stand behind its bars as Kate led Ben out.
Kate held him by the arm and Ben looked up at the officer hiding behind the cage door and gave him a grin, exposing the blackberry seeds in his teeth. The officer said nothing but widened his eyes in fear.
And walking out of the front door of the jail, Kate turned back and graciously bid the officer good day in a polite manner.
On the Main Street trolley, Big Ben sat ashamed. Kate sighed, his head down, her tiny arm wrapped around his massive bicep.
The two of them made an odd couple, her petite frame and his broad chest and purple stained chubby cheeks.
The other passengers looked on in amusement, with a tinge of fear, a few whispering and giggling.
But Kate responded as she always had, with the big beautiful smile her mother gave her.
During the night shift, a commotion outside the Bronson building grabbed Nurse Nancy's attention as she made her way back to her stool from the ladies room.
As she took a look out the window, Nancy was shocked to see a dozen or so wagons loaded up with good old country boys, a glow in the light of a bonfire.
She couldn't believe her eyes and thought to call the police until she noticed the Grandview Police Department in the forefront bearing torches.
Many of the good old boys were howling, drunk, waving torches of their own with angry dogs on chains as one man held a noose just before the doors of the Bronson building.
Quickly she ran to her desk, grabbed a key and locked the front door for the first time ever.
There had to have been close to a hundred men and boys, angry, chuckling amongst themselves and shouting obscenities.
Nurse Nancy phoned Nurse Kate's residence and awoke her to the news. Kate then fled barefoot to the Thompson building in the dark, where she in turn awoke the doctor in his pajamas.
The doctor gave Kate precise instructions, grabbed his coat and marched for the Bronson building.
Once he arrived, the violence had increased, rancid slurs thrown along with bottles and rocks through windows, along with a blazing torch intended to burn the place to ash.
Dr. Zola marched straight out of the darkness, right through the mob and up the steps where the Commissioner stood next to two officers, including one with a thick sweaty mustache.
What is the meaning of this Commissioner? asked the doctor.
Why good evening doctor, we know of a certain patient named Ben who escaped today and we are here to take him into our custody for aggravated assault.
We are not leaving without him said the Commissioner looking back at his mob.
That is just ludicrous. What are you talking about an assault? asked the doctor.
Well doctor, a woman was sexually assaulted in her own home near a particular diner that serves pie. A coincidence doctor or shall I say irony?
I assure you Commissioner, Ben did not sexually assault anyone.
Irony Commissioner is not that we have to protect the community from our patients, but that we find ourselves now having to lock our doors to protect our patients from the community.
Who are the madmen? I might ask you Commissioner. Those sleeping peacefully in their beds at this late hour, such as Ben or those prancing around in the dark with torches acting like a lynch mob.
You call this sane behavior Commissioner? Maybe you need a head exam. Shall we make you an appointment? Maybe for your friends as well?
The Commissioner looked back at the mob once more asking who these boys? These are the fine upstanding citizens of Grandview carrying out their rightful duty to protect their community.
Now let us in or we shall let ourselves in.
The two stood eye to eye, neither budging.
Well then, said the Commissioner, giving a nod to an axe wielding officer who walked up the steps and approached the door.
But just as the officer raised the axe above his head, the door swung wide open from within and there stood Nurse Kate with the candlestick telephone in hand.
Grinning from ear to ear in her nightgown. Good evening Commissioner, you have a call.
The Commissioner's eyes shrunk into a confused squint. You must think I'm a damn fool woman, said the Commissioner as he grabbed the telephone from her hand.
This is the Commissioner, to who do I speak? Your damn fool could be heard emanating from the telephone speaker for all to hear.
Governor, please let me explain, begged the Commissioner with a slight change in tone.
The sight of the Doctor's face must have been priceless as the Commissioner attempted to justify his actions over his stumbling words, over the Governor shouting, hogwash!
Kate tried not to giggle and with his head down, the Commissioner tried to hide behind the door, but the rage-filled voice on the other line could be heard by all.
The Commissioner nonetheless rattled on. Governor, Governor, I can explain, please sir.
As the line went dead, the Commissioner came out from behind the door with a ghostly vacant look in his eyes.
Deflated, half the size he had been only moments earlier as he handed the phone back to Kate.
And with it, the mammoth amount of power and authority he had thought to bestow.
And the Commissioner, with spines sloped inward and a powerless gait, stumbled down the stairs as though his legs were to give out under the weight of humiliation.
Now silent, torches in hand, the face of the confused mob was illuminated as they parted way for the Commissioner to pass.
We gonna get him or not? A good old boy with one missing tooth asked, breaking the awkward silence.
But the Commissioner carried on for his buggy, where his chauffeur awaited.
Smacking him on the back of the head, the Commissioner lashed out, shouting, what the hell are you waiting on? Let's go, god damn it!
And his henchmen muttered amongst themselves, utterly lost in the darkness as their blunted spearhead disappeared down the hillside.
Well who would like to go first? Asked the Doctor as he opened his palm, welcoming anyone willing to be examined into the Bronson building.
But the mob slowly backed away and then quickly made its way down the hilltop on the heels of the Commissioner, like a litter of lost puppies.
Nurse Nancy walked inside, saying, good lord almighty!
And Dr. Zola and Nurse Kate watched in silence as each torch was extinguished by the darkness of the night.
Kate looked over at the Doctor, the abandoned bonfire reflecting off his glasses, and she saw the most brilliant grin she had ever laid eyes upon.
The Gravediggers
The Gravediggers worked hard in those days, keeping up with the escalating death rate, as tuberculosis was depleting the population of the asylum about as fast as the patients arrived.
It was the number one killer, as approximately 95% of the patients carried one form of the disease or another.
The wards and the morgue were ceaselessly overflowing, and as each sick patient arrived the TB ward, they were made to first remove their clothes in the decontamination room, and the clothing was then bagged and taken to be burned in the furnace.
They were then given a combination of hot baths and cold water showers before being given a set of clothes and a bed.
They were also issued a set of red handkerchiefs, intended to more easily disguise any blood they may cough up.
And as not a soul is immune to God's hands of time, Fanny's cheeks flushed over once more, and a fever had arisen, along with a steady cough, only this time it was no ploy.
Fanny was truly sick, and she was returned to the TB ward.
And this time around, there would be no grand feasts of roast beef with au jus that would fatten her up and bring her back to life.
This time, Fanny's health deteriorated rapidly.
Book made sure to visit her bedside daily with flowers, and Nurse Kate became her most devoted nurse.
I regrettably was too heartbroken and angry to set eyes upon her again. I felt tainted and abandoned.
Though for the attendance, it was a touching sight to see Fanny's mysterious dark eyes glow illustrious, as not a nurse came away without a higher regard for their life's calling.
In the day that Fanny's troubled spirit was called home, everyone sensed a halo hovering over her deathbed, for she was surrounded with love.
As Fanny's coffin was lowered into its grave, Book removed his cap and used his left sleeve and then his right to wipe away the tears.
And then Book gave out to that customary whale.
But as he walked over to the magnificent graveyard elm and leaned against it, he gave into sobs that convulsed his frame more than ever before.
And everyone could see that mighty sorrow, and he walked away from the graveyard elm a different man.
As a part of Book had followed Fanny into the grave, and what was left of his soul retreated within himself.
The only exercise he took that day forth was digging graves and continuing to bear witness to every funeral thereafter.
Nurse Kate walked into the Bronson building some weeks later, and making her way down the hall to check the schedules, she spotted Jonesy sitting in his wheelchair and pushed back against the wall, where she first saw him so many years before.
Jonesy had his head down and was muttering to himself, his fingers drumming upon his kneecap, that usual rhythm.
Kate stopped and looked down at him, and Jonesy looked up at her with his distinct, toothless grin and those bright blue eyes.
And then he reached his liver-spotted hand outward, trembling with old age.
She remembered the doctor's warning from her first day on the hilltop,
I wouldn't touch Jonesy if I were you. But Nurse Kate reached out nonetheless, allowing him to place his hand upon hers.
And with a raspy laugh, Jonesy with his toothless grin muttered,
Tag, you're it.
The patient at bat had missed the ball, leaving the crowd booing as he swung out.
The weather was brilliant, a cloudless bright summer day, and everyone was having a good old time,
everyone but the poor old donkey that is, looking rather unamused.
The pitcher, a patient named Johnny, self-described as loon as a kook, always wore his pant legs tucked into his socks.
But Johnny was a good pitcher, he loved baseball. His breastbone was sunken in, the result of a blow from a baseball in his youth.
His voice was odd, as it affected his speech as he rambled on.
I ever tell you a story about that time I walked across the bottom of the Mississippi River all the way to Iowa?
I used a perfume bottle automizer filled with air, and I kept breathing that air to keep my oxygen.
I tell you, I ain't no butter and egg man from down home.
I'm as loon as a kook, but I can sure play ball and I can work, mostly running errands,
and they give me plenty of cigarettes, but I can pitch a mean ball.
Next at bat was a black man named Edward. He was a first baseman, but also a great hitter, never missing a ball.
Edward was out of touch with reality most of the time, talking to himself and making odd motions.
But whenever he made contact with the ball, it brought him right back to reality.
As Johnny tossed the ball into his glove, he stared with a severe gaze down the mound toward Edward, who appeared far off in another realm.
But as Johnny pitched the ball down the line, Edward swung the bat, and with a crack, the ball flew into the brilliant blue sky and the crowd cheered.
Maury, the left fielder, an epileptic who often had to take timeouts during the game when he had the occasional seizure,
raced alongside Roscoe, who was one of the nurse's favorites.
He played center field, as he was unable to distinguish his right hand from his left.
Otherwise, he appeared relatively normal, and everyone assumed he had had a stroke as a boy, as one side of his face was paralyzed.
He dragged his left foot as he ran after the ball, trying to catch it before Maury could.
They were always at odds with one another, and the two clumsily collided, letting the ball hit the ground.
That one was mine, Roscoe. Watch yourself, Maury. You're gonna seizure again.
Yo, jimp, get the hell out of my way next time. God damn it, Roscoe, that one was mine.
Grab the damn ball, then, will you, shithead?
Edward dropped the bat and jumped on the back of the donkey, and he managed to ride it for a few feet,
but the donkey wanted no part of it and bucked him off halfway to first base.
Nurse Kate clapped and elbowed Book, saying,
Hey, I bet you could really smack that ball, Book. Wanna try?
Book looked down with a sad face.
Look, I'll tell you what, if I try, you gotta try. Deal?
Book gave Kate a slight grin, and Kate jumped to her feet.
She walked up to the plate and picked up the bat, and Johnny pitched the ball.
Nurse Kate gave it a whack, and it bounced across the lawn,
but as she tried to get on the back of the donkey, air ran out from underneath her,
and everyone laughed as she hit the ground.
She got up and walked back over to Book with the bat in hand, and held it toward him, saying,
Okay, it's your turn. But Book shook his head no.
Deal's a deal.
And the crowd started to chant Book's name until he grinned and grabbed the bat,
and as he waited for the pitch, everyone continued to chant,
and when Book swung, he whacked the ball hard, real hard,
and it flew high over the heads of Murray and Roscoe, who were stunned and blinded by the sun,
and Book was startled as well, and everyone clapped and yelled,
Run, Book, run! Get on the donkey, Book!
Book ran to the donkey and jumped up on its back effortlessly,
and it slowly strolled toward first base, until the stubborn donkey bucked him off,
and he fell to the ground as well.
Everyone laughed and hollered and clapped, and Book, rolling back and forth in the grass, chuckled to himself.
It was a lovely sight to see, until something caught his eye.
Nurse Kate looked over and saw the hearse passing by,
just as Book jumped to his feet and began to run after him.
Book, wait! But Book kept running.
He chased the hearse as his old worn-out cap flew off behind him.
He ran and ran until his knees wobbled like noodles,
throwing one shoe before the other until his legs gave out,
and he tripped over his own feet, collapsing into the road.
He tried to get back up, but made it no further than his knees,
as he began to cough severely, as the hearse faded from view down the bluff.
Book gasped for air, coughing violently,
when suddenly a lungful of blood splattered to the ground,
just as Nurse Kate ran up to him with his cap in hand.
Book, it's just going to town!
Then noticing the blood, she dropped to her own knees beside him,
saying with a sigh,
Oh, Book.
Dr. Zola was sitting in solitude in the attic of the Bronson
when Nurse Kate crept up the stairs, not wanting to disturb him.
There you are, Doctor. Something told me you might be hiding up here.
Hiding? This is where all the spirits live. I'm not hiding. I'm communing.
It is a bit spooky up here indeed, said Nurse Kate,
looking around with a tinge of uneasiness at the dark corners.
Dr. Zola then asked,
Kate, did you know the limestone blocks used to build this building
came from the oldest quarry in the country,
an ancient quarry on the Mississippi used by the Illini for centuries?
I did not, she answered, and that it is believed by many that limestone particularly
has the special properties to carry spiritual energy,
and that the Indians revered the stone for that reason,
and that some, in fact, believe the stone itself attracts supernatural activity?
Doctor, I actually need to talk to you about something rather serious.
Hey, Book, how are you feeling today? asked Nurse Kate as Book looked up from his bed,
looking somewhat afraid, a deep sadness in his eye.
And all she could think to do was touch his flushed cheek.
Hello, my friend, said Dr. Zola as he entered a moment later.
Book kept his eyes down in utter humiliation,
strange figure in the distance.
He was a man of a few years,
and he was a man of a few years of experience.
Book kept his eyes down in utter humiliation,
and for a long moment, all three sat in silence.
Until the doctor said, Listen, Book, you've made us all proud here at the hilltop,
and this is not easy for me to say,
but now it is my responsibility to relieve you of burial duty.
And now, I'm going to ask you to take some rest.
Book squirmed uncomfortably at the news,
and a tear rolled down his cheek.
Nurse Kate grasped Book's hand, now quivering,
and Dr. Zola placed his own on top of the tomb,
and together as old friends, as family, they wept.
That evening, Nurse Kate pushed Book in his wheelchair to the exchange,
where the old clerk placed a few red handkerchiefs on the counter,
and with dread, refusing to take possession,
as though the act of touching them was in itself a death sentence.
The clerk wrote in his journal, A Manual Bookbinder,
six red handkerchiefs at five cents each.
He then gazed down at the untouched handkerchiefs, saying,
May God bless you, your son.
In the natural order of events,
it came Book's turn to be carried to the last resting place.
The news spread rapidly that Book had shed his last tear,
and through the quick process by which words pass amongst the hilltop,
it was agreed that all shall attend his funeral as one.
The hour was set for noon of a beautiful July day,
and Nurse Kate came to the farmhouse,
and asked if I would like to accompany her.
Book was my friend, and it was an impressive and heartwarming sight
to see the outpouring of love from so many.
More than a hundred nurses stood around the grave,
along with three hundred patients,
while Dr. Zola officiated in person.
Book's coffin rested upon two crossbeams over the open grave,
and four sturdy men, including Book's fellow gravediggers,
Hank and Charlie,
stood ready to man the ropes which the coffin,
a simple pine box, would be lowered.
At the doctor's nod, the men grasped the ropes,
stooped forward, and with a great muscular effort, heaved away.
And in an instant, all four men laid flat on their backs,
as the coffin soared into the air as if it were empty.
The nurses shrieked, and a wailing voice was heard amid the commotion,
and every eye turned toward the graveyard elm
from where it had emanated.
Every man and woman stood transfixed, for there stood Book before all,
weeping with a sorrowful intensity that out-rivaled anything he had ever shown before.
I stood frozen with shock at the sight, though it could not be mistaken.
It was the same old Book, the same old cloth cap,
the same old handkerchief around his neck,
the same demeanor with which everyone was familiar,
every nurse who was at his bedside when he was sick and dying,
the undertaker who had embalmed his body,
the pallbearers who had carried the heavy coffin from the hearse
and placed it over the grave.
Everyone watched as there, in plain sight, in broad daylight,
stood Old Book.
No one moved, no one spoke, as a paralytic fear overcame everyone.
Quick, open the coffin, ordered Dr. Zola,
and Hank's hand trembled as he loosened the screws of the lid.
I stepped forward, as did many, and just as the lid was lifted,
the wailing ceased, and there he lay, Bookbinder, cold in death,
his calm hands folded across his chest,
and every wandering eye back over to the graveyard elm,
at the leaves whispering in the breeze.
Following the funeral, Dr. Zola returned to his office,
where he wrote in his journal,
Now that Book is in the hands of God,
will these memories that haunt me perish as well,
or will they continue to haunt for a hundred years from now,
long after he is gone and forgotten?
I returned home confounded and perplexed.
I plopped down on the front steps, dropping my chin in my palms,
and chewed on my bottom lip.
I sat in stillness, shaking the head, shaking the hands,
slapping the face, pulling the hair, sticking the tongue,
shaking the finger, clapping the hands, hugging the self,
singing to the self, crying, lying, and laughing.
I sat in silence, the soles of my shiny black shoes,
together in prayer.
I watched as the patients in the distance plucked the petals off the flowers one by one,
and the breeze blew, ruffling a crow's feathers as it lurked about in search of a worm on the lawn before me.
Our eyes met, mine bright and hazel, his the dark night of the soul.
I thought to split his tongue as I asked,
What's to be saying in the garden of madness?
But Sam, you snapped a photo of me with your one dollar brownie camera,
and the crow flew away without a word ever spoken,
only written on paper in a world consumed by fire.
I awoke to a loud clap of thunder on a sunny day,
and a breeze blowing through the curtain whispering in my ear,
laying upon my cool mattress,
legs crossed, eyes shut, I simply listened to the beat of my heart,
as the lonely cat's cry of the night had been replaced by songbirds,
as the rooster's crow, a barking dog, and from afar the whistle of a train.
I thought of days when the squeaking brakes of trucks delivered warm bread across the helltop,
but in time came a deafening silence,
a loneliness of unparalleled solitude.
But I'd come to accept my fate, my endless hunger,
as I inhaled all I knew of the world around me,
and exhaling I let it all go,
and when I opened my eyes to see the spider in the corner drop down not once,
but three times, I knew I'd die in the same old farmhouse I was born.
I stood and walked to the window, and just as I had over the years,
I watched the honking geese on their great migration,
as the dear old river flows onward,
never revealing the reasons it swallowed whom or what it had,
carrying secrets off to the sea.
And now as I pop the cap and spill the whole damn bottle down my throat,
red ones round, I look out across the hilltop for the graveyard elm,
and I know, Sam, swooping down upon the bluff will always blow a wild wind,
for the beginning is but the end.
Music
Yelling