The Madman - Страница 75

This question seemingly did not require an answer.

He stood up. "You will need to tell Doctor Gulptilil of your decision promptly, Peter. We, of course, will not demand you to make it on the spot. I'm sure there is much for you to think about. But it is a fine offer, Peter, and one that will bring much good out of this terrible series of circumstances."

Peter rose, as well. He looked over at Doctor Gulptilil. The round Indian physician had kept his mouth shut throughout the conversation. The doctor gestured toward the door, and finally said, "Peter, you may ask Mister Moses to escort you back to Amherst. Perhaps he can do this without the restraints at this time."

Peter took a step back, and the doctor added, "Ah, Peter, when you reach what is so clearly the only possible decision on this matter, simply inform Mister Evans that you wish to speak with me, and then we will get the necessary paperwork for your transfer in order."

Father Grozdik seemed to stiffen slightly, as he stood beside the doctor, behind the desk. He shook his head. "Perhaps," he said cautiously, "Doctor, we could have Peter deal only with you on this matter. In particular, I believe that Mister Evans, your associate, should not be, shall we say, involved in any way, shape, or form."

Gulp-a-pill looked oddly at the priest, who added, by way of explanation, "It was his brother, Doctor, who was one of the men injured running into the church in a vain attempt to rescue Father Connolly. Evans's brother is still in the midst of long-term, and' considerably painful therapy for burns received that tragic night. I fear your associate might harbor some animosity toward Peter."

Peter hesitated, thought about one, two, perhaps a dozen responses, but said none of them. He nodded toward the Cardinal, who nodded back, but without a smile, the priest's florid face set in an edge, which told Peter that he was walking on a very thin and desperately narrow precipice.

The ground floor corridor in the Amherst Building was crowded with patients. There was a buzz in the hallway, as people spoke to one another or to themselves. It was only when something out of the routine took place that people grew silent, or else made untethered noises that could have been speech. Any change was always dangerous, Francis thought. It frightened him to realize he was growing accustomed to existence at Western State. A sane person, he told himself, accommodates change and welcomes originality. He promised himself to embrace every different thing that he could, to fight off the dependence upon routine. Even his voices echoed agreement within him, as if they, too, could see the dangers in becoming just another face in the hallway.

But, as he told himself this, there was a sudden silence in the corridor. Noise dropped away like a receding wave at the beach. When Francis looked up, he saw the reason: Little Black was leading three men through the center of the hallway toward the first-floor dormitory room. Francis recognized the hulking retarded man, who easily carried a footlocker in both arms, and had a large Raggedy Andy doll stuck under his armpit. The man sported a contusion on his forehead and a slightly swollen lip, but wore a skewed smile, which he delivered to anyone who met his gaze. He grunted, as if making greetings, as he trotted behind Little Black.

The second man was slight, and significantly older, with glasses and thin, wispy white hair. He seemed to be light on his feet, like a dancer, and Francis watched him pirouette down the corridor as if the gathering there was a part of a ballet. The third man was dull-lidded, a little shy of middle age, a little beyond youth, wide in the shoulders, dark-haired and stocky. He plodded forward, as if it was a struggle to keep up with either the retarded man or the

Dancer. A Cato, Francis thought at first. Or else damn close to it. But then, when he looked a little closer, he saw the man's black eyes moving furtively back and forth, inspecting the sea of patients parting in front of Little Black's procession. Francis saw the man's eyes narrow, as if what he saw displeased him, and an edge of his mouth turned upward in a doglike snarl. Francis immediately altered his diagnosis, and recognized a man that deserved a wide berth. He carried a brown cardboard box with his meager belongings.

Francis saw Lucy emerge from the office and stand watching the group move toward the dormitory. He caught Little Black's slight nod of his head in her direction, as if to signal her that the disruption that she'd set in motion had succeeded. A disruption that had necessitated the moving of several men from one dormitory to another.

Lucy moved to Francis and whispered to him quickly. "C-Bird, tag along there, and see that our guy gets into a bunk where you and Peter can keep an eye on him."

Francis nodded, wanted to say that the retarded man wasn't the man they should be watching, but did not. Instead, Francis peeled himself from the wall and moved down the hallway, which returned to a busy buzz and muted talk as he passed.

He saw Cleo poised near the nursing station, her eyes locked on each of the men as they ambled past her. Francis could see the large woman's mind working, her brow furrowed in examination, one hand lifted, pointing as the three men sailed down the hallway. It seemed to him that she was measuring, and suddenly, in a loud, near-frantic voice, Cleo shouted out: "You're not welcome here! None of you are!"

But none of the men turned, or broke stride, or showed for a second that they heard or understood anything Cleo said.

She harumphed loudly and made a dismissive gesture with her hand. Francis hurried past her, trying to keep up with Little Black's quick march.

When he entered the dormitory, he saw that the retarded man was being situated in Lanky's old bunk, while the others were being moved into spaces not far from the wall. He watched as Little Black oversaw making the beds and stowing the belongings, and then took the men on the short tour, which consisted of pointing out the bathroom, the poster of hospital rules that Francis imagined were the same as the dormitory they had been transferred from and informing them that dinner would begin within a few minutes. Then he shrugged and headed out, pausing only to say to Francis, "Tell Miss Jones that there was a helluva fight over in Williams. The guy she pissed off, went right for the big guy there. It took a couple of attendants to pull him off, and the other two kinda got caught up in it by accident. The other son of a bitch is gonna do a couple of days in a detention and observation cell. Probably gonna get a whole lot shot into him to calm his butt down, too. Let her know it worked out pretty much like she thought it would, except that everyone over in Williams is strung out and upset and it's likely to take a couple of days for everything to settle down over there."

Then Little Black pushed through the door, and left him alone with the three new men.

Francis watched as the large retarded man sat on the edge of the bed and gave his doll a hug. Then he began to rock back and forth, with a little half grin on his face, as if he was slowly assessing his new surroundings. The Dancer did a little spin, and then went over to the barred window and simply stared out at what remained of the afternoon.

But the third man, the stocky one, spied Francis and seemed to stiffen instantly. For a second, he recoiled. Then he rose up and pointed accusingly at Francis and stepped quickly across the floor, dodging the beds, and right up into Francis's face. He was hissing with rage. "You must be the one," the man spat, his voice barely a whisper, but filled with an awful low noise of anger. "You must be the one! You're the one that's looking for me, aren't you?" Francis did not reply, but pushed himself back tight to the wall. The man lifted a fist and held it beneath Francis's jaw. His eyes flashed fury but it was contradicted by the snakelike sound of his voice, words that filled the space around them like a rattler's warning sound.

"Because I'm the one you're looking for." He sliced words from the air.

Then, with a nonchalant smile, he pushed past Francis and out the door into the hallway.

Chapter 22

But I knew, didn't I?

Perhaps not right at that moment, but soon enough. At first, I was still taken aback, surprised by the vehemence of the admission thrust in my face. I could feel a quiver within me, and all of the voices shouted out warnings and misgivings, contradictory impulses to hide, to follow, but mostly to pay attention to what I understood. Which was of course, that it didn't make sense. Why would the Angel simply walk directly up to me and confess his presence, when he had done so much to conceal who he was? And, if the stocky man wasn't really the Angel, why had he said what he did?