Jump City: Apprentice Page 29

  Her reply startled me, though I was unable to sit up.

  “Um… Sand City?”

  Nurse Elsie laughed. “Fair Oaks, really… Oh, Sand City... That’s a silly name. I’ll never get used to it, I don’t think.” She paused and looked me over carefully. “Still, that’ll make Doctor Valenti happy.”

  “Doctor Valenti?”

  “Lay back. Don’t try to get up yet.” She pushed me down gently. “He says you’ll pull through.”

  “Uh-oh,” I said almost automatically and felt a sharp pang of uneasiness shoot through me.

  “What do you mean, uh-oh?”

  “Tell me about Doctor Valenti.”

  “What’s to tell? He’s the nicest fella in the world, and a wonderful doctor.” She smiled.

  “Really? What’s he look like?”

  “He’ll be here first thing in the morning. You can see for yourself. Just get some sleep, alright, Mr Jardel?” she said in her musical voice.

  Valenti… that name struck fear in my heart. Mortimer…

  Nurse Elsie seemed to see it on my face. “Something bothering you?”

  “No, not really. What day is it?”

  “That’s supposed to be my question.”

  “Your question?”

  “That’s right,” she said pleasantly and tucked the corners of the sheet around my chest. “Let’s see, I have a whole list of questions for you. Can you tell me what day it is?”

  “Wednesday, I hope...”

  She giggled slightly. “No, it’s Thursday, though that might not be a fair question since you’ve been drifting in and out, delirious for the last day or two…”

  “Really?” I paused. “What month is it?” I asked. Elsie gave me such an odd look, filled with sad compassion.

  “That’s not a good question, but it’s August. How about I do the asking?”

  “Sure.”

  “Who is the President of the United States?”

  “Um, Hoover?”

  “No, silly.”

  “Roosevelt,” I said with assuredness.

  A dark expression crossed Elsie’s face. “No… it’s John Garner.”

  “Who?”

  “John Nance Garner…” She looked at me. “You’ve never heard of Cactus Jack?”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. Just don’t let Doctor Valenti hear you say that.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’ll keep you here for months, or worse, he’ll turn you over to Professor Mallinger.”

  “Mallinger?”

  “He’s not here, so you’re safe for now.”

  “For now… is he coming back?”

  “Eventually, I suppose. Consider yourself lucky, you’ll be gone long before then.” She fiddled with the hem of my sheet, straightening it, patting it down, folding and refolding it idly. She caught me gazing at her.

  “I do remember something…”

  “What?”

  “A familiar song, someone singing… Was that you?”

  “It may have been, though I would call it humming.” Elsie smiled coyly.

  “Well, she had a beautiful voice.”

  “Why thank you.”

  “What song was it?

  “I don’t know… just something the Doctor plays. It sort of stuck in my head.”

  “The Doctor?”

  “Sure, Doctor Valenti… he’s also quite a musician.”

  “Really?”

  “He plays in a jazz band— piano— he’s very talented.”

  I had a difficult time imagining Mortimer sitting at a piano, rocking with some jazz combo.

  “I’m going to cause you some pain now, Mr Patrick.”

  “Why is that?”

  “We have to change your dressings,” Elsie said and gently started to unwrap the bandage on my leg. “You’re quite battered and bruised.”

  My leg was dotted with numerous cuts and scrapes, each dressed with an angry red. Nine stitches crossed my thigh. I was a bit squeamish about seeing my own wounds. “What’s that?”

  “Iodine…. This might sting a little,” Elsie said and dabbed my cuts. I winced involuntarily. Next she checked my arm and then unwrapped the bandages on my head. “I’m happy to say the bleeding has completely stopped. It’s healing nicely. Hardly swollen at all.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Very good. No one likes a swollen head.”

  I laughed at this but then grimaced in pain.

  “Let’s take a look at the rest of you.”

  It was easy to see my torso was bruised, right along two or three ribs there was an unsightly yellow-green color below the skin.

  “Can you take a deep breath?”

  “Not really… and laughing still hurts. I’m praying that I don’t have to sneeze.”

  “Well, overall everything looks good, Mr Jardel. No sign of infection.” She paused and gave me her special smile. “I’ll have to look at your ankle now.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “I’ll make that decision. Let’s see how it is.”

  Nurse Elsie concentrated on unwrapping my bandages and it gave me the chance to gaze at her again. She caught me though and maybe even blushed.

  “What? Why are you staring at my head?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are, and it’s not the first time.” She laughed nervously. “Don’t you like my perm?”

  “No… it’s just your green eyes and red hair… quite a contrast.”

  “Well, it does sound strange when you say it like that.” Elsie giggled.

  “Why am I all alone here?”

  “Alone where? I’m here with you.”

  “That’s not what I mean… I mean in the hospital.”

  “You mean this ward.” Elsie smiled. “The other wards are chock full of patients. You, Mr Jardel, don’t happen to be contagious… at least not in the true sense of the word.”

  “So, there are other people here?”

  “Of course. Other patients, doctors, staff…”

  “Are they contagious too?”

  “Upstairs we have quite a few cases of scarlet fever… and an entire ward devoted to TB.”

  “I’d rather be here… alone… with you.”

  “I’m very flattered… You still haven’t told me how you’re feeling.”

  “Oh, aside from the pain, I would say hungry.”

  “Hungry, eh? That’s always a good sign. Strictly speaking, you slept through dinner. Hmm, the kitchen’s probably closed by now. I wonder? Maybe I could talk to one of the twins.”

  “The twins?” I asked too sharply.

  Elsie seemed startled. “Victor and Vernon… they work in the kitchen.” She eyed me. “Do you know them or something?”

  “No… don’t know them at all. Just something about twins… it triggered a memory for me.”

  “So your memories are starting to come back then?”

  “I guess.”

  “Would you like to talk or would you like to eat?”

  I laughed. “Eat.”

  “You lay quietly. I’ll go see what I can find.”

  “That newspaper,” I asked, glancing to the bedside table. “Can I look at it now?”

  “Of course,” Elsie said and handed it to me, then left for the door. “I’ll be back as quick as a wink.”

  I unfolded the pages and read the masthead: The Fair Oaks Chronicle. The top headline reported, Fire Consumes Library. I read on, to find out the town’s only library on Chambers Street burned to its foundation last week, despite the best efforts of the Fair Oaks volunteer fire department. Firefighters as far afield as Oldham failed to extinguish the blaze that began in the early hours of Sunday last. Pursuant to further investigation, arson could not be ruled out.

  The second headline announced that the Annual Clambake Jamboree would have to move its venue, from Valmont Park to South Beach, a seemingly more appropriate location. Another headline was about Partners. The Baxter and Marchand Maritime Insurance Company whi
ch had ceased operations in March was slated to reopen as a saloon come October, to coincide with the expected repeal of the Volstead Act.

  I also perused the letters to the editor, most of them complaining about how no banks were left open in Fair Oaks. By far though, coming off the gold standard seemed to be an especially big deal. County Commissioner Mears was quoted as saying, “Gold is gold and we want it back.”

  I gleaned as many scraps of information as I could from the spider Chronicle but all concerns were local, especially on the Op-Ed page. On closer examination of the bylines, it looked like the whole paper was written by the same person. All the editorials were by Carter Woods, with a standing head: Carter Comments. I read one piece about the New Deal:

  With rumors of another march on the nations’ capitol, one has to wonder about the New Deal which was promised… What is this New Deal? No one will say. Not one politician in Washington will tell us. Is it a return to the gold standard? That hardly seems likely, or necessary to the common man. Is it a promise of employment? Massive public works? Food for the hungry? Or is it more sinister? A change in our style of government, the end of democracy as we know it…

  Elsie returned with a tray of food: Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans, though green was an exaggeration.

  “Are you a righty or a lefty?” she asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m wondering if you can feed yourself?” She looked over at my arm in the sling.

  “Oh… I think I can manage, thanks.”

  “I’ll stand by with a napkin at least.”

  Feeding myself was more of a challenge than I had anticipated. Elsie was more than a help and eventually sat next to me on the bed. I could tell she was dying to chat, but I didn’t know how to get her started.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Elsie, thank you. I’d hate to be all alone.”

  “Well, you won’t be for long.”

  “Why not?”

  “Let’s just say, you’re a popular fella.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a whole list of people just waiting to talk to you.”

  “Really? Like who?”

  “Don’t you worry about that. Doctor Valenti isn’t letting a soul near you till you’re feeling better.”

  “Then what?”

  Elsie looked at me surprised. “Then what?” she repeated.

  “My visitors…”

  Elsie laughed, “Well, then they’d have to get past Greta.”

  “Greta?”

  “At the front desk… our head nurse and gatekeeper.”

  “Elsie, who wants to see me?” I asked as directly as I could.

  “Oh... Well, there’s that policeman—”

  “What policeman?” I asked, immediately bringing Fynn to mind. “Is he a friend of mine?”

  “A friend of yours?” Elsie asked.

  “I’m supposed to meet someone here… a detective.”

  “Hmm. Well, he’s a sheriff, not really a detective, I’d say.”

  “What does he want?”

  “He wants to ask you questions.”

  “About what?”

  “Who are you? Where did you come from? What are you doing here?”

  “Oh… sure.”

  Elsie smiled patiently. “Come to think of it, I probably have the exact same questions as him.” She patted me on the shoulder. “The strangest thing, Mr Patrick, somehow I feel like we’ve met before. I can’t think how or when…” She laughed, maybe a bit nervously.

  ***

  Sometime in the middle of the night or maybe very early in the morning, I was roused by a ruckus. My darkness was interrupted by a bright light in the hallway. And moments later a new patient was wheeled past. I could hear him moaning and struggling, complaining, it seemed to me. The attendants lowered him into a bed close to mine. Someone raised a hypodermic needle and tapped it with a finger. They injected the new patient with something though it didn’t seem to have any effect, at least the man was still muttering loudly.

  The parade of hospital staff left as quickly as they had arrived and Elsie did not seem to be among them. One of the attendants though was surely a giant. He towered over the others by at least two feet. It was too dark to get a good look at his face, but I noticed a crescent-shaped scar high on his forehead.

  Half an hour later, my new hospital mate started moaning again. “Water!” the man shouted from his bed. “Water, please…” he called out in a raspy whisper.

  I struggled from my bed and hopped over the best I could manage. There was a carafe on his bedside table and I poured a glass of water for the new patient. He drank deeply, then lay back. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  I said nothing for the moment but sat in the nearby chair. He seemed somewhat familiar; I had seen a spongy face like his before.

  “I’m… ah… Smith… Percy Smith,” he introduced himself a bit too hesitantly.

  “I’m Patrick. Are you alright?”

  “I’m better now.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you know FDR?”

  “Know him?” The man seemed perplexed by my question. “I voted for him, if that’s what you mean?”

  “Well, where is he?”

  Smith eyed me uneasily. I let go of his sleeve. I hadn’t even noticed how hard I was pulling.

  “Sorry… I hit my head and I guess I have some kind of amnesia… I can’t remember certain things that happened.”

  Smith gave me a sympathetic smile. “Amnesia, you say? Well, that’s rather convenient for you. Hmm, must try to remember that trick.”

  “It’s no trick. I really can’t remember.”

  “Alright, ask away then.”

  “Roosevelt?”

  “He was assassinated.”

  I tried not to react to Smith’s statement and he continued, “The vice president took over, that fellow Garner, Cactus Jack. Since then, all hell has broken loose. The borders are closed, probably see martial law before the month’s out… and, I suppose the two armies will be at each other’s throats any day now.”

  “Armies? What armies?”

  “The Bonus bastards.”

  “Who?”

  “The veterans, the VFW, or the American Legion. Take your pick. I hear they’re going to march on Washington again.”

  “What about this guy, Garner?”

  “Well meaning, I’d say, but a complete incompetent. He’s done nothing for months. He’s opened no banks, employed no one, changed no policies... we are on the verge of collapse.”

  “Collapse? What do you mean?”

  “As a nation. Something has to be done, something drastic.”

  We both turned when a light came on at the far end of the room. A voice called out and someone came rushing towards us.

  “What on earth do you think you’re doing, Mr Jardel? You should not be out of bed.”

  “Sorry, I was just helping Mr… Smith here. He was parched.”

  “I’m sure he’s had more than enough to drink already.”

  “Don’t be alarmed, I’m in here every month or so. Terrible gout.”

  “Shush now…” Elsie admonished. “Both of you…”

  “Here, take this…” Smith said and reached for a cane that was leaning against the bedside table. “You need it more than me. I doubt you’ll make it back without it.”

  With the help of the cane and Elsie’s support, I hobbled back to bed.

  * * *

  chapter twenty-one

  doctor doctor

  I’m sure it was early the next morning when I woke to hear someone saying: “A well-nourished male, approximately thirty years old, seemingly in good health other than his recent injuries.”

  I opened my eyes to see a stiff shirt collar, then a purple-patterned silk tie, a formal vest and a stethoscope— all under a traditional white lab coat. They belonged to a pleasant little man with a jovial smile who was in his mid-forties. He stood dire
ctly at my bedside and was holding a gold watch. His other hand held me by the wrist, presumably checking my pulse.

  He stood just over five feet tall and seemed a bit roly-poly, though underneath the lab coat I could see a well-tailored suit. He was bald; the only hair apparent anywhere was a fringe cut short and sharp at the sides, also, dark eyebrows, and a pencil thin mustache that fit perfectly across his upper lip. He had a decidedly pear-shaped face with wide jowls that tapered off to a rather pointy head, though it was a kind, expressive face, immediately likable.

  “Good morning,” I managed to say.

  He seemed surprised that I was awake but gave me a comforting nod. “Well then, how are you feeling today?” the doctor asked and picked up a clipboard from the bottom of the bed, “Ah… Mr Jardel— excellent, you have a name this morning. I feared for the worst.”

  “The worst?”

  “A traumatic injury such as yours, a concussion… the worst might be some minor brain damage, or amnesia perhaps.”

  “That explains a lot,” I said under my breath.

  “I see you’ve passed your concussive questions with flying colors…”

  I glanced over at the doctor’s assistant. She did not seem to match, being rather taller and quite sullen; certainly, she did not possess his sunny disposition. She wore a uniform like Elsie but there the similarity ended. This nurse had a dour expression and an odd lifeless gaze.

  “You’re Doctor Valenti?” I asked, surprised and greatly relieved.

  “Indeed I am,” he replied and turned towards me again. “You were expecting someone else?”

  “Ah, no… not really.” I smelled smoke, not something randomly burning, rather, something burning intentionally, like tobacco, and not something I expected. “Wait, is this really a hospital?”

  Valenti glanced at me sharply.

  “Seems like a weird place to be smoking.”

  “Oh, can I offer you one?” he asked and held out a silver cigarette case.

  “No thanks. Can’t be the best idea for your patients.”

  “I can’t smoke upstairs,” the doctor said. “I do apologize if it bothers you.”

  “Upstairs?”

  “The TB ward.” Valenti snubbed out his cigarette. “How is the pain this morning, Mr Jardel?”

  “Better.”

  “Would you like another bromide?”