Chapter 6
There were two beds in the room at St. Francis. Mine was closer to the bathroom so I didn’t have to walk as far. They wouldn’t put anyone else with me, not until my wounds healed enough that the doctor wasn’t worried about infections. After that I had several different roommates. I was almost ready to go home when I met the old man.
He was thin and pale, but really friendly. His accent was a little hard to understand; he was clearly from up north. He introduced himself as Stan, and asked all about me and my family. I answered his questions, but didn’t volunteer anything.
“Youse dat hero kit, yah?”
“I’m not a hero. I wish people would stop saying that.”
“Yah, no, you cheat Det, I tink. Not youse time yet, kit.”
“Why are you here, Stan?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“M’heart, it gone bad.”
“Oh. I hope you get better.”
“Don’t suspect to. Dat ole ticker, it ‘bout done.”
“Can you get a transplant or something?”
“I tell yah, dis ole guy, I nin’y-five years ole. Be a shame t’waste dat good heart, yah?” He waved his hand. “Put tin a yunker guy. It should make more good use ah dah ting, eh?”
“So you’re going to die?”
“Yah, sure. Ev’ry ting dat live godda die. Sore youse, but dats long, long time from now. Dis ole guy jess gettin’ roun’ twit, yah?” He grinned. “Besides, Det all irked up, yah know? I cheated Det so many time, now it feel bad, eh? Stan keep winnin’, in Det, it get mad.” His grin turned to a full smile. “So mebbie once I let Det win, juss dis one time. Det say dats all it ever axed, eh?”
“How long?”
“Fur eternity, I speck. Oh, yah mean till I goes?” He shrugged. “Oh, a day or mebbie two. Soon enough, sure, eh?” I hoped he didn’t die while I was in the room.
Neither of us could sleep.
“Dis no place to, git no rest, eh? An hour never go by dis place but people pokin’, injectin’, or measurin’ suptin. No place tah be sick needer. But I like seein’ dah cute nurses, huh? Hey kit, you like girls yet?”
“Just one,” I admitted, “I’m going to marry her.”
He got a good laugh out of that. “Yah, dat’s one good kit, okay. What it like, dis yunk lady you engaged to?”
“Perfect.”
He shook his head.
“It ain’t perfick, kit. Maybe yah lookin’, an’ seeing what ain’t dare.”
“I don’t think so, Stan. She’s impatient, opinionated, and stubborn. You don’t want to get her mad, either. But I love those parts of her, too, even if it makes her a pain sometimes.”
“Dat’s good, kit. Dat’s duh ting bout luff. Dares no pickin’ an’ choosin’ – a man gotta luff the whole packich.”
“Yeah, I love the whole package.”
“So, dis nice yunk lady a pretty girl?”
“Very.”
“Yah, I becha. It like yah back?”
“Yeah.”
“Dots a good ting, yah? House dis girl’s daddy? Poppa like you, too?”
“That’s complicated.”
“You know what it mean a guy say dat?” He pointed a pale, boney finger at me. “It mean dat guy, he in big, deep trupple.” His smile faded. “Sorry ‘boutcher mudder. It hard to loose one yah luff.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Loss the wife twen’y yearse ago an still miss de ol’ girl.”
“Hey, Stan? My voice’s tired. Tell me more about your wife, and I’ll just listen for a while, okay?”
He told me about his wife and his kids, all gone now, just a few grandkids. The lilt of his voice was soothing. I didn’t care what he talked about, so he just talked. He told me about some of the things he’d done in his life.
Stan flew a reconnaissance plane in France during the Great War, with his best friend Olie as the photographer. One time Stan was wounded, but managed to land anyway. It was only afterward that he learned Olie had been killed just a few inches away. Since then, Stan had climbed mountains, raised a family, and built houses, but he had always missed his friend.
“Yah, it gonna be good tah see dat guy again. Olie gonna be mad it me, dough. Promised if it go firs, I learn up its guitar, but I didn’t never try. It been in dah clossit all dis time, huh?”
“I’d like to learn guitar someday.”
“Dats what ol’ Stan says, yah? Someday. Dat sayin’s da true stuff, a man only regret what it never do. Don’t be frayed tah do any-tin, an’ youse be one happy kit.”