Write me a Letter

good news; not only because of the astronomical hospital expenses he was running up, but if he had a legitimate Henry C. Clam Blue Cross card, it was odds on he had several other legitimate Henry C. Clam IDs, driving licenses, plastics, and so on. Thus he was well covered from the prying eyes of suspicious lieutenants who wanted to know why. And wherefore.
    About an hour later a different orderly this time, accompanied by a marginally less Gorgon of a nurse, came into our ward and vanished behind the curtains around bed number three. Various noises ensued. The curtains opened. Orderly and nurse wheeled out the bed and whoever was in it most smartly. Swish and he was gone. Nice try, Lieutenant, I thought. Now we’re supposed to think it’s all clear, now we’ll spill all the beans about what really happened. Childish, really.
    Actually, when Benny woke up later, we hardly talked at all. He opened his mouth once to let the nurse take his temperature, once to take the pills she gave him, and once to ask me to please avoid mentioning any gory medical details when his wife came back as she was not very strong and he didn’t want her any more upset than she already was. I told him, naturally, of course, not to worry, go back to sleep.
    And when his wife did show up, it would have been about five-thirty, I had to agree with him, she didn’t look strong, poor wee mite. She was thin, and only about five feet tall. Her cheeks were reddened, as if she’d been crying. She had a floppy sun hat on her head, a baggy print dress, and on her lower limbs white socks that sagged and tennis shoes that bulged. Mrs. Chippewa Falls to the teeth, also known as Sara Silvetti, champion nerd.
    ”Did my baby miss me?” she said in some sort of cloying accent as she passed my bed without even looking at me. I gritted my teeth and pulled the sheet up right over my head.
    ”Let me give my poor baby a big kiss. There! That’ll make it well in no time.” Please avoid mentioning any gory details, eh, Benny? Not strong, your little wifie, eh?
    ”And who’s your new roomie, honey?” she said after a while. ”You haven’t introduced us, you bad boy.”
    He introduced us, in his croak.
    ”Martha, Mr. Victor Daniel. Mr. Daniel, Mrs. Martha C. Clam.”
    ”Charmed, I’m sure,” she said, coming over to my bed and pulling one corner of the sheet down. She tucked something under my pillow while I muttered some sort of greeting. Then, mercifully, she went back to pester her poor baby. She held his hand. She wiped his face with a tissue. She held up the glass of water with the bent glass straw in it so he could take a sip. She wanted to know if he wanted her to read to him. Did he want a telly yet, or how about a radio? Everything was fine back home, she’d telephoned Daddy and he’d driven past their house to see that everything was all right. Bobby was fine and behaving himself, he only made a mess once and that was in the kitchen. On and on she went. Did he need anything. Did he want anything, any little thing. Then she made her one mistake, she asked me if I needed anything from the great outdoors. Did I ever.
    ”One pastrami on rye,” I said. ”One chicken liver on white.”
    ”Wait till I get a pencil,” she squealed. ”OK.”
    ”One order potato salad. One tub pickles. One plain cheesecake. Two honey donuts. Two ginger ales.”
    ”That all?” she said sarcastically.
    ”Maybe a butterscotch sundae, two scoops.” I said. I gave her the name and address of the deli that was printed on the cup of chicken soup Evonne had brought me. ”If you don’t mind getting my wallet for me, it’s in my bag under the table there, I don’t know if I can bend over that far. It’s my back, you see. Sort of fell on it.”
    ”Oh you poor thing,” she said. ”Henry put his back out once, didn’t you, dear. He was taking things out of the dryer and it went, just like that.”
    ”Tsk, tsk,” I said.
    ”Back in a jiffy, dear,” she said. ”Sure you don’t need anything? Maybe a little surprise from your honey?”
    He shook his head weakly.
    She said, ”Toodle-oo, then,” and flitted to the door and out. Swish. I retrieved what she had hidden under my pillow. It was a large envelope. Inside was the following poetical masterpiece:

    April 13.

    Confidential Report No. 18.

    From: Special Agent SS.

    To: V.D. (Ha-ha)
    i feel like a punctured condom
    laying on a shopping mall floor
    used once discarded with a greasy plop
    trampled on