“Now what were we talking about, doctor?” he asked, languid, the words coming out of his mouth like bubbles from a toy pipe.
“We were just finishing, Barney,” the Handyman said. “I had been saying how well you performed during the test.”
Barney remembered now, played back in his mind what the Handyman had been saying about erasing tape, his memory like a tape being erased. But it didn’t matter, really, nothing mattered as he remained in the chair, but not completely in the chair because part of him was floating beautifully and languorously somewhere else. Crazy, of course, but he let that other part of himself float away if it wanted to.
Later, when he had returned to his room, he bent over to take off his slippers and he was in the car again, behind the wheel, the wet street slanting before him, the cobblestones glistening with pelting rain, windshield wipers slapping back and forth, the motor roaring in his ears, lights flashing, horn blowing, louder than before, louder than ever, and then that figure stepping off the curb as the car approached and he pressed the brake pedal but nothing happened, the car would not stop, was gathering speed until …
He found himself face down on the bed, clinging to the pillow, gritting his teeth, tears running down his cheeks, his hands aching from holding the steering wheel so tightly, fingers singing with pain from clutching the wheel.
He stayed that way until sleep finally came with enfolding arms and his mother’s face passed before his eyes just before he trickled off into sleep like rain sluicing off a sloping roof.
10
“YOU have a visitor.”
Barney looked at Bascam in surprise, testing her words, stalling before making a response, adjusting himself to the morning light that filtered through the slats of the Venetian blinds. He dimly remembered falling asleep the night before after the nightmare of the car—he would definitely speak to the Handyman about it today—but remembered nothing else. The digital clock said it was 8:45. Late for him.
“Who is it?” Barney asked, knowing visitors were not allowed here, although an exception had been made for Mazzo. Another exception seemed unlikely. Especially for him.
Bascam managed a dim smile. A feat for her.
“You’ll see,” she said.
Barney was mystified and a bit apprehensive as he followed Bascam down the corridor, which was quiet and hushed in the morning hours when wasted bodies were preparing for another day.
“Is it an emergency?” he asked.
“Not an emergency,” she answered.
Who could it be? He wasn’t like Mazzo, had no mother out there or a sister like Cassie. Tempo, rhythm, he told himself.
“Is it bad news?” he asked, trying to keep up with Bascam’s brisk stride.
“Depends what you mean by bad news,” Bascam answered glancing briefly over her shoulder. Poker-faced as usual, impossible to tell whether she was serious or not.
Bascam left him at the end of the corridor without another word. Barney walked toward the reception room near the exit to Section 12. He nodded at Old Cheekbones, who merely stared at him as usual and then resumed whatever she’d been doing at Barney’s approach, bending over the papers on her desk.
Barney turned the corner into the reception room and there she was.
Cassie Mazzofono.
His heart leaped. Literally. Rose in his chest, taking his breath away. She stood there, sun catching her blond hair, spinning it, making it dance on her head, which was ridiculous, of course. But Cassie Mazzofono was so beautiful, so vibrant in that beauty, that she made Barney think crazy thoughts like that, made him glad that he had somehow found his way here to the Complex.
“Don’t look so surprised,” she said in that husky bantering voice. She was wearing blue again, a light-blue raincoat, unbuttoned to show a blue blouse and dark skirt. Her blue eyes were warm, inviting.
“And don’t look so worried, either,” she said. “I’m not going to bite you.”
“You looked as if you wanted to bite the other day,” he said.
“That was the other day. Come on in, sit down.”
“I’d rather stand,” he said, unsure of himself, delighted with the fact of her presence but also wary, on guard. “Does the doctor know you’re here? We’re not supposed to have visitors.”
“He knows I’m here,” she said, removing her raincoat and folding it over the back of a chair, every movement beautiful. “He’s not happy about it, but he knows.”
“Why isn’t he happy?”
She sighed. “Because I’m indulging in a bit of blackmail. My mother made a substantial donation when Alberto was admitted here. And she’s still providing funds. A place like this always needs money.”
“And you told the doctor that if you couldn’t visit here, she’d stop the money,” Barney said, still standing there, wondering what to do next, what to say next.
“Well, I didn’t put it that bluntly, but yes, that was the message,” Cassie said.
“He didn’t say anything to me about a visit.”
“He agreed only last night. It was probably too late to notify you. And I came here early today before he changed his mind.”
“But what do you want with me?” Barney asked. Wanting to know and yet not wanting to know too, simply because as long as he didn’t know, anything was possible. She could say: I fell madly in love with you at first sight the other day. Age doesn’t matter. I want you to perform heroic deeds for me. Impossible, crazy, Barney told himself. But she was here in this room, wasn’t she? Which he would have considered impossible yesterday.
“Relax, Barney,” she said. “You don’t mind if I call you Barney, do you?”
He shrugged, feeling inadequate and defenseless standing here in his robe and slippers, still shaky from the last merchandise.
“Call me Cassie.”
“Cassie,” he said, the name light and bright on his tongue.
“Come on, sit down,” she urged.
She led him to the chairs near the window in the full morning sunlight. The chairs were uncomfortable kitchen-type chairs and the room bare of adornment, like his own bedroom, dingy walls, curtainless windows, Venetian blinds fully opened to let in the daylight. She made the room seem anything but dingy, however. He sat across from her, conscious suddenly of his body, his hands and feet, as if he’d just learned he had hands and feet, wondering what to do with them.
She shivered a bit, hugged her arms to her chest. “God, I hate this place,” she said. “It gives me the creeps. It’s the last place on earth I want to be.”
“Then why did you come back?” he asked, honestly curious.
“To see you.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re different from the others here. Everything and everyone is so hopeless here. But not you. I sensed that right away in Alberto’s room. And later he told me you weren’t like the others. You’re here for different tests.”
Barney soared with delight. She had recognized him for what he was, different, his own person, not anyone else. But he was still puzzled. “And that’s why you’re here? Because I’m not like the others?”
“It’s kind of complicated, Barney,” she said. Then paused, shook her head the way a puppy shakes off water, touched her cheek with fingers that were surprisingly small and blunt. He loved to see her move, every movement graceful and endearing to him. “Okay, I hate this place but my brother’s here. And he won’t leave this place alive. You’re here, too. Alberto said you’re a fixer. He told me about the telephone deal you arranged for that boy in the wheelchair. He also said you’re a tough guy.”
“I’m not so tough,” he said. “But in a place like this you have to protect yourself. So you act tough sometimes. The doctor says we have to live in separate compartments, that we shouldn’t get to know each other. A guy by the name of Ronson died a few days ago. But it wasn’t too bad because I never got to know him. Didn’t let myself get to know him.”
“But you got friendly with the boy you arranged the t
elephone for,” she said. “You found out how much he wanted a telephone.”
Barney felt uncomfortable. “Billy needs cheering up sometimes. But I don’t let him get too close.”
“How close would you be willing to get to my brother?”
That was it: the windup. And then would come the pitch. He felt let down. She was not here to see him, after all, just as he had known it from the first moment.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, would you visit with him, get to know him better, become friendly with him? Cheer him up?”
“Nobody can cheer him up,” Barney said. “He doesn’t want to be friends with anybody. Me and him, we don’t even get along.”
“Would you try to get along with him if I asked you?” Her eyes were fastened on him, the gorgeous eyes that opened up worlds for him. “Actually, I don’t know how communicative he will be. He seems to have taken a turn for the worse since I first saw him here. Feverish, barely talking. But, would you try?”
Barney wanted to say: I would do anything for you. Especially if you looked at me the way you looked at him, as if I was somebody special in your eyes. Hell, she didn’t have to love him. Just admire him a little, trust him.
He had to stall a bit. “Tell me what this is all about.” Again, wanting to know and yet not wanting to know.
She sighed, as if she’d been running long and far and finally had reached her destination.
“It’s like this, Barney. My brother doesn’t want either my mother or me to see him anymore. He was always proud and independent—he doesn’t want us to see him this way. He’s never forgiven my mother for what she did. Divorced my father, and he died shortly afterward. Alberto says he died of a broken heart.” She paused, sighed again. “Anyway, he made me promise not to come here again, not to visit him. He said we could telephone him once in a while. But that’s all. And he was so full of pain and misery that I gave him my promise, my word of honor. But I want to know how he’s getting along. Dr. Lakendorp isn’t very communicative, resents my presence here like I said, says he can give me reports from time to time. But I don’t want a doctor’s report. That’s like reading a temperature chart. I’d like to know how Alberto’s doing. The little things. What he talks about. How he feels. And also this—I hate to think of him alone all the time. I’d like to think he has a friend. Someone like you.” She looked directly into Barney’s eyes now. “Someone like you, Barney. Alberto tries to act the wise guy and so do you. You’re more alike than you think you are. I thought maybe you could become friends. Or friendly, at least. And I figured I could drop in every day or so and you could tell me about him.”
“Like a spy,” Barney said, oddly touched, having to say something.
“A tender kind of spy,” she said.
God, she was beautiful. He would do anything for her. And he realized at that moment that if he agreed to be her spy, then he would see her when she came for his reports.
“Of course, I’m hoping Alberto will change his mind and let my mother and me see him eventually,” she continued. “I’m sure that will happen, but until …”
Suddenly, her words faltered, the way her footsteps had faltered outside of Mazzo’s room that day. She touched her forehead with a trembling hand, turning her face away. As she did so, Barney saw that her eyes had changed, looked shattered, as if someone had struck out at her, delivered a blow to her face and eyes.
He leaped to her side, grabbing her shoulder.
“Migraine,” she said. “They hit like lightning. This place … I had a terrible one after I left the other day.”
“Can I get you a pill?” Barney asked, aware of his hand on her shoulders and her flesh beneath her sweater, hating himself for thinking of her body at a time like this. “They must have migraine pills here.”
Shaking her head, Cassie said: “I have a special prescription at home. Maybe I’d better go along.…” She looked up at Barney, smiling wanly, a bit pale, eyes with that shattered look.
“Sure I can’t do something?” he asked, feeling helpless, knowing there was nothing he could do. He had released her from his grip, and stood there awkwardly.
She rose to her feet and slipped on the raincoat. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “The first stab is always the worst.” Another attempt at a smile. “Sorry, Barney.”
“Look, Cassie, I’ll do it. What you say. I’ll talk to Mazzo … your brother. Visit him every day.” As if his words could cure her, take away the headache.
“Thank you,” she said, the husky voice tender. “I’ll be back in a day or two.…”
She was gone a moment later, but Barney lingered in the room awhile, basking in the memory of her visit, her voice, the feeling of her flesh beneath the sweater, reluctant to leave this drab and dreary room that she had turned into a place of utter beauty for a few minutes.
Cassie paused outside the doorway, lifting her face to the fresh air, forehead throbbing with pain. Her old adversary, her ancient foe.
Walking on wobbly legs, she made her way to her mother’s station wagon. Felt a sense of guilt as she walked. That poor kid, Barney Snow. Using him that way. Aware of how he looked at her, all that longing and desire in his eyes and taking advantage of it. Yet had to do it.
In the car she leaned her head against the seat, trying to relax a bit before driving home. She felt miserable. And going home to her mother would not help the situation. As she groped for the car keys, she allowed herself a small wave of triumph. At least she had accomplished her mission, had gotten that boy to keep in touch with Alberto.
Alberto, Alberto, she thought as she switched on the engine and felt its surge of power. If you die, what becomes of me?
11
LATER, Barney couldn’t remember the precise moment he had made the breakthrough with Mazzo. Looking back, he saw that there was a series of small advances into Mazzo’s world and his confidence, tentative and stumbling, as he groped, unsure of himself, but determined to carry out his mission. A mission for Cassie. Cassie was the key. Once he began to see Mazzo through Cassie’s eyes, as the brother of the girl he loved with such delight and such despair, a different Mazzo began to emerge. Barney saw Mazzo’s vulnerability and desperation. Having seen Cassie in the full bloom of her beauty and loveliness, Barney realized the extent of Mazzo’s deterioration. No wonder he was bitter and hateful. No wonder he turned his face away from visitors, no wonder he swore and growled and didn’t care whether he farted and belched in the presence of anyone who might be in the room. He had been young and handsome and rich, and now he was an emaciated figure in the bed, his beauty in tatters. Barney felt moved with compassion as he watched Mazzo, pale and perspiring on the bed, no longer combative, subdued by the disease or the drugs, wondering how he could reach him. At the same time he didn’t want to reach him. He dreaded the visits to Mazzo’s room. There was such an air of despair and defeat that Barney was afraid it would also invade him, as if Mazzo suffered from a disease contagious enough to affect him.
He made himself visit Mazzo, however, for the sake of Cassie. He developed a habit of dropping in several times a day, at odd hours, between treatments and visits by nurses. At first Mazzo was uncommunicative, brooding, immersed in his small private world, barely acknowledging Barney’s presence. Barney tried to begin conversations but received no response at all, other than negative reactions. Sometimes Mazzo closed his eyes, shutting out Barney. Other times he turned away, hunching himself into the bedclothes. Barney did not give up. He had pledged his word to Cassie and he would see it through. He had only one weapon, and he used it in every way possible. Talk. His voice. He would wear Mazzo down with words.
He talked. Kept up an endless monologue of jokes and stories, telling Mazzo what was happening in the Complex, or at least what he observed. Barney had always been crazy about talking-animal jokes and he told every one he knew, embellishing them, drawing them out, making short jokes into long ones. If the kangaroo strolled into a barroom and ordered a martini
, Barney painstakingly described the barroom, going into a thousand details while leading up to the punch line. Sometimes he didn’t think the punch line mattered, because Mazzo never reacted, didn’t laugh, didn’t smile, didn’t show impatience as Barney spun the tales. And Barney began to realize that Mazzo’s lack of reaction was a plus sign. He never laughed at the jokes, but he never told Barney to shut up, get out, don’t come back.
Getting out of bed in the morning, Barney went to the small table and drew up a list of topics to bring to Mazzo’s room. He made up an entire biography for Bascam, from the time she was born (the only baby in the world who didn’t cry when slapped by the doctor) to the fact that she had eighteen children at home and that’s why she never smiled. Barney knew the material wasn’t that funny, not funny at all, in fact, but it gave him a chance to fill the room with his voice, to bounce the words off the walls and ceilings. Mazzo said nothing, did nothing. Barney sometimes became discouraged and thought: The hell with it. Let the silence fall. He’d stand beside Mazzo’s bed, wanting to shake him into responding, tired of the sound of his own voice, bored and impatient. Then he’d think of Cassie and see her face and those dancing eyes before him, and he’d say: “Hey Mazzo, did I ever tell you about the giraffe who got the sore throat and …”
Desperate one afternoon, empty of ideas, tired of the sound of his own voice, he saw Billy being wheeled by on the way to a treatment. Billy waved feebly. “Did you know Billy the Kidney was an expert car thief?”
He spoke to the air, having grown accustomed to a lack of response from Mazzo. But he noticed now that Mazzo stirred at the question, turned and looked at Barney, a glimmer of interest in his eyes.
Barney pounced on the topic of Billy’s car thefts. Told him about Billy’s exploits, how he stole the cars and the rides he took, elaborating a little, exaggerating a bit, but not too much. He didn’t want to lose credibility with Mazzo now that he had finally gotten a response after all this time. Talking about cars, he was afraid that he might induce his nightmare to return right here in Mazzo’s room, but he kept on talking anyway and the nightmare didn’t come.