Carry Me Like Water

  She listened to his voice. He was sick but could not keep himself from caring for the living. They always did that, she thought. All the men she’d seen on the ward—they were always taking care of the living—even when the living didn’t give a damn. It made her angry. When would it be their turn to be cared for, to be loved? He groaned quietly as if he were trying to embrace his physical pain as he would a lover.

  “Are you taking anything?”

  “No. Tylenol.”

  “That’s all?”

  “I’m dying naturally.” He smiled.

  “A poster child for a drug-free America, huh?”

  He laughed. “Bad joke, really bad.” He coughed again. She waited for him to continue coughing, but he stopped. “I’m beginning to look like a figure from el Dia de los Muertos.” He seemed to be falling asleep as he spoke—too tired to finish his sentence.

  Lizzie sat and watched him. “Gringo, corazón. Corazón.” He kept whispering those words over and over. She knew what the words meant. When he was finally asleep, she walked into the living room and looked around for the phone. She reached into her purse, pulled out a phone book and looked for Tom Michaelsen’s phone number. The phone was sitting on top of a baby grand piano. She wondered who played it. As she reached for the phone, she noticed a picture of a little boy in a gold frame. There was something very familiar about the face of that child. She picked it up and stared at it. “I know this man.” She shook her head. “That’s impossible.” She finally put the picture back where it had been. The boy was six or seven and his smile was sad. She was certain it was not a childhood picture of Joaquin, and she was equally certain it was not his lover’s image—Jake was too blond. She had seem him often in the hospital, and he could not have had dark hair as a child, though there was an unmistakable resemblance. “I know this man. I know I know this man.” She shook her head. She picked up the phone and dialed Tom Michaelsen’s office. “Yes, this is Elizabeth Edwards from St. Mary’s Hospital, and I’d like to speak to Dr. Michaeisen—it’s about one of his patients.” She waited for several minutes, then heard Tom’s voice.

  “What can I do for you, Lizzie?”

  “I’m over at Joaquin Villanueva’s house—”

  “What the hell are you doing there?”

  “Nurses can make house calls, too, Tom.”

  “I didn’t know you knew him. He’s never mentioned you.”

  “I don’t know him—not really.”

  “You just decided to drop in on him, huh? Just looked up his address and stopped in to see a strange man you didn’t even know?”

  “I had a dream, Tom.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Lizzie?”

  “I’ll tell you some other time. Look, I think you should drop by this evening and take a look at Joaquin.”

  “Does he look worse?”

  “Well, I don’t know what you mean by worse—but he shouldn’t be left alone anymore. Can he afford a nurse, Tom?”

  “No way in hell.”

  “And I suppose his lover needs to keep working?”

  “Same as the rest of the world, Lizzie. He needs his insurance.”

  “The world sucks, Tom.”

  Tom said nothing on the other end. “Yeah,” he said. “So what else is new?”

  “Look, I take it they have a few friends?”

  “Yeah, some.”

  “How about if we make a shift schedule?”

  “A what?”

  “You know—people who can take shifts watching him.”

  “What are you—a one-woman hospice?”

  “People shouldn’t be alone.”

  Tom laughed.

  “Don’t laugh, Tom, I’m very serious.”

  “I’m not laughing, Lizzie.”

  “Yes you are. I can hear you.”

  “Well, I’m only laughing because I’m happy.”

  “You’re happy?”

  “Yes, you’re the angel these guys needed.”

  “An angel, huh? Just wait until they get my bill.”

  Tom laughed again.

  She remembered working with him at St. Mary’s when she had first started on the ward. She had loved him for the way he touched his patients—and for his laugh. He was the only doctor she truly respected.

  “Can you wait there until Jake gets home?” he asked.

  “Sure. I don’t have any plans.”

  “You’re a saint.”

  She laughed. “An angel and a saint? A saint who likes to wear long earrings and have affairs with men who are bad for her.”

  “But never at work—which reminds me—why aren’t you at work?”

  “I’m on vacation.”

  “So you visit dying men on your vacation?”

  “Well, I’m not going back—so I’m not in a hurry about anything.”

  “You’re not going back to St. Mary’s?”

  “Don’t say anything, Tom. I haven’t told them yet.”

  “We have to have a long talk, Elizabeth Edwards.”

  “Yes, we do, Tom Michaeisen. In the meantime, I’ll wait for Mr. Villanueva’s lover to come home. I’m sure he’ll be surprised to find me here.”

  “Tell him I’ll drop by this evening.”

  “Bring something for his pain.”

  “Whose?” he asked.

  She had no answer. She hung up the phone and stared at the picture of the little boy, trying to remember who he was, Lizzie looked at her watch: It was nearly five o’clock. She walked into the kitchen—it was clean and sunny and looked as though it belonged to someone who liked to cook. Jake didn’t look like the type who’d spend his time in kitchens. She was certain the kitchen was Joaquin’s territory. She opened drawers and cabinets and found everything in its place. She put on a pot of coffee. She found herself with the urge to cook. “I shouldn’t do this in a stranger’s home,” she said out loud. She couldn’t resist the kitchen. She had always wanted a room just like this one. She wanted to give herself to the room. She opened each cabinet door. She saw pasta shells and a bag of sun-dried tomatoes in the cupboard. She eyed some canned tomatoes, cans of soup, olive oil. On the kitchen counter she spotted a wooden bowl full of onions and garlic. She decided to make dinner. “I’m nesting again. I must be getting ready to have my period.” She shook her head and laughed. “The body does such funny things to you.” She found a large skillet just perfect for making a red garlic sauce. She poured in olive oil and diced some garlic. When the oil was hot, she added the garlic and sun-dried tomatoes. She let it fry for a minute, then turned off the stove. She opened a can of whole tomatoes and threw it in the pan. She smiled as she worked. Within minutes, she had added fresh basil, oregano, and a touch of cinnamon. Soon, the entire apartment smelled of oregano, tomato, and garlic. She heard the front door open, then heard Jake’s deep voice.

  “Who’s here?”

  “In the kitchen,” she yelled.

  He walked into the room and looked at her. “Do I know you? Who the hell are you? And why are you cooking in my kitchen?”

  Lizzie looked at him and almost winced. She was completely embarrassed, and somehow the words in her mind stumbled into each other but would not fall out of her. She had no real explanation. She was surprised he didn’t recognize her—but why should he? She was only a nurse in a hospital. Her heart hurt. She felt stupid for feeling so hurt. She looked at him and realized she should say something—anything. “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly. “I got carried away. You have such a lovely kitchen—and I—I’d been wondering how Joaquin, how he was—how he was doing—and I just found myself at your door—it’s strange, I know, but it’s as simple as that.” She could feel her face turning red.

  “Are you a friend of his?”

  She looked at him. “Well, no, not really. Don’t you remember me?”

  He looked at her strangely. “No.” He looked at her more closely, a look of recognition moving over him. “You’re the nurse.”

  “Yes—I’m the nurse.?
??

  “Lizzie,” he said. “Your name’s Lizzie.” He smiled, then nodded. “And you like to flirt with gay men because it’s safe.”

  “So you remember me?” She began to feel more at ease, less like an intruder.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.” His initial sense of violation disappeared from his voice. His words became calm, even friendly. “But that still doesn’t explain what the hell you’re doing in my kitchen.”

  “I liked it—it made me want to cook.”

  “That’s it? That’s your answer?”

  “Yeah, that’s my answer. You want some coffee?”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Completely.”

  “You just walk into strange people’s houses and cook dinner?”

  She looked at him, shook her head, then shrugged. “I’m sorry, I should leave. I really don’t know what I’m doing here. I just wanted to see how you two were doing. It was perfectly innocent—and perfectly pushy. I’m sorry.” She tugged at her earring, then popped her knuckles. “I talked to Tom. He said he’d be by this evening. I don’t think—” She stopped herself. She started toward the living room. “Look, I’m sorry. I really don’t know what I’m doing here.” She looked at his face. It was a hard face, though she sensed he could be very soft. “I’ll just get my coat and purse.” She walked out of the kitchen toward the living room where she’d left her things.

  Jake said nothing. He found himself following her into the next room. Lizzie looked up at him and smiled as she walked out the door. He watched the door shut behind her. It bothered him that her smile seemed so sad. He threw himself on the couch, then undid his tie. “What am I doing?” He kept staring at the door. He thought a moment, thought how it would be nice to eat dinner with her, to talk to her, to have company instead of just waiting for something to happen. She didn’t actually feel like a stranger, though he wondered why. He found himself running out the front door of his apartment. He looked down the dark hallway, but there was no sign that she’d even been there. He ran downstairs and looked down the street frantically, afraid she had disappeared from his life forever. Why am I so afraid of losing someone I don’t know? He was relieved when he spotted her walking down the street. “Hey!” he yelled, “Lizzie!” She was too far down the street to hear him. He ran toward her yelling, “Hey! Hey, Lizzie!” By the time she heard her name being called and turned in the direction of his voice, he was standing next to her. “You might as well stay for dinner,” he said. He was a little out of breath.

  She thought a moment, then played with her dangling earring again. “We don’t know each other. Sometimes I do stupid things—”

  “Please,” he said, “I’d like you stay. I mean, you’re not really a stranger.”

  She thought a moment, then smiled. “What are we having?”

  “Pasta,” he said.

  “I love pasta—how did you know?”

  “I’ve always had great instincts.” They both smiled.

  As they walked back up to the apartment, she had the feeling she had talked to him many times before. She thought of the dream. He had been in her dream before Salvador had given her his gift. How strange. How strange and lovely. As she made the final preparations for dinner in the kitchen, she listened to him talk about the past few weeks—what his life had become. He talked to her as if he had been living alone, as if he had been separated from every human being in the world. She knew immediately he was letting things out because he was more hungry for human contact than for food. He was like an overinflated lire—if he didn’t let some of the air out, he was going to explode. She listened, sometimes asked questions, but was happy just to let him talk. She could detect the rage in his voice, the frustration of being unable to find his way out of his own apartment—but there was something else, too—a kindness, a kindness in his voice that was strong and familiar and intimate. His voice sounded very much like someone else’s—she’d heard this voice before—she was certain. She kept thinking of the picture of the little boy. She was about to ask him about that boy when he excused himself to check on Joaquin. He was gone for a long time. As she set the table, the doorbell rang. She waited to hear if Jake would answer it. It rang again. She heard Jake’s voice from another room. “Will you get that, Lizzie?”

  “Sure,” she yelled. She opened the door and smiled at the man standing in the dark hallway. “As I live and breathe, it’s Doc Holiday.”

  “Still here, huh?”

  “I made dinner.”

  “How did you know I hadn’t eaten?”

  “Well, while you go check on your patient, Doctor, I’ll go and put more water in the soup.”

  “Where’d a city girl come up with a country saying like that?”

  “Lots of country boys up in my ward.”

  “That a fact?”

  “Yup,” she said as she walked back toward the kitchen.

  He followed her. “I didn’t know you knew these guys so well.”

  “I don’t. I told you—I had a dream.”

  “You had a dream? And in the dream you came over to this apartment and made dinner?”

  “Actually, in the dream, I was sitting with Jake—and he was dying.”

  “It’s not Jake whose sick—better inform your dream maker.”

  “Some day he will be—and I’m going to be there.”

  “Well, you certainly are sure about your future.”

  “Tom, please don’t make fun. I’m taking some time off—and I’d like to make myself useful.”

  “You want to come work for me? I could use you. Jesus Christ, could I ever use you.”

  “I don’t particularly care for doctors—why would I work for one?”

  “All doctors are evil?”

  “OK, you’re fishing for a compliment. Yes, you’re a good doctor, and yes, I’ve always liked working with you. And you don’t treat nurses like shit, which is saying something when it comes to members of your profession. I even like you, Tom. There, I’ve said it. Are you happy now?”

  “Yes. So why won’t you come and work with me?”

  “The word ‘with’ is better than ‘for’—I like that.”

  “Well?”

  “We’d kill each other.”

  “Maybe—but what a way to go, huh?”

  “Thanks for the offer, Tom, but—”

  “Don’t say no—just think about it. I don’t need an answer right this minute. Consider yourself to have a standing offer.”

  She nodded as she filled a pot with water and placed it on the burner. “Make yourself useful and put another plate on the table.”

  “Well, well, the medical profession shows up in force—and just in time for dinner.”

  Tom looked up at the sound of Jake’s voice. “Hi,” he said. “Lizzie here invited me to dinner.”

  He grinned at her. “She takes a lot of liberties.” He’d changed into a pair of jeans and a deep blue T-shirt; he looked relaxed and somehow more vulnerable than when he was wearing a starched shirt and a tie.

  “You look nicer,” she said.

  “Hey, you don’t like white guys in ties?”

  “I like ties,” Tom said.

  “Yes,” Lizzie laughed, “I know, but won’t you take yours off while we eat?”

  There was a sudden quiet between them, almost as if they all remembered at the same time that there was a man in the other room, a man who could not eat, a man who would never again enjoy the kind of affectionate small talk they were all enjoying in that warm room that smelled of olive oil, garlic, and tomato. No one made an attempt to say anything. They looked at each other knowingly. It was as if Jake could allow himself to be vulnerable so long as words were not involved. He could allow Tom and Lizzie to comfort him so long as they did not speak. At that moment they shared something that resembled intimacy. A recognition passed between them, a sense of belonging. Elizabeth kept herself from weeping as she sensed the depth of compassion in Tom’s body, the great sense of sorrow in Jacob
’s face. Their emotions were overwhelming to her. Her lips trembled, and she placed her hand on her chin to calm herself. Jake poured his two guests a glass of wine without asking if they wanted any. He poured himself a glass of mineral water. He sat down at the table as Lizzie rinsed the pasta shells. “I’ll step in and take a look at him,” Tom finally said.

  “He’s sleeping,” Jake said. “He’s peaceful right now. He didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Did you?” Tom looked at him sternly. “You have to rest, too.”

  “I can’t sleep. I have no right to sleep when he can’t.”

  Tom nodded. He rubbed his neck and looked up at the ceiling. There were tears in his eyes, then suddenly they poured down his cheeks. He tried to calm himself, but found he could not make himself stop. He placed his open hands over his face and sobbed into them. He took a few deep breaths, then moved his hands away. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Jake said.

  “I’m a doctor.”

  “You’re just a man.”

  Tom was surprised at the softness in Jake’s voice. They caught each other’s glances, then looked away. Elizabeth watched them and wanted to weep until her tears washed away the smell of sickness in Joaquin’s room. Tom looked up at her. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  She smiled at him. “I’m going to sit down now, and you’re going to serve us.”

  “But you’re up already.”

  She sat down on the chair. “Now I’m down.” Tom rose from his chair obediently and began to serve them ail dinner.

  Jake laughed. “Where did you come from, Lizzie?” She could tell by the tone in his voice that he liked her, that he was grateful she was there. This was not a man who laughed often. She was glad she could bring something of value into this house. It occurred to her that she had been much too self-absorbed for most of her life. She thought of her dream, how she had held the healthy man sitting next to her as he broke in her arms. Maybe her dream would not come to pass. Maybe this man would be spared.