Part XXIII

I must have dozed off, too, because the sudden noise and bustle of the new patient being moved into the room startled me. That, I guessed, would be the first of many disruptions. Ronan could sleep through it now, thanks to the morphine, but once he was taking some milder drug, peaceful nights would be few and far between. I hoped that the roommate wasn’t a snorer.

People were talking quietly, questions being asked and answered, and I paid little heed until I heard a voice—not one of the staff—that sounded surprisingly familiar. As soon as there was silence and I knew the extraneous personnel had gone away, I got up and peeked around the edge of the curtain, and instantly recognized the woman seated in the bedside chair. “Mary?”

She gave a startled gasp and dropped the bag she had been rummaging through. “Sarah? What are you doing here?”

“Hanging out with Ronan. How’s Sean?”

“Knocked out at the moment, thank God. I don’t know what was worse, seeing him in so much pain, or listening to him argue with everyone who would listen.”

“How did you ever get him to agree to stay?”

“I didn’t have to do a thing. Even with three people helping, he couldn’t get off the gurney, so the doctor sedated him to shut him up and put him in traction, like he wanted to do in the first place. Sean absolutely hates being in the hospital, but the system they use is so much more effective than home traction. The machine is very precise, and he gets exactly the right amount of tension with just a push of a button. The last time he had to do this, he was home and back on his feet again in a matter of days. Treating him at home is O.K. when he has a mild strain, but for a spell like this, when the pain’s so bad he can’t walk, he’s much better off here. Not to mention the fact that I’m not really equipped to deal with a man flat on his back in bed when I’ve got an active toddler running around.”

“It makes good sense for him to be here, then. Are they sure he’ll be all right?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely. All the x-rays were normal. It’s really just a muscle thing.”

“Thank God! It scared the hell out of me when I was trying to help him settle in the wheelchair and he couldn’t move his legs.”

“There’s a big difference between ‘I can’t’ and ‘I don’t want to ’cause it hurts.’ I’ve seen both.”

“I’m sorry. I just—oh, Mary, I feel responsible for this.”

“Why?”

“Well, Ronan and I had a fight this afternoon, and I went storming out fast, not watching where I was going, and I ran into Sean near the elevators. Literally. The impact knocked him off balance, and even though I managed to save him from falling, I didn’t save him from getting hurt. He said he was all right, and I believed him, but as the time went by, it became clear that he wasn’t being honest with me. Frankly, when he left Ronan, I don’t know how he managed to walk from the chair to the hallway, or to stand there and wait until I found him a wheelchair.”

“I didn’t want Ronan to worry,” came Sean’s slurred response from the bed.

“Well, you can’t hide anything from him now,” Mary said. “Guess who your roommate is?”

“Jaysus!” he muttered. “Half a bezillion rooms in this hospital, and I have to get carted off to his!”

“Hush,” Mary ordered. “They gave you enough medication to knock out an elephant. Why are you awake?”

“I don’t know. Ask the doctor.”

“There isn’t one around to ask.” Mary leaned close and took his hand. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.”

“Then sleep, fool!”

“I will, I just wanted—Sarah, come here, will you?”

I moved into his line of vision. “Here I am, Sean.”

His glasses were on the bedside table, and his nearsighted eyes squinted ferociously as he tried to focus on me. “Sarah, accidents happen. I’ll be fine in a few days. If I had actually fallen, I don’t think that would be the case. I would have hurt my back worse than I did, and probably broken a wrist, too. Really, don’t sweat it.”

“But if I had been watching where I was going—”

“And if I had been watching where I was going, instead of looking down at my feet, I would have seen you coming. The two mistakes cancel each other out, right?”

“Well—”

“That’s my theory,” he said sleepily, “and I’m sticking to it.”

“Sean, you’re too nice to be real, you know it?”

He managed a slight smile as his eyelids grew even heavier. “I bet you say that to all the boys,” he quipped, and then his eyes closed and he was asleep, the smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth.

***

Mary had to leave at nine so she could take care of Rory, but I had no restrictions of any kind, since it was Saturday night. The nurse said it was all right for me to stay over, as long as I slept in the recliner by the bed. She brought me a pillow and blanket, and I settled down in the dimly lit room, having first moved the chair as close to Ronan’s bed as I could. It had been an exhausting day, and though the recliner wasn’t the most comfortable piece of furniture, it didn’t take me long to fall asleep.

My dreams were scattered and confused, but a consistent thread ran through each one: Ronan and the ocean. I couldn’t see myself in any of the dreams, but knew I was present. We were on a boat, and sometimes the water was calm. Other times it raged around us and Ronan fought hard to keep us upright, wrestling sails and gear with an almost superhuman strength. I remember being confused by that, as I had never seen Ronan sail before. The vessel he kept in New Zealand was a good-sized power boat with a motor, and he drove it from the deck with a big, wooden steering wheel.

The dreamship was definitely a sailboat, though: compact and easily handled by a single person in fair weather. Ronan seemed younger, stronger, and more vigorous. His face was clean-shaven and unlined, and his hair a rippling chestnut-brown mane. The only thing I found undesirable was the air of fearless recklessness that permeated every action.

The sea tossed the boat relentlessly. I was frightened, and cried out to him, begging him to be more cautious: to be sensible and get us into safer waters before it was too late.

He shouted a response in Irish, which I couldn’t have understood even if the wind hadn’t swept his words away. His hair whipped back from his face, and I was shocked to see that he was laughing, and his eyes sparkling. It actually invigorated him, to be poised on the very cusp of disaster. He seemed unaware of the danger, fully confident that he had mastered the challenge. The boat had stayed aright and his course now lay straight ahead on calmer waters. He turned his back to me and gazed steadily into the distant, cloudless horizon.

Only I heard the sudden commotion behind us, and looked over my shoulder to see a massive wave building and cresting as it bore down on the boat. “Ronan!” I screamed, but the wind tore my voice away. He didn’t hear me, and cotinued to concentrate on the way ahead…

I woke up with a gasp, my heart racing, and at first thought the dream hadn’t ended. Someone was making an awful racket, crying out with blood-curdling intensity—

And then I saw that Ronan was sitting up in bed, still asleep, but screaming as if the hounds of hell had him by the throat.

I leapt up and grabbed his shoulders, and shook him vigorously, until finally he woke with a gasp and a pained cry. “Sarah?”

“Yeah. Ro, what happened?”

“Jaysus,” he moaned. “You hurt me.”

I sat down beside him and took him in my arms, and rocked him gently. “I didn’t mean to, but you scared me half to death! All could think of was waking you, so you’d snap out of it and stop making that ungodly noise.”

“What noise?”

“You were screeching loud enough to wake the dead,” came Sean’s voice from the shadows beside us. “I mean, you even managed to wake me up, and as Mary said earlier, I’ve had enough meds to knock out an elephant. Promise me you won’t do that again?”

“I wish I could,” Ronan muttered.

“Jaysus. And here I was, thinking the worst thing you could do was snore. Must have been one hell of a nightmare.”

“It—Sean? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I strained my back. Remember?”

“No,” Ronan answered honestly, the morphine having clouded his memory.

“Just like you can’t remember your nightmare?” Sean retorted, sounding distinctly grumpy.

“I’m sorry I woke you, a cara, but it’s true. I really can’t remember.”

There was an impatient sigh from Sean’s side of the room. “Tell me: do you get the screaming meemies often?”

“More than I’d like,” Ronan admitted.

“More than once in a night?”

“Well—”

“Fuck sake,” Sean grumbled. “I hope the nurse can bring me some earplugs. Should I ask for some for you, too, Sarah?”

“Please.”

***

I didn’t end up sleeping very well. Even with all sound well muted by the earplugs, I was painfully aware of Ronan’s nightmares. They woke him—and me—four more times that night. Sean, at least, managed to sleep, or so it appeared, since he didn’t react to the noise again after the first time.

I let Ronan wake himself on each subsequent occasion, and when he was fully conscious again, I wiped the cold sweat from his brow and dried his tears.

“You’re sure you don’t remember what happens in the dreams?” I asked him, after the last one, when dawn was beginning to peep through the crack between the window curtains.

“I’m sure,” he insisted. “I’m sure. I’m sure. There’s no memory of anything.”

I didn’t believe him. Even in the dim light, I thought he looked too ravaged and haunted to be suffering from amnesia, and the way he fought against sleep after each occurrence of his dreams made me even more certain. By morning, the circles under his eyes were so dark and deep, it was hard to remember that only the left one had been blackened. He was cranky, too, and snappish when the nurse finally came in to help him with his morning routine. Then he half apologized to both of us, stating the simple truth of the matter.

“Ladies, I know you both mean well, but I’m not much of a morning person in the best of circumstances, and even less so after the night I’ve had. Sarah, will you just go home for awhile, please? I’ll probably be a good deal more civil around lunchtime.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, bending to kiss his brow.

“Yes, a chuisle, I’m sure. You’ll be dealing with me in the morning soon enough.”

“All right,” I agreed reluctantly, thinking it really would be useful to know exactly what his routine was, and how much assistance he required. I would definitely need some guidance, but now was clearly not the time to insist on it. “Shall I bring you lunch again?”

“That would be nice, and coffee, too, please?”

“Well! That really was a hit yesterday.”

“It was that. Perhaps you should try and get a little sleep this morning, too. I’m afraid I made things awfully rough for you last night, with all my dreaming.”

“It was rougher for you, I think.” I touched the circle beneath his right eye. “You could probably do with a nap yourself, once you’ve had your breakfast.”

“I’ll try to rest, at least. Maybe I’ll even catch a few winks, since I never do seem to have bad dreams in the daytime.”

I moved back a few paces as the nurse assisted him to his feet. He wasn’t as shaky as I expected, but standing there barefooted in a johnny, he seemed small and frail. No one ever looked their best in a hospital setting, and I knew that very well, but seeing Ronan like that was awful, and I could feel a lump rising in my throat. “Well, I’ll come back at lunchtime,” I said softly.

“Please. I’ll be in a much better frame of mind then.”

I pecked his cheek and fled quickly.

***

Ronan was feeling a good deal better when I returned later with more of Michael’s excellent food, and we had pleasant visit.

Sean, too, was feeling much better, and reported that his doctor thought he might be able to go home as early as Tuesday, if he would agree to rest and go back to wearing a brace for a few weeks, instead of the simple lumbar support he’d been using for the past few months.

It didn’t end up being long at all before Ronan had the room to himself again. He bided his time, sticking to the schedule established for him, and I followed my workday routines. Now, when I came in for supper, Ronan was no longer in bed, but sitting up in a chair by the window, his left arm in a sling, and the right one resting on a pillow in his lap. Each day, he reported on what they’d had him doing: mainly sitting up in the chair and taking short walks up and down the hallway. We would have our supper together, take one more walk along the hallway, and then I would help him get settled back in his bed. After that, we would talk about anything and everything while I worked on his hair. The only thing that spoiled our routine was Ronan’s headaches, which still came on with alarming intensity. He would try to ignore them up to a point, but too often they escalated into blinding migraines, and then the evening would be spent in silence, with me running out to the nurses’ station every so often, to have his hot pack refreshed in the microwave.

It was one of those nights, just two days before he was released to my care, when Sean and Mary stopped by. I was surprised to see them, since it was nearly eight o’clock, and the first announcement regarding the approaching end of visiting hours had just come over the P.A.

“Hey, guys, I know it’s late,” Sean greeted us, “but we really needed to come over for a bit. It’s important.”

Ronan had a real blinder of a headache and was lying motionless with the hot pack on his forehead, but when he heard Sean’s voice, he opened his eyes. “Get this thing off me, would you?” He arched his eyebrows up, and I removed it. “Thanks,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry, Ronan.” Sean apologized. “You’re having a bad night. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“What about you?” Ronan countered. “They let you go home ’cause you promised to rest.”

“And I am resting. See? I’m using the chair, and I’ll keep using it for the next few weeks.”

“I doubt that’s quite what they meant by rest, but since you’re here, you might’s well stay for a bit.” Ronan forced a smile that couldn’t begin to erase the pain furrows from his brow. “If nothing else, you’ll take my mind off my own problems for a bit. Tell me, how are you feeling?”

“I can’t complain, really. A little twinge here and there, but it’s nothing a little time off my feet won’t cure.” He wheeled himself to the bedside.

“Why the gloves?” Ronan asked.

“What, these?” Sean held his hands out and grinned. The gloves in question were fingerless, with a round opening over the back of his hand, small round holes over each knuckle, and made of supple black leather. “Driving gloves. They give me a better grip on the wheels, and I don’t get blisters, plus they also look pretty sharp, don’t you think?”

Ronan smiled and shook his head. “Ah, Sean, sometimes I don’t know what to think of you.”

“I wouldn’t be much fun if I didn’t keep people guessing. Right, Mair?”

She laughed. “The real reason he likes the gloves is they give him a better grip for performing stunts in the chair, and—don’t you dare, Sean!”

He ignored her outcry and balanced the chair on its rear wheels for a few moments before returning it to normal position, with all four wheels on the floor where they belonged.

Ronan laughed in spite of his headache. “Well, at least you have a good sense of humor about it. I never did.”

“When did you ever use a chair?” Sean asked.

“Och, years ago, just for a few weeks while I was recovering from a broken ankle. With my luck, I’d have flipped over on my head if I tried to do what you just did. Is there a name for that little stunt?”

“When I used to do the same thing on my bicycle as a kid, we used to call it popping a wheelie. But you had to have a low-riding, sporty kind of bike to do it.”

“Ah. Growing up on the island, I had a clunky old standard sort of thing, and the only trick I could do on it was to follow the road and stay upright. I did better on horseback, though after our auld nag died, it was the bicycle or my own two feet. Mam wouldn’t let me near the car, and I never did learn to drive one until I got to N Zed.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I just never had the time to bother with it once I left home, and there were always plenty of people with cars who didn’t mind driving me around. But in N Zed I knew I’d be on my own after my brother-in-law left, so I bought a car and had him teach me, and then I got my license. I don’t much like city driving, but I love riding around on the back roads.”

“Sometimes off-road, too,” I interjected, remembering some of our travels during my vacation.

“Of course. Why else does one buy a four-by-four?” He smiled, and the furrows in his brow didn’t seem to be etched so deeply anymore.

“Where’s Rory tonight?” I asked.

“Michael and his fiancée are sitting with him,” Mary explained. “Rory gets noisy and fussy at this time of night, and that wouldn’t have done Ronan’s headache any good. Anyway, we really wanted to come over by ourselves.” As she drew closer to the foot of the bed, I saw what she had in her hand: a guitar case. Why?

“So, Ronan,” Sean began, “I have to tell you; a really extraordinary thing happened today.”

“What?”

Sean leaned back a bit, set his elbows on the arm-rests, laced his fingers together, and smiled. “Well, you’ve heard all about the neighborhood I grew up in, Ronan, so I won’t bore you with that story again. However, I don’t think I ever told you that I still have some contacts there. I would have said something sooner, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up for nothing.”

Ronan looked puzzled. “You’ve lost me, Sean. I don’t understand.”

“I put word out on the street about your guitar being stolen.”

Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “Did you, now? And who told you it was stolen?”

“No one. All I know is you were carrying it when you left my studio, and you were found on the street without it, and somehow I doubt that you tucked it in a hollow tree in the Public Garden for safekeeping.”

“All right, then,” Ronan said curtly. “It was stolen, and there’s an end of it.”

“Ah, that’s what you thought, but when Sean Phelan puts the buzz out among his old contacts, interesting things tend to happen. Mary?”

She set the case down at the foot of Ronan’s bed and opened it.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Inside lay the Martin, no worse for wear.

Ronan stared at it, every bit as shocked as I was, then looked up at Sean. “You’re sure—I mean, it’s really mine? How do you know?”

“Well, you left it with me a few times, didn’t you? You think I never took it out, or looked at it, or played on it?” He smiled. “I happen to know where you carved your initials, and that was all I needed to ID it. This is your guitar. Luckily, it had been pawned at a place where I knew the broker. I didn’t even have to pay to get it out of hock.”

Ronan’s mouth trembled. “You went to all that trouble for me? Jaysus, Sean! What do I owe you?”

“Not one red cent. Didn’t I say I didn’t have to pay to get it?”

“Aye, but you’re lying. You paid, and dearly. Tell me how much, and I’ll pay you back.”

“No. I won’t accept your money, a cara. All I want is for you to get well so we can get back to work.”

Ronan’s eyes flicked down to the casts on his arms. “I honestly don’t know how long it’s going to take, Sean. My left arm’s really bad. They tell me I may need surgery to put it right, but they won’t have a definite answer on that for another four weeks. If I have to go that route, I’ll be out of commission for a very long time."

“And if you don’t need the surgery?”

“Twelve weeks in a cast, minimum, and some time in a sling ’til I’ve got my strength back. God only knows when I’ll be able to pick up a guitar again.”

“That’s rough, I know,” Sean said softly, “but listen: the instrumental tracks are done. You don’t need your arms to sing, and the guitar’ll keep ’til you’re ready for it.”

Ronan’s eyes filled, and the tears spilled over. “Sean, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for it.”

“Ah, Jeeze, Ronan!” Sean wheeled closer and grasped Ronan’s right hand. “You’ve got to have faith that some good’ll come out of this, or you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“I don’t know,” Ronan said, his voice barely a whisper. “I just don’t know! What good could possibly come out of something like this?”

There were tears in Sean’s eyes, too, as he replied. “I don’t know, either. All I can tell you is answers like that are usually revealed at the proper time. I wish I could tell you when that time will be, but I can’t. Just—try to know and believe, a cara: it will come.”

***

C.P. Warner
© 6 October 2007

NEXT

Irish Gaelic Reference Page