— I’m telling you after where I was at only don’t you get bored here? Hello…? for Mister who…? No it can’t be three twelve three twelve’s a hysterectomy… seven till eight yes goodbye, anyway did I tell you where we had these junior high girls leaving their samples for wait, hello…? Oh hi there Mis… much better yeah he’s out of the tent I bet he’d like to see you Mister Coen, he seems sort of lone… no he’s talking sure but… sure but he’s saying things like a dollar is e, fifty cents is d, a quarter is… yeah then he tells me if corn is this god we don’t even have electricity and he’s only fit for public life then he tells me some poetry about some ancient founts, what he said about this place where he said he’s been what they do there I wouldn’t even… I sure will Mister Coen so how’s your other pa… you really got your hands full I’ll… you bet Mister Coen, goodbye. What’s this…
— A postoperative for three nineteen.
— Good he’ll be glad for some company in there.
— Yeah…? they swung the bed down the corridor, — wait till he sees it.
— Mister Bast? you awake? We brought you a roommate see…? but all that emerged from the heap on the rolling bed once in place was a rude sound which set its pattern of response for the night.
The shade clattered up on a gray that seemed to draw light from the room itself. — And how are my boys this morning? Mister Bast? are you awake?
— He went back to sleep, what’s your name.
— I’m Miss Waddams, did you boys both wash?
— Get me some newspapers I haven’t seen one for a week, what are you doing there.
— I have to take your pulse, would you get your arm out of the covers?
— You try to find it.
— Now now let’s act our age, did you and Mister Bast get acquainted last night?
— Thinks I’m his father, he says let’s improve this orange place by chopping everything down like the olden times.
— He doesn’t mean anything by it, he tells me somebody broke in his house and I say who and he says you did! Then he tells me some creepy poetry about the dreary moorland and wants to see the scar around my neck he said he heard I’m a witch, he heard I screw my head off at night.
— I’ll bet you do too Waddles, come around tonight and we’ll…
— Now now let’s act our age…
— Just want to get fixed up and…
— We’ll fix you up don’t worry, I’ll get your newspapers…
— Bast? you awake…? and he subsided till the rustle of sheets gave way to the ruffle of newspaper, the clatter of trays — don’t think he even wants to wake up for lunch. What’s this, fisheye?
— It’s tapioca.
— It’s fisheye… a clatter that gave way finally to a variety of solitary expressions of relief, and a silence broken eventually by the ruffle of newspapers. — Bast? you awake? Read you the paper and cheer you up, so full of other people’s misery it’s enough to cheer anybody up listen to this one. She told investigators she had not seen her husband since one evening last week, when she hid herself in a closet and watched him carefully make up his face and dress in an elaborate array of woman’s clothing before slipping out. Answering a knock minutes later, she said he confronted her at the door insisting he was his own sister on a trip through town and just wanted to say hello. Unmoved by her demand that he come in and stop the nonsense, she said he suddenly turned and left and she has heard nothing from him since. In recounting her discovery, Mrs Teets appeared most annoyed by the variety of silk underthings she found hidden in his shirt drawer, since she had been restricted to cotton and synthetics throughout their marriage to save money. Mister Teets is being sought in connection with a subpoena for…
— Have we used the bedpan today?
— Think it’ll hold us both? Let’s wait, don’t go away Waddles I’ve got a stiff proposition here for you…
— Now now…
