The ultra-violet ray machine clicked off. I had been treated on both
sides. I took off the goggles and began to dress. Miss Ackerman walked in. “Not yet,” she said, “keep your clothes off.”
What is she going to do to me, I thought?
“Sit up on the edge of the table.”
I sat there and she began rubbing salve over my face. It was a thick buttery substance.
“The doctors have decided on a new approach. We’re going to bandage your face to effect drainage.”
“Miss Ackerman, what ever happened to that man with the big nose? The nose that kept growing?”
“Mr. Sleeth?”
“The man with the big nose.”
“That was Mr. Sleeth.”
“I don’t see him anymore. Did he get cured?”
“He’s dead.”
“You mean he died from that big nose?”
“Suicide.” Miss Ackerman continued to apply the salve. Then I heard a man scream from the next ward, “Joe, where are you? Joe, you said you’d come back! Joe, where are you?”
The voice was loud and so sad, so agonized.
“He’s done that every afternoon this week,” said Miss Ackerman, “and Joe’s not going to come get him.”
“Can’t they help him?”
“I don’t know. They all quiet down, finally. Now take your finger and
hold this pad while I bandage you. There. Yes. That’s it. Now let go. Fine.” “Joe! Joe, you said you’d come back! Where are you, Joe?”
“Now, hold your finger on this pad. There. Hold it there. I’m going to
wrap you up good! There. Now I’ll secure the dressings.”
Then she was finished.
“O.K., put on your clothes. See you the day after tomorrow. Goodbye,
Henry.”
“Goodbye, Miss Ackerman.”
I got dressed, left the room and walked down the hall. There was a
mirror on a cigarette machine in the lobby. I looked into the mirror. It was
great. My whole head was bandaged. I was all white. Nothing could be seen but my eyes, my mouth and my ears, and some tufts of hair sticking up at the top of my head. I was hidden. It was wonderful. I stood and lit a
cigarette and glanced about the lobby. Some in-patients were sitting about reading magazines and newspapers. I felt very exceptional and a bit evil, Nobody had any idea of what had happened to me. Car crash. A fight to the death. A murder. Fire. Nobody knew.
I walked out of the lobby and out of the building and I stood on the
sidewalk. I could still hear him. “Joe! Joe! Where are you, Joe!”
Joe wasn’t coming. It didn’t pay to trust another human being.
Humans didn’t have it, whatever it took.
On the streetcar ride back I sat in the back smoking cigarettes out of
my bandaged head. People stared but I didn’t care. There was more fear than horror in their eyes now. I hoped I could stay this way forever.
I rode to the end of the line and got off. The afternoon was going into
evening and I stood on the corner of Washington Boulevard and Westview Avenue watching the people. Those few who had jobs were coming home from work. My father would soon be driving home from his fake job. I didn’t have
a job, I didn’t go to school. I didn’t do anything. I was bandaged, I was
standing on the corner smoking a cigarette. I was a tough man, I was a dangerous man. I knew things. Sleeth had suicided. I wasn’t going to
suicide. I’d rather kill some of them. I’d take four or five of them with
me. I’d show them what it meant to play around with me.
A woman walked down the street toward me. She had fine legs. First I
stared right into her eyes and then I looked down at her
legs, and as she passed I watched her ass, I drank her ass in. I
memorized her ass and the seams of her silk stockings. I never could have done that without my bandages.