Part 10 (1/2)
Twenty-Six.
Caleb finished at the office early; it was still light. He got his car and headed to Uptown. Spaulding House on Wilson. As he pulled the Jaguar into the fenced rear yard, he noticed, for the first time in a long time, how depressing the building's dirty stone looked, how the wire-topped Cyclone fence surrounding its weed-filled yard gave the exterior a concentration-camp ambiance. He would have to have the building cleaned in the spring, and maybe tuck-pointed. And ask a tax accountant if he couldn't write off a wrought-iron fence. Spaulding House had had one, years ago, when it was a Roaring Twenties domicile for the very rich. Its present residents deserved no less despite their poverty. He'd have gra.s.s planted in the spring, too. And try to get the inmates to help him plant some trees. It would be an act of faith. And hope. Spaulding House was a hospice.
He put the gears.h.i.+ft in first, turned off the engine, and let out the clutch. Too cold to use the parking brake. He hadn't used it in cold weather since the time his brakes had frozen on. He locked the car, didn't bother to turn on the alarm, but he closed and locked the gate.
”Rafe's a f.u.c.king burnt marshmallow!” Brian was saying as Caleb walked in. In case anyone missed the reference, he added, ”Black on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside.” He spoiled the intended effect by looking around for the others' reactions.
Bill and Lenny and Paul hid their amus.e.m.e.nt with varying degrees of success.
Rafe laughed. ”What'd a honky f.a.ggot like you know about sof'n sweet?” He nodded at Caleb and said, ”Jack.”
Wanting to head off further wrangling, Caleb said, ”It's nice to see you still love each other.”
Rafe laughed again. Brian said, ”s.h.i.+t,” but the ploy worked. It actually wasn't far from the truth, although the two men could scarcely have been more dissimilar-Rafe was huge, healthy, black, straight, and HIV negative; Brian, emaciated, white, gay, and in the throes of AIDS.
”I'm going out,” Rafe told Caleb. ”You're on.”
”What needs to be done?”
”The market called; van's down. They can't deliver nothin' till tomorrow. You might could pick somethin' up for the meantime.”
”All right.”
”I'll go if I can drive your car, Jack,” Brian said.
”It has a manual transmission.”
”So?”
”Do you know how to set a car alarm?”
”Is the Pope Catholic?”
Caleb threw him the keys.
Brian clenched his fists and shook them in a victory gesture. ”Yes!”
After Brian was out the door, Bill said, ”You never let me drive your car, Jack.”
”Do you have a license?”
”No.”
”Me neither, Jack,” Rafe said.
”You never asked.”
”Jack, kin I drive yo car?”
”Surely.”
Rafe gave him a sly grin. ”Jus axing. That car's mo' trouble'n it's worth.” He lowered his voice so only Caleb could hear. ”You'd best look in on Manny.”
The walls in Manny's room were covered with graffiti-whatever came to the minds of his many visitors. Caleb had started it off one night, when Manny was talking about giving up, by scribbling Dylan Thomas's imperative just below the ceiling with a Magic Marker: ”Rage, rage against the dying...”
Someone had added, ”Get well soon so we can go to the beach.”
Advertising slogans probably not meant as double entendres soon followed: BE ALL THAT YOU CAN BE.
UNCLE SAM WANTS YOU-so DO I.
THE MARINES ARE LOOKING FOR A FEW GOOD MEN- ME TOO.
JUST DO IT.
To the cliche ”G.o.d is dead-Nietzsche/Nietzsche is dead-G.o.d,” someone added, ”But Manny's still with us. Thank Whoever.”
Even Rafe had put his two cents in: ”Hang in there, Mann.”
Manny took Caleb's large hand in his small ones, which were like gloved skeletons. ”Jack, I put on a good front but most of the time I'm terrified.”
”Most of us are, Manny, even those without AIDS.”
”But why? It's not like I have a brilliant future.”
Caleb had no answer. He shook his head.
”I used to be so lovely,” Manny said wistfully.
”You still are inside. Inside, you're the most beautiful man I know.”
”I've forgotten how it feels to make love, Jack. I've even forgotten how it feels to want it.”
Caleb put his free hand over Manny's skeletal one. ”You haven't forgotten how it feels to love? To be loved?”
Tears brimmed over in the smaller man's eyes. ”Of course not.”
Judging by his flouris.h.i.+ng practice, Caleb thought, there were healthy legions who had forgotten, but Manny needed to figure that out for himself. He said, ”Well?”
”Why am I still so afraid?”
”It keeps you fighting?”