He died Sunday night and I did everything Rachel told me to do for people who are dying, but it didn't help. I am yet to see it work, and though I am not an old man, I have seen too many people die. When I was a little boy and my mother told me to get that "damn dead bird" out of the house, I had already had enough of death. Rachel said sick people like to be read to, and the best thing to read to them is poetry, because it's generally short and you can stop after each poem to see how they're doing. She used to read poetry to sick people, and she said the most unread, hateful person would listen to those poems like it might save them. She said the only people in the world who are convinced they're going to die are poets and sick people. So I took the collection of bird poems Rachel gave to me and read them to Hank. He died anyway.
At first I couldn't see Hank. The nurses asked me who I was, and I told them that I had recently been sketching Hank's hallucinations, and I'd like to update him on their progress. I had all the sketches with me in a tube, and had some pencils too in case Hank had some new ones. After the third time I said it the nurses understood I wasn't playing a joke on them, and they told me Hank was in a coma and he wouldn't be able to speak to me. They said only family could see him, and his family had already visited.
I sat out on the curb of the hospital sidewalk and called Sammy and Boyce. They both came out to meet me at the hospital, and we tried again. Sammy is good at talking people into things, but when he's around Boyce he's even better. Boyce is generally a quiet guy, but when he needs to, he can be really convincing, and the two of them have a great track record of talking people into things. One summer, Boyce and Sammy made it a month never paying for a soda at a restaurant. They just always talked the waitress into floating them something for free. The formula generally goes:
When we got up to Hank's floor though, the nurses saw me with my tube of hallucination sketches and said, "You and the architect can turn right around. No visitors." Sammy and Boyce didn't even get a chance to start their formula. When reacting against such vehemence, however, they adjust the formula by scrapping all bells and whistles and getting straight to the point. Boyce said, "Look, this is Mr. Gradowski's good friend, and you and I know both know he's not going to live much longer." They would have none of it, though. Family wasn't even allowed at this time of night.a) Be polite, but not too polite. Smile, laugh, and when the seductee speaks lean your head in slightly.
b) Separate yourselves from the unwashed masses. This includes nodding, saying "Really?" and "Seriously?" when the seductee complains, and looking at one another as though to say, "Can you believe this, Boyce?...I cannot, Sammy."
c) Tell a story that resembles any complaint of the seductee. This works especially well if you set up the other person. For instance: "Sammy, didn't that happen to your mom once?"
d) Never make an overt request. Ask with your eyes and awkward pauses that are redeemed through your eye contact and smiles. Always let the seductee feel they are acting graciously out of their own willed kindness, rather than being guilted or seduced into an obligation.
On our way back out through the lobby, however, I saw Randy Bart, who was custodial staff at the Sleep Center years before, and had put in a transfer for the hospital. Randy is nearly seventy years old and very religious, and when I said hello to him he said God bless me for visiting someone. That's when Sammy and Boyce took over, renewed by a new target. In twenty minutes--fifteen of which were given to let Randy talk about the new carpet at his church and his grandkids--we were inside Hank's room. It turns out Randy Bart is adored by the nurses because he doesn't ever complain, so when he vouched for me they agreed to let us see Hank.
I tried reading some poems to Hank, and when I got tired Sammy took over. Hank didn't move though. It's hard to look at a person in a coma and not imagine them suddenly coming out of it, kind of like I can't follow the directions scribbled onto my uncle's grave and not imagine him jumping out of the ground when I stand on his tombstone and scream, "FREE DRINKS FOR THE UNDEAD!"
For a while the three of just talked amongst ourselves, wondering if Hank could hear us. Sammy said his brain is so shot that if he did hear us, he wouldn't know our voices from his own memories. We figured if that were true though, we should just say some great things and maybe Hank would think they happened to him. So for an hour we just told stories to each other about fun things we'd done in our life. We talked about going to Vegas, Atlantic City, Reno, and all those riverboats and Indian reservations. Boyce told the story about when we were in high school and tried to tip over the vending machine for a free coke, but it fell onto Sammy instead. And even though Sammy hurt his ankle real bad being pinned under that thing, when the gym teacher found him he still had the presence of mind to say, "Remember me as a peacemaker." And Sammy told the story about how he got Boyce back for running away when the vending machine fell on him by spelling, "MOVE PLANE, I CAN'T SEE GOD" with bleach on his family's front lawn. And then Boyce told the story about how his family talked for the next ten years about what that was supposed to mean.
None of Hank's machines ever blipped like I hoped they would. I said goodbye to him and that I'd visit him again if I could. But when I called the next day, Sunday, they said Hank was dead. I asked the nurse when the funeral was, and she said she didn't know, that it was up to family, and that I should contact them. I don't know how, though. Sammy has been checking the paper they get at Arby's, but there hasn't been anything there. Boyce told me to just look up his file, but I promised Rachel I'd never do it again. Both Sammy and Boyce think she'd accept this as an exception. Even Charlotte agreed. I won't do it, though.
