Chapter 10

"Running the Gauntlet"

"I'LL PLUG IT IN," HOOLEY ANNOUNCED. "WANT TO TURN IT ON?" HE WAS UNROLLING A LONG HEAVY-DUTY EXTENSION CORD.

*DO I WANT TO TURN IT ON? DOES A BUFFALO WANT TO CRAP ON THE PRARIE? OF COURSE I WANT TO TURN IT ON! ACTUALLY THOUGH, I SHOULD TRY TO BE MORE ACCOMMODATING …*

"DAMN RIGHT I DO!" I GROWLED AS I GRIPPED THE CRUTCHES AND FOLLOWED HIM INSIDE WHERE HE LOWERED THE BIG RADIO GENTLY ONTO THE FLOOR. BOTH OF US STOOD AND STARED AT IT AS THOUGH IT MIGHT BEGIN TO DANCE THE VIRGINIA REEL. BUT IT DIDN'T DO ANYTHING; JUST STOOD AND STARED AT US WITH THAT BIG BLACK CIRCLE THAT WAS THE TUNING DIAL.

I MARVELED AT ITS CONSTRUCTION … THE BEAUTIFUL WOOD CABINET, THE HUGE DIAL FACE, THE ROWS OF PUSH-BUTTONS FOR AUTOMATIC TUNING, AND THE BAKELITE SPINNERS: SMALL ONE TO TURN IT ON, LARGE ONE TO TUNE IN STATIONS MANUALLY; AND THE LEVER BELOW THEM THAT CHANGED THE FREQUENCIES FROM AM TO FM TO SHORT WAVE. THIS WAS ZENITH AT ITS … WELL … ZENITH. IT HAD TO BE AT LEAST SEVENTY FIVE OR EIGHTY YEARS OLD. HOOLEY PLUGGED THE RADIO'S CORD INTO THE EXTENSION CORD, AND I TOUCHED THE SMALLEST KNOB REVERENTLY; ALMOST LIKE CARESSING THE FUR OF OLD STEVE McQUEEN WITH ONE FINGER …

A HUGE RUMBLE OF SOUND ENGULFED THE CABIN'S INTERIOR AND OVERFLOWED. WE BOTH JUMPED BACK IN ALARM. EARSPLITTING STATIC AND A CRACKLING ROAR SURROUNDED US AS THOUGH WE WERE CRASHING THROUGH THE UNDERBRUSH IN THE MIDST OF A HERD OF KANGAROOS … IN A HAIL OF GUNFIRE.

"HEY MON …" HOOLEY EXCLAIMED, "COULD YOU TURN THE VOLUME DOWN AND FIND A STATION? MY EARS ARE EXPLODING."

MINE TOO. I TURNED THE VOLUME KNOB COUNTER-CLOCKWISE UNTIL THJE OVERWHELMING ROAR HUSHED DOWN TO A SIZZLE. I TURNED THE LARGE SPINNER BEHIND THE SMALL ONE, AND THE CRACKLE QUICKLY DIMINISHED. AT THE TOP OF THE DIAL, A DIME-SIZED BRIGHT GREEN LIGHT FLUCTUATED MADLY WITH THE SPIN OF THE TUNING KNOB. I WAS FASCINATED. IT LOOKED LIKE A HUGE ELECTRIC EYE FOLLOWING EVERY MOVE I MADE.

THEN THE GRID FOUND A STATION, AND THERE WAS A SUDDEN BURST OF MUSIC. IT WAS CRYSTAL CLEAR, LIKE IT WAS COMING FROM THE NEXT ROOM. IF THERE HAD BEEN A NEXT ROOM. WONDERFUL SOUND. THE GREEN EYE STEADIED AND I DECIDED THAT IT WAS THERE TO TELL THE LISTENER WHEN THE TUNER WAS PRECISELY CENTERED ON A STATION. THE SPEAKER WAS JUST AS GOOD AS TODAY'S STEREO, EXCEPT FORTY YEARS OLDER.

I STOOD ENTRANCED, BENT OVER, BOTH HANDS PROPPED ON MY HEALTHY KNEE IN AS MUCH AN ATTITUDE OF NIRVANA AS I'D EVER BEEN. THE CRUTCHES HAD LONG SINCE FALLEN FROM MY GRASP AND LAY ON THE FLOOR AT MY FEET AS I SWAYED TO THE RHYTHM.

I REMEMBERED MY MOM AND DAD DANCING TO SUCH MUSIC WHEN I WAS A VERY LITTLE KID.

STRANGE, THE MEMORIES MUSIC CAN EVOKE: NAMES AND PLACES … WORLDS AWAY AND AGES IN THE PAST. THE SONG SWITCHED AND I RECOGNIZED THE SMOOTH STRAINS OF "PENNY SERENADE"

I looked up, finally, to see Hooley watching me with a strange expression.

"What?"

He continued to look at me with a stance of alarm, while that wonderful melody transfixed my consciousness.

Then I got it. Abruptly. I was pain-free and in another world. As I was straightening up, a wave of pain engulfed me so completely that my knees buckled. I'd have fallen flat if he hadn't leapt across the floor so quickly and with such power that the entire cabin vibrated on its shaky legs.

He caught me just before I would have hit the floor, and lowered me onto my ass in a single motion. I sat gasping, trying to reconcile what had just taken place, attempting to form words that wouldn't come. The grind of the sudden spasm held me immobile, and I quickly doubled up, bent over it, embraced it, both hands clenching hard over the damaged nerve endings that triggered it.

The radio segued into Perry Como's "Round 'n' Round", and I could hear every syllable, every nuance of instrumentation and background singers as though I was right there in that recording studio in 1956, playing studio piano myself. The pain geography made the fever of the illusion that much clearer.

I was gasping, my pulse rate climbing. I wanted to cry out, but I was too weak even to do that. I was a micro-something in a Petrie dish, exsanguinating under the eye of a microscope. The radio was playing "There I've Said it Again" by Vaughn Monroe. Low and slow and mellow. I was rigid and trembling and unable to move. The next thing I knew was Hooley's hands under both arms, hauling me to my feet and dragging me to the bed. I think I passed out.

When I awoke it was dark. My hearing was so acute that waves lapping languidly on the shore sounded like a dog drinking from a water dish right next to my ear. The big radio was turned off, and moved over to stand near the foot of my bed. It stood silent as a sentinel on guard near a castle's moat. Hooley sat nearby in one of the old recliners. He had not disturbed me while I lay like a corpse. He was leafing through an old magazine that he'd found somewhere …

When I stirred, disoriented, I heard him slap the thing down and move to my side. "You forgot yourself, Mon," he said softly. "If this is how you react when I bring gifts, I will bring no more gifts …" The look in his eyes told me he was teasing. Maybe a little rattled at a situation that could have gotten out of hand. "How do you feel?"

The question startled me. I honestly didn't know. I felt like I was suspended in mid-air with static electricity radiating outward from my body; dangling like a wire broken off from its connection. I lay still, staring at him stupidly.

"Kyle Calloway?"

The name did not register.

"Gregory House … speak to me!"

That did it. My index finger found its way to my lips: "Shhh …" I felt like I'd been hit with a two-by-four and doused with cold water. "We don't … talk about him …"

Hooley stood with hands on hips, unbelieving. "It has occurred to me that some of the pain and confusion you experience from time to time might indeed have to do with some of the things from your past that are still locked away in the mind of Gregory House."

I was quickly doing a slow burn. He noticed. "The pain is not in my head!"

"Do not become upset, please. I am not wishing to destroy your trust in me. It is just a notion I have. Your leg pain seems to be increasing rather than diminishing since you've been here … and I have had to administer morphine three times. That is too often. I suspect you have unresolved issues from your former life, and they may be adding to your distress. I know your leg injury is painful, for I have seen it and I have seen what it does to you. But there are hurtful things you haven't worked out in your own mind, and I wish you would try. I will now shut up, for that is all I have to say."

I glared at him, but he did not back down. He stood relaxed and waiting for an answer. Or not. I knew the next move was up to me. "I don't know if I can," I said quietly.

"I will not press you," he said. "But it is the elephant in the room, I think. Something in your heart is causing you so much pain that it is adding to the distress in your leg. If you deal with the first, then the second may be diminished also."

I sighed and nodded. "I have to think about it, but sometimes the thinking is more painful than the doing. Talking about my own shortcomings has always been the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Guess that's why I always shy away from it. Don't you ever get sick and tired of babysitting me, Hooley?"

He smiled at me as a father would smile at a three-year-old. "Oh yeah … sick of you all the way up to the bell on my hat. When I came here today it was not only to bring the radio, but to ask if you would like to go down to Amos's place tonight. I thought you would like a change of scenery, but we both know that is not possible now. Perhaps in a few days we can try again."

"You just admitted you were sick of me."

"Indeed, but it is transitory and you are my client. There are times when I am less sick of you than others. Tonight I am glad I was here to help. You should never be left alone with antique radios."

I glared at him, but he paid no attention and continued.

"I am also learning about you, and you are a challenge. You hide things; things I need to know, but have to figure out by watching you. You pretend you are okay when you are not. You evade every question when I need information and not a debate. I have never met a more stubborn man. But there is a delicate edge of decency to you that is most refreshing, and I wish to absorb more of it. I will work with you as long as you will allow me, and I am believing the association is mutually beneficial, eh Kyle Calloway?"

Suddenly were both laughing, the tension of the recent incident draining away. We made arrangements to spend the evening at Amos's bar two nights hence … if I didn't kill myself first.

"I'll try to get it together and talk to you about the stuff I did back in the states that I'm ashamed of … and maybe I can get it ironed out about what's really bugging me …"

"I am willing to wait however long it takes until you are ready, Mon."

I thanked him …

I let him pull off my shoe and socks because I couldn't begin to do it alone, but the cutoffs stayed where they were for the night. I thanked him for the radio, and for the invitation to Amos's Tiki Bar, and I felt myself getting groggy, my eyes heavy with sleep.

I heard Hooley leave in the dune buggy shortly after.

The next time I opened my eyes, daylight was only a thin purple line across the horizon. There was a nightlight turned on near the stove, and a tiny circle of illumination around it looked like a little Klieg light turned on a miniature stage. Maybe the Palmetto bugs were staging their version of a Broadway Musical. The radio was playing softly.

At the moment I was pain-free and I lay very still, appreciating it. The background to the music came from the slapping of the waves on the beach across from me. It was a little like #5 sticks on one snare drum and the snares kicked loose on the other one. Not much bass drum; just a kiss. Brushes on the high hat. The music and the ocean were in rhythm with one another and it was a very pleasant musical sensation.

I listened as long as I dared, but Mother Nature was calling and it was time to drag myself into the head to water the lilies. The arm canes were at the foot of the bed and I maneuvered around to grasp them and make my way into the bath to turn on the light.

While I sat on the throne, I bent over and reinspected the wound and the newest scar tissue. It was healing slowly and there was no longer the opening in the skin that sometimes leaked blood. I touched the fragile skin very gently and decided to use only a large gel pad over the area. I wrapped it loosely with one of the elastic bandages to keep the stitches stable.

As I was finishing up, something went *CLANG-KLUNK-KA-CLUNK* beneath me, and it scared the crap out of me. There was a hissing sound next, and a metallic *CLANK-DING* and then nothing. I sat up straight and listened like a startled cat.

*What the hell was that?*

That quickly, I stood and pulled up the cutoffs. I slid my left foot into the sneaker, grabbed the arm canes again and limped as fast as possible to the front door.

I guess I had visions of bags of contraband and drug dealers that sold them illegally. Were they armed with guns and knives and garrotes and brass knuckles? Thin, clandestine men wearing masks and black boots … and this poor old cripple gamely beating them back and being hailed as a hero for using a clumsy left-handed roundhouse punch …

*What a bunch of bullshit!*

The Walter-Mitty fantasy went 'pop' in my head when I made it to the door.

Cautiously I eased through and slipped onto the porch. I couldn't see much of anything out back because of the bushes lining the edge of the cabin. So I did my 'sit-and-slither' routine to get down the steps. If I couldn't see the intruder, then whoever was banging around out back couldn't see me either.

I gathered the crutches and snuck toward the corner of the building; paused a moment to calm my racing heart, and stood still to get my bearings. There were still clanking sounds emanating from back there, and I wondered what was going on. It was almost full daylight now, and if this was supposed to be a covert caper, then why the hell all the noise?

I braced myself with false boldness and peered around the corner toward the tank farm. I was quickly deflated by one of those *ahhh shit!* moments.

What I saw was not a Latino man dressed in black, but a black man dressed in white. In his hands was a long rubber hose, and parked right behind him, engine running, was a big, six-wheeler tanker truck with its lights blinking and the logo: "MUNICIPAL" painted on the side. I was having my water tank refilled, and what I had heard from inside was the scrape of the access lid being unscrewed, the hose nozzle hitting the lip of the water tank, the groan of the compressor, and the surge of water as it was being transferred from delivery truck to customer.

I stomped around the corner and made my way toward the man who held the hose. The relief of knowing what was going on and my trepidation and curiosity being satisfied all at the same time, gave my leg pain a chance to reemerge …

The guy with the hose saw me wince as a mild spasm hit, and he almost dropped the hose. "Y'all okay, Buddy?" He asked with a pure-as-hell southern Virginia USA drawl.

I answerd him quickly. "Yeah … I'm fine … just a little sore today. The clanking out here startled me and I came out to see what it was."

"Yeah … well … it's me. I fill the water tanks over here every other month. Yours is the biggest, so it takes every drop this old beater can carry. I'll go back to town and fill up, then deliver to Amos and the Barringtons down thatway."

"Okay," I said. "Interesting that this tank is bigger than the one at Amos's place. He does a good business."

The guy grinned. "Yeah … and it's interesting that you would pick up on that right away. 'Course, ol' man Packard dragged the water tank an' the generator all the way from the states. He wanted to see how the setup would work … and I guess you know by now that it does."

I wasn't sure who he was talking about, but I decided it must be my landlord, whom I'd never met. I didn't want to get into a discussion now. I nodded, but didn't comment.

I watched him shut down the compressor, withdraw the hose and screw the cap back on the lip of the water tank. As I rounded the corner of the cabin and headed for the steps, I heard him rev the engine and retract the hose onto the reel on the truck.

I sat down quickly on the middle step and paused to rub the area over the scar. The bandage prevented me from getting much relief. I moved up the other two steps until I was sitting on the porch and watched the tanker withdraw from behind the cabin and back out onto the beach. The driver honked the horn once and waved.

I waved back.

Inside I sat for awhile, letting the cramp ease up. I tuned the radio to a station in London and listened to a medley by The Beatles. I made bacon and eggs and toast for breakfast, and a pot of coffee. Ten minutes after that I was at the sink washing dishes and nipping at a second cup of coffee. It was full daylight and heating up outside. There were birds bickering away about something … maybe one of the local monkeys was stealing their breakfast …

I unrolled the bandage again and stared at the scar that had almost doubled in size since the infarction. It had a long way to go before this most recent blemish became as gnarled and hardened as the old scar. I was very angry with myself over it. I had no one to blame for its presence except myself. Because of my own stupidity I was on crutches, and there was a chance I would never get off them. It preyed on my mind like a kid picking at a scab until it bled … over and over again.

Maybe this was the thing that kept eating away at me that I couldn't talk about, as Hooley had suggested. Maybe he was right, and it needed to be hauled out into the open. Maybe it was strangling me. But even the thought of a 'confession' gave me cold chills down my spine. Right now, I simply didn't have the guts …

My leg was achy and the discomfort escalated every time I tried to place weight on it. My cane might have to hang on the bed rail for the next millennium.

The day's exercises exhausted me and I sweated out the pain afterward. No Vicodin.

I changed the station on the radio and sat in one of the old recliners to rest and recover.

After catnapping most of the afternoon, when I finally came to and got up to go the head, I was surprised to see that the sun was setting beyond the ocean.

Another day wasted …

68