The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher

Twenty-two Sounds Burning Blue

Dirk had so many tubes running in and out of him that he looked like he was caught in a spider's web. He had a long, ragged scar on his neck from a thyroid operation. The only thing he got out of it was the ugly track of the cicatrix and a voice he used sparingly. Sounded like sand and gravel flushing down a sluice. Would have been interesting to see off the ward.

He didn't want anyone to see him die. A successful local businessman, at first I suspected 'big fish' syndrome. Resenting loss of control as his pond dried up around him. Growled at the few family and friends to bugger off and not come back. Except for Lucy, daughter by his third wife. She was exceptional somehow. Never found out why. Seemed like a bit of a fake, fawning pill to me. Instead of going right to his room each visit she'd approach the front desk first and ask, "How's daddy doing today?' Think she just wanted to save herself an unnecessary trip. Instead, he met almost exclusively with his lawyer and accountant. They sat around wrapping up his affairs in intense, hushed tones you could just make out in the hall. Sounded like weird intimacies with grating punctuations coming from a crowded confessional.

He was curt with the staff. Volunteers were absolutely anathema. I only walked in the first time by mistake. Got the wrong room. Before I could back out he saw me and said, "Get this crap out of here!" He meant his lunch. Technically I wasn't supposed to do that. A violation. Strictly a union job. But somehow I just couldn't disobey his rasping authority. I walked over and looked down at the tray with the untouched faded green fibreglass covered dish and black recycled cutlery.

"I take it lunch wasn't very appealing today."

"I'd rather die than eat that crap" he croaked

Don't know what possessed me then. It just slipped out.

"Well, they usually don't come here for the food anyway."

Holy shit, tell me you didn't just say that! But he didn't look upset at all. He looked defiant.

"O.k., you eat it then."

So I did. Didn't feel I had much choice. And it wasn't bad. Not Michelin maybe but then you didn't have to tip either. He watched me carefully from his plastic web till I finished and put the plate and spoon carefully back down on the table.

"So, how was it?"

"Better than I expected.' I said. "It was a yellow today. Some kind of corm, I think. They're usually yellow, brown or white. Sometimes green."

"Great. You've just been appointed my official food taster. See you at supper."

A bit surprising. An extended rasp for a stranger that must have cost him a lot. Then he turned away and stared at the ceiling. Dismissed. I got up and was halfway out of the room when I turned back and said, "Tell me, am I the first person who ever managed to eat your lunch."

He looked at me for a minute in silence, then snorted.

"Ya, and the last."

I became an irregular table companion. We didn't talk much. He was getting so he couldn't talk much. A verb here. A noun there. The occasional adverb or preposition. Mostly he'd just lie there and watch me eat. Then one day in the middle of a brown this doctor came in, sat on the bed beside him and said just a little louder than a whisper, "So, how are you?"

"You do assisted suicide?" he croaked.

"Fuck," I thought, "fuck, I gotta get outta here."

I started to put down his dish as quietly as possible but he turned his head and gave me a look that screwed me back to my seat. I became a horrified amateur onlooker as the doctor gently explained that, no, they couldn't and didn't. However, what they could do was keep him so sedated that he would sleep, feel nothing till his organs finally failed. He was unsettlingly calm and precise in his description of the chain of events and time frame. Personally, I didn't see the difference between the two options but Dirk seemed satisfied.

"O.k., let's do it." Very businesslike. Like he was starting a new company. Or maybe winding down an old one.

The doctor left. I was just following when he gasped, "Wait. Thanks."

"Thanks? Thanks for what?"

"I was wrong. There is a free lunch. Enjoyed watching."

He took a second to recover from the effort before he snorted. That's when I finally realized it was his way of laughing.