May We Be Forgiven

In the morning there are hurried phone calls and hushed conversations. We will take him to the hospital and they will look for something, some invisible explanation that will relieve him of responsibility.

‘Am I going deaf or what the fuck is going on around here?’ George wants to know.

‘George,’ she says clearly, ‘we have to go to the hospital, pack your bag.’

And he does.

I drive them. He sits next to me wearing clothes from the wrong season, well-worn corduroy pants, a flannel shirt he’s had for fifteen years. He’s unevenly shaven.

I drive self-consciously, worried that his complacent mood might shift, that he might flash back, erupt and try to grab the wheel. The seat belts are good; they discourage sudden movements.

‘Simple Simon met a pieman going to the fair; Said Simple Simon to the pieman “Let me taste your ware,”’ George intones. ‘Simple Simon went a-fishing for to catch a whale; All the water he had got was in his mother’s pail. Watch out,’ he says to me, ‘or you’ll get what you asked for.’

In the emergency room Jane goes to the counter with their insurance information, with the description from the police that her husband was involved in a fatal car accident the afternoon before and appeared disoriented at the scene.

‘That’s not what happened,’ George bellows. ‘The fucking SUV was like a big white cloud in front of me, I couldn’t see over it, couldn’t see around it, I couldn’t help but punch through it like a cheap piece of aluminum, like a fat fucking pillow. The airbag punched me back, slammed me, knocked the wind right outta me, and when I finally got out there were people pushed together like lasagne. The boy in the back doesn’t stop crying. I wanted to just punch him but his mother was looking at me, her eyes popping out of her head.’

As George is talking, two large men make their way towards him from the rear. He doesn’t see it coming. They grab him. He fights back. He’s strong. They’re strong. In the end they win. And I wonder, was it necessary?

The next time we see George, he’s in a cubical in the back of the emergency room, arms and legs tied to a gurney.

‘Do you know why you’re here?’ a doctor asks him.

‘I’ve got bad aim,’ George says.

‘Can you remember what happened?’

‘It’s more like I’ll never forget. I left work at about eight, drove towards home, decided to stop for a bite, which is not something I normally do, but I was tired, I can admit that. I didn’t see her. As soon as I realized I’d hit something I stopped. I stayed with her. I held on to her. She was slipping out from under herself, fluid was leaking out, like a broken engine. I felt sick. And I hated her. I hated her for how stunned she looked, how grey, the pool forming beneath her — I didn’t even know where exactly it was coming from. It started to rain. There were people with blankets — where did the blankets come from? I heard sirens. People in cars drove around us, I saw them staring.’

‘What is he talking about?’ I insist. ‘That’s not what happened. That’s not this accident. Perhaps it’s another one, but it’s not his.’

‘George,’ Jane says. ‘I read the police report, that’s not the right story. Are you thinking of something else? Something you dreamed or something you saw on television?’

‘Any history of mental or neurological symptoms?’ the doctor asks. We all shake our heads. ‘What line of work are you in?’

‘Law,’ George says. ‘I studied law.’

‘Why don’t you leave him with us for now? We’ll order some tests,’ the doctor says, ‘and then we’ll talk further.’

The next morning we go to see him. ‘Is this the right place for him, a psych ward?’ I ask.

‘It’s the suburbs,’ she says. ‘How dangerous could a suburban psych ward be?’

He is alone in his room.

‘Good morning,’ Jane says.

‘Is it — I wouldn’t know.’

‘Did you have your breakfast?’ she asks, seeing the tray in front of him.

‘It’s dog food,’ he says. ‘Take it home to Tessie.’

‘Your breath stinks — did you brush your teeth?’ I ask.

‘Don’t they do it for you?’ George asks. ‘I’ve never been in a mental hospital before.’

‘It’s not a mental hospital,’ Jane says. ‘You just happen to be in the mental unit.’

‘I can’t go into the bathroom,’ he says. ‘I can’t look at myself in the mirror — I can’t.’ He begins to sound hysterical.

‘Do you need me to help you? I can help you clean up.’ Jane opens the toilet kit they have left for him. ‘Don’t make her do this,’ I say. ‘You’re not an infant. Snap out of it — stop acting like a zombie.’

He begins to cry. I walk out of the room. As I leave, Jane is running water on a washcloth.

In the evening after work, Claire comes to the hospital bringing Chinese food from the city for the four of us. We reheat it in the microwave marked FOR PATIENT USE — NO MEDICAL PRODUCTS. We clean our hands with the bottles of foaming cleanser that are on every wall of every room. I worry about putting anything down, touching any surfaces – suddenly I fear I could be eating deadly germs.

‘You have a big trip coming up,’ Jane says, making conversation with Claire.

‘I’m going to China for a few days,’ Claire says.

‘No one goes to China for a couple of days,’ George growls.

Refusing to eat, he will only allow himself to suck the hot mustard directly from the plastic packets — self-punishment. No one stops him.

‘When are you leaving?’ Jane asks.

‘Friday.’

I pass another packet of mustard to George.

Later, in private, Claire tells me not to leave Jane alone — it’s all too strange. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes home one night and the family of the family is camped out on her lawn, or worse, inside her house. George destroyed them — he took their lives and they’re going to want something back. Do Jane and George have a gun? If not they should get one.’

‘What are you saying? You sound so paranoid. And even if it were true, you’d want me to be there to do what — scare them away or shoot them?’

‘She’s very vulnerable. Imagine if it were you: if you went nuts wouldn’t you want someone to stay home with me and keep an eye on the house?’

‘We live in an apartment with a doorman. If I went crazy, you’d be fine.’

‘That’s true, but Jane is not me. She needs someone. Also you should visit the surviving boy. The lawyer is going to tell you not to but just do it. There is a reason I’m a lawyer,’ Claire says. ‘I’m always thinking.’

And so without telling anyone I do it. I go and visit the boy.

‘Are you from the insurance company?’ someone asks.

I nod — is a nod the same as a lie?

‘Do you have everything you need?’ I ask, and I’m not sure why.

They don’t answer.

Next page: It’s funny how quickly something becomes a routine, a way of doing business.