On Foreign Soil

Laura Dell woke, feeling about one hundred years old, and like she could use a good fist fight. The piece of paper Herbert had given her the previous morning at The Orange lay on her bedside table underneath her glasses. She squinted at the slip and read the words, Level 3, Room 149: Chicago University Hospital. He was scheduled for his first procedure today, and she decided to stop in and visit on her lunch break from the museum.

After grabbing a granola bar, and filling her mug with coffee, Laura Dell began the trek to work. She walked alongside the crept myrtles that were serving time in their wrought iron cages, and past the park on First Street where joggers and old men were already competing for space. She thought of Herbert, and as hard as she tried, could not picture him in a hospital gown. Passing through the doors of the museum, she hoped Feinman would allow her a lunch break.

The museum looked a lot like a friend with a new haircut; the exhibits and benches were in the same place, but something was a little off. Laura Dell had been lucky enough to avoid Feinman for most of the morning. He was holed up in his office, and she imagined him sitting there, debating the pros and cons of relocating his pen to the opposite side of the desk. She had an idea of where he could put it. As she approached the door, Laura Dell raised her hand to knock, but stopped. Herbert’s words, “she got sick,” swung back and forth in her mind, and she imagined him on the cold tiles of the University Hospital, telling the nurse for the third time that he did not want to watch T.V. She headed for the exit, and stepped out into the chilly afternoon.

With only a few blocks to go, Laura Dell began to grow nervous. As close as she and Dr. Walters had become, he still made her nervous sometimes. As she stepped into the elevator and pushed the faded button for floor three, she tried once more to picture Herbert in a hospital gown. She couldn’t.

Awaking Laura Dell from her trance, the elevator bell rang reminding its passengers that they had reached the third floor. She stepped out and felt like she had been pushed onto the stage of a musical she had never auditioned for. The cold tiles, institutional colors and foam padding were almost too much to handle, and Laura Dell tried not to think about the last time she had been in a hospital. She found the third floor registry, posted on the wall between the fire alarm and a mass produced water-color painting. She stared into the painting, hoping that if she really concentrated on the wooden row-boat splashing over white caps, it could somehow remove her from this place, or at least keep her from seeing Dr Walters in that awful gown.

“Can I help you?” A voice came from Laura Dell’s left.

“ Can I help you?”

Laura Dell could not shake the image of the tiny boat, in the middle of an ocean that was so vast and blue, wild and windy.

“ I’m looking for…Herbert.”

“Herbert?” asked the nurse.

“Herbert Walters,” said Laura Dell.

A smile warmed the faces of a few women behind the nurse’s station as the woman pulled a cream colored envelope from the back of her clipboard.

“Mr. Walters told me, that if a beautiful young woman came looking for him today, to give her this.”

“You must be Laura Dell,” the nurse said, placing the envelope squarely into her hands.

“He left, about 9:30 this morning.”

“Yep,” said one of the nurses behind them, “ said he had a very important errand to run.”

“Can he do that,” asked Laura Dell.

“He did,” laughed the nurse, “bandages and all.”

As Laura Dell rode the elevator down to the bottom floor, she clutched the envelope and stepped into the early afternoon sun. She tried to imagine Dr. Walters walking out into the street in a hospital gown, his arms wrapped in bandages. She could, and could not help but laugh as she opened the envelope. Only a small slip of paper was inside, and written in thin black ink, the words, Howard Branch Station, 12:15 p.m. She rushed back inside to the front desk of the receiving end of the hospital.

“Excuse me ma’m, but what is Howard Branch Station,” Laura Dell asked the Senior-Citizen volunteer behind the counter.

“Howard Branch?”

“Yes ma’m.”

“Howard Branch is about three blocks from here, it’s one of the stations for the L Train.”

Laura Dell wanted to ask what the L train was, but realized she only had about 10 minutes to go three blocks if she was going to make it.

“Thank you ma’m, “ Laura Dell yelled as she rushed back out through the automatic doors.

She had forgotten to ask whether Howard Branch was three blocks left or right, but Laura Dell decided it was right, because left was the museum, and Feinman. Laura Dell did some sort of combination between a walk and run for about 300 feet until she decided to take of her heels altogether. As it began to rain, Laura Dell could not help but think that she was fulfilling her Alabama girl stereotype in the best possible way.

Wet, hungry, and out of breath, Laura Dell ascended the stairs underneath the Howard Branch sign. With the wet envelope in one hand and her shoes in the other, she paced up and down the platform until she could see every bench.

Dr. Walters sat in the far right corner, and had not seen her yet. He had on his tweed jacket, worn slacks, and puffed on a pipe while piles of newspaper engulfed the bench and floor beside him. Laura Dell picked up a stack of wrinkled newspaper, and sat beside him.

“You’re late,”

“You’re smoking,”

“Fair enough,” said Dr. Walters.

“Don’t you think that with your… your… condition,” Laura Dell finally found the word.

“You can live a long life without smoking,” said Herbert, “But it will seem long.”

“What about your procedure, what about what the doctor recommended?”

Dr. Walters handed Laura Dell a small white ticket with the words,

North Side Main Line: Express – Granville.

“Yes or No?” said Herbert.

“What’s in Granville?”

“Yes or No?” he repeated.

Laura Dell thought of the museum, of Sue and of Feinman. She thought of the little wooden boat, of the blue waves all around it.

“When does it leave?” she asked, making eye contact with Dr. Walters for the first time since she’d sat down.

“Last call is in three minutes.”

Laura Dell looped her arm inside of his, as the two boarded the train and searched for a seat. Dr. Walters put Laura Dell’s wet things under their seat and asked the steward for a blanket. He draped it over her, and tucked it under her chin. As Laura Dell slept, Herbert listened to the heavy steel wheels grinding on the track below, and hoped he could remember the way.

When Laura Dell and Dr. Walters stepped off in Granville, the rain had cleared and the sun was beginning to set.

“We’ve got to go, if we’ll make it before dark,” said Herbert.

“Make it where?” asked Laura Dell.

Dr. Walter’s took his cane, and stepped down from the train. He helped Laura Dell down, and the two walked outside of the Granville depot, and into town.

“It’s beautiful,” said Laura Dell, “in a small town kind of way that reminds me of home.”

“It used to be a lot smaller,” said Herbert.

At this point in their journey, Laura Dell had gotten used to the fact that she was not going to know what they were doing until they were doing it, so she listened. Herbert talked about what used to be here, how much the streets had changed, and how the best cup of coffee in Illinois could still be found at Standee’s coffee shop downtown.

“We used to go there, five or six nights a week…”

“We?” asked Laura Dell, and suddenly wished that she hadn’t.

“Yes, We, said Dr. Walters.”

“Why do you think I brought you here?”

He led her through the gates of the small cemetery on the north end of town, to a headstone that shared his last name.

He ran his fingers over the engraved letters, and mouthed the words, Malynne Walters. He began to pull weeds from the little plot that had sprung up because of all rain this year.

Laura Dell stood behind Herbert, who sat in front of the marker.

“Sometimes when the evening is like this, spread out against the sky, I know that I would trade every treasure that I ever dug up for the one I had to bury.”

Dr. Walters tossed the weeds to the side, and motioned for Laura Dell to help him up.

They walked back through town, arm in arm, and took shifts sleeping on the train ride home. As Laura Dell climbed the stairs to her apartment, she thought about the museum, the rowboat, and what it would be like to see Feinman in the morning. She lay in bed, and wondered if Dr. Walters’s could sleep.

She reached for the phone.