Ham On Rye

But it was my grandmother and my mother. I decided to let them have their way. The crucifix swung back and forth above my back, over my boils, over me.

"God," prayed my grandmother, "purge the devil from this poor boy's body! Just look at all those sores! They make me sick, God! Look at them! It's the devil, God, dwelling in this boy's body. Purge the devil from his body, Lord!"

"Purge the devil from his body, Lord!" said my mother. What I need is a good doctor, I thought. What is wrong with these women? Why don't they leave me alone?

"God," said my grandmother, "why do you allow the devil to dwell inside this body's body? Don't you see how the devil is enjoying this? Look at these sores, 0 Lord, I am about to vomit just looking at them! They are red and big and full!"

"Purge the devil from my boy's body!" screamed my mother.

"May God save us from this evil!" screamed my grandmother. She took the crucifix and poked it into the center of my back, dug it in. The blood spurted out, I could feel it, at first warm, then suddenly cold. I turned over and sat up in the bed.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I am making a hole for the devil to be pushed out by God!" said my grandmother.

"All right," I said, "I want you both to get out of here, and fast! Do you understand me?"

"He is still possessed!" said my grandmother.

"GET THE FUCKING HELL OUT OF HERE!" I screamed.

They left, shocked and disappointed, closing the door behind them.

I went into the bathroom, wadded up some toilet paper and tried to stop the bleeding. I pulled the toilet paper away and looked at it. It was soaked. I got a new batch of toilet paper and held it to my back awhile. Then I got the iodine. I made passes at my back, trying to reach the wound with the iodine. It was difficult. I finally gave up. Who ever heard of an infected back, anyhow? You either lived or died. The back was something the assholes had never figured out how to amputate.

I walked back into the bedroom and got into bed and pulled the covers to my throat. I looked up at the ceiling as I talked to myself.

All right, God, say that You are really there. You have put me in this fix. You want to test me. Suppose I test You? Suppose I say that You are not there? You've given me a supreme test with my parents and with these boils. I think that I have passed Your test. I am tougher than You. If You will come down here right now, I will spit into Your face, if You have a face. And do You shit? The priest never answered that question. He told us not to doubt. Doubt what? I think that You have been picking on me too much sol am asking You to come down here so I can put You to the test!

I waited. Nothing. I waited for God. I waited and waited. I believe I slept.

I never slept on my back. But when I awakened I was on my back and it surprised me. My legs were bent at the knees in front of me, making a mountain-like effect with the blankets. And as I looked at the blanketmountain before me I saw two eyes staring at me. Only the eyes were dark, black, blank… looking at me from underneath a hood, a black hood with a sharp tall peak, like a ku-klux-klansman. They kept staring at me, dark blank eyes, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was truly terrified. I thought, it's God but God isn't supposed to look like that.

I couldn't stare it down. I couldn't move. It just stayed there looking at me over the mound of my knees and the blanket. I wanted to get away. I wanted it to leave. It was powerful and black and threatening.

It seemed to remain there for hours, just staring at me. Then it was gone… I stayed in bed thinking about it.

I couldn't believe that it had been God. Dressed like that. That would be a cheap trick. It had been an illusion, of course.

I thought about it for ten or fifteen minutes, then I got up and went to get the little brown box my grandmother had given me many years ago. Inside of it were tiny rolls of paper with quotations from the Bible. Each tiny roll was held in a cubicle of its own. One was supposed to ask a question and the little roll of paper one pulled out was supposed to answer that question. I had tried it before and found it useless. Now I tried it again. I asked the brown box, "What did that mean? What did those eyes mean?"

I pulled out a paper and unrolled it. It was a tiny stiff white piece of paper. I unrolled and read it. GOD HAS FORSAKEN YOU.

I rolled the paper up and stuck it back into its cubicle in the brown box. I didn't believe it. I went back to bed and thought about it. It was too simple, too direct. I didn't believe it. I considered masturbating to bring me back to reality. I still didn't believe it. I got back up and started unrolling all the little papers inside the brown box. I was looking for the one that said, GOD HAS FORSAKEN YOU. I unrolled them all. None of them said that. I read them all and none of them said that. I rolled them up and put them carefully back into their cubicles in the little brown box.

Meanwhile, the boils got worse. I kept getting onto streetcar #7 and going to L. A. County General Hospital and I began to fall in love with Miss Ackerman, my nurse of the squeezings. She would never know how each stab of pain caused courage to well up in me. Despite the horror of the blood and the pus, she was always humane and kind. My love-feeling for her wasn't sexual. I just wished that she would enfold me in her starched whiteness and that together we could vanish forever from the world. But she never did that. She was too practical. She would only remind me of my next appointment.

33

The ultra-violet ray machine clicked off. I had been treated on both sides. I took off the goggles and began to dress. Miss Ackerman walked in.

"Not yet," she said, "keep your clothes off."

What is she going to do to me, I thought?

"Sit up on the edge of the table."

I sat there and she began rubbing salve over my face. It was a thick buttery substance.

"The doctors have decided on a new approach. We're going to bandage your face to effect drainage."

"Miss Ackerman, what ever happened to that man with the big nose? The nose that kept growing?"

"Mr. Sleeth?"

"The man with the big nose."

"That was Mr. Sleeth."

"I don't see him anymore. Did he get cured?"

"He's dead."

"You mean he died from that big nose?"

"Suicide." Miss Ackerman continued to apply the salve. Then I heard a man scream from the next ward, "Joe, where are you? Joe, you said you'd come back! Joe, where are you?"

The voice was loud and so sad, so agonized.

"He's done that every afternoon this week," said Miss Ackerman, "and Joe's not going to come get him."

"Can't they help him?"

"I don't know. They all quiet down, finally. Now take your finger and hold this pad while I bandage you. There. Yes. That's it. Now let go. Fine."

"Joe! Joe, you said you'd come back! Where are you, Joe?"

"Now, hold your finger on this pad. There. Hold it there. I'm going to wrap you up good! There. Now I'll secure the dressings."

Then she was finished.

"O.K., put on your clothes. See you the day after tomorrow. Goodbye, Henry."

"Goodbye, Miss Ackerman."

I got dressed, left the room and walked down the hall. There was a mirror on a cigarette machine in the lobby. I looked into the mirror. It was great. My whole head was bandaged. I was all white. Nothing could be seen but my eyes, my mouth and my ears, and some tufts of hair sticking up at the top of my head. I was hidden. It was wonderful. I stood and lit a cigarette and glanced about the lobby. Some in-patients were sitting about reading magazines and newspapers. I felt very exceptional and a bit evil, Nobody had any idea of what had happened to me. Car crash. A fight to the death. A murder. Fire. Nobody knew.