A Film by Spencer Ludwig. David Flusfeder

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СКАЧАТЬ the dude, Jimmy. You the man! High-five!’

      Spencer’s father ignores him. He has the portable oxygen cylinder switched on and the breathing tube attached to at least one nostril.

      ‘Toaster-oven,’ Spencer says. ‘He says we’ll get the toaster-oven.’

      ‘Oh. Are you sure? He’s already been out once today. Jimmy?! YOU’VE ALREADY BEEN OUT TODAY. YOU MUST BE TIRED!’

      Spencer’s father ignores her as he always does. He looks lavishly away and continues to fumble with the breathing tube. Spencer’s stepmother considers the situation. It does not make her unhappy for her husband to be away from her if he is in the care, and responsibility, of his son.

      ‘You’ll need something to eat.’

      ‘We won’t need anything to eat,’ Spencer says.

      ‘His blood-sugar levels shouldn’t get too low. A little and often is what Dr Kornblut says. At least take some fruit. JIMMY? WOULD YOU LIKE A PIECE OF FRUIT? I’VE PACKED YOU A PLUM AND A BANANA IN A BAGGIE.’

      ‘It’s the old Jimmy. Decisive, man of action. You see that, Mom?’ Jacksie says.

      ‘Here,’ says Spencer’s father, impotently holding out the dangling breathing tube.

      Spencer fixes the tube while his stepmother stumps out of the living room, and then she comes in again and stumps out and back, bringing more items each time, until Spencer has the portable oxygen cylinder in a carry-bag, the spare cylinder in a rucksack along with one baggie that contains a banana and two plums (which Spencer resolves to take a photograph of as soon as they are out into the hallway), another baggie with Spencer’s father’s medications, a fold-up umbrella, a sweater, four Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies, which she knows that Spencer likes and which prove that she is not entirely without a sense of care and fellow-feeling, and some sections of the New York Times.

      ‘Mom. They’re only going out to the doctor,’ Jacksie says.

      ‘You want to come with us? Maybe it’ll be fun,’ Spencer asks.

      ‘Sure. But no, I better stay here with Mom.’

      ‘Maybe you should take your two o’clock medicines now.’

      Spencer’s father spectacularly ignores his wife.

      ‘Don’t you think that’s a good idea, Spencer? Honey? Spencer thinks it’s a good idea.’

      Spencer’s father averts his head from whichever direction his wife approaches. She reaches to wipe his hair back into place and he bats her hand away.

      ‘ Your medicines,’ she says, and Spencer’s father ignores her.

      ‘Why don’t you take your medicine,’ Spencer says, and his father makes an all-things-are-meaningless gesture and grumpily holds out his hand for the pills.

      He is on sertraline for his depression and prednisone for his breathing and proamatine to raise his blood pressure and rosuvastatin to lower his cholesterol and tramadol for back pain and fludrocortisone for his adrenal gland and alfuzosin to shrink his prostate and darifenacine to calm his bladder and aspirin to stave off another stroke. Spencer’s stepmother keeps all the medications, his and hers, in little white boxes that have separate compartments for the days of the week.

      ‘And the spare oxygen. Don’t forget the spare oxygen.’

      Spencer says, I won’t, and checks the gauge reading on the portable oxygen tank.

      ‘Two,’ his father says.

      ‘It’s on two,’ Spencer says. And Spencer checks the volume on the spare oxygen tank and puts it in the tote-bag along with his father’s cap and scarf and his stepmother’s discarded sections of the New York Times.

      ‘Have you called for the car?’ Spencer’s stepmother says and Spencer says that he has and tells his father, We’re all set.

      ‘ Take the cane,’ Spencer’s stepmother says, and Spencer nods and finds the cane in its place under the hall table, which has mail ready to be sent secured under the base of a carved wooden Buddha, a souvenir from a trip to South-East Asia made in the days before she got sick.

      ‘Don’t forget the toaster-oven,’ Spencer’s stepmother says.

      ‘Where’s the affidavit?’ Spencer’s father says.

      ‘What’s he saying?’ Spencer’s stepmother says. ‘What affidavit?’

      And Spencer is familiar enough with his father’s mind to know that he is referring to something non-legal that he has decided is integral to their outing. One of the symptoms of his aphasia is that he tends to substitute a word that he was accustomed to use for work for something that he requires in the present.

      ‘What?’ says Spencer. ‘Your pills? You’ve taken them.’

      His father irritably shakes his head.

      ‘ The affidavit,’ he says, and shakes his right hand in a loosely held fist.

      ‘What’s he saying?’ Spencer’s stepmother says. ‘Why is he doing that? That tremor is new. Do you think we should take him back to the neurologist?’

      By we Spencer’s stepmother means you. She cannot bear to be alone with her husband any more.

      ‘I think I get it. You mean the backgammon?’ Spencer says.

      His father nods, no less irritably.

      ‘That’s what I said, the affidavit.’

      Spencer adds the backgammon set to the tote-bag and their preparations are complete. His father consents to take the cane in his left hand. Spencer’s stepmother stumps along with them for their journey to the elevator, which is precarious because Spencer’s father just follows his own erratic path, making no allowances for the tube that connects his nose to the oxygen cylinder that Spencer is carrying. Spencer, with the tote-bag over his right shoulder, the cylinder over his left (and both hands poised to catch his father should he fall), has to twist and skip to keep the oxygen tube straight. The elevator operator is a kind man who has grown old inside his brown uniform. The badge he wears on the breast pocket of his jacket announces just his first name.

      ‘How are you doing today, Mister Ludwig? Mister Ludwig.’

      It is only recently that Spencer has been honoured by being greeted formally by the doormen and elevator operators of his father’s building. In former times his appearance had been too disreputable, his manner too odd by Museum Tower standards, to merit more than a nod, a request every time he stepped into the elevator for his floor number, even though he had been visiting his father and stepmother here for close to twenty years. But the group mind of the building’s staff had promoted Spencer in the aftermath of his father’s stroke and his display of dutiful care to the rank of someone to whom it was appropriate to show respect.

      Spencer’s father stumbles into the elevator, and relievedly allows himself to fall against its rear wall with his hands behind him in case he needs to push off again.

      ‘Thank СКАЧАТЬ