Horrible Harvest

I dismounted and guided my horse to a nearby hitching post and followed the nurse through the grounds to an entrance to the building. A man dressed as a lawman of some sort greeted us and asked me my business. She explained that I was visiting a patient, and he took on a friendlier tone, asking for my sidearm and any other weapons I had. I handed over my gun belt and Bowie.

I followed the nurse through the hallway to an admittance office, where she introduced me to a fella named Emmitt Kilroy. He called himself an Admittance Administrator.

“The name of the patient?” he asked.

“He’s run through a few over the years.”

“A few?”

“He’s been known to change it as often as he changed his shirt.”

“Well, by what name did you know him last?”

“Macon Goodwyn.”

He give his files a look. “I’ve no patient by that name.”

“Marcus London.”

Again, there was no patient by that name.

“Maybe if you describe him.”

“He’s mean.”

“That narrows it down to most of our patients in our inebriate ward. If drink gave them pleasant personalities, they wouldn’t need care.”

“Tall – Not as tall as me, but he’s got some size to him. He’s down to one eye.”

“Awe – Yes. Him I know. Horace Tennyson.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise that Daddy had gone back to his real name.

“Your business with Horace?”

I paused for a long while before saying, “He’s my daddy – I’m his – boy – One of his boys.”

He give me a good hard look. “We’ve been searching for his family for months.”

“War displaced us.”

He nodded. “Of course – Of course. What do you know of your father’s condition?”

“Condition?” I laughed. “Don’t know him outside of his condition, Mr. Kilroy. Daddy was a hard worker and an even harder drinker. Seen him two bottles in more than I ever seen him sober.”

“I’m afraid drink is – was the least of his vices. He picked up an opium habit. He did not fare well.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Your father is not cogent, sir. He never speaks, other than a constant flow of incoherent mumbling. When he is not asleep, he sits on the edge of his bed, rocking back and forth, a blank expression. He displays only a dulled manner. He eats minimally – You should prepare yourself because he surely is not the man you remember.”

I nodded. “The sight of me may snap him out of it.”

He stood. “I would not count on such an outcome.” He started for the door. “Follow me.”

And I did. To the right and down the east wing until we reached a wide staircase that ascended to the floors above. My focus turned to the sound of my boots landing upon the wood planks as I marched in step behind the admittance administrator. Soon enough I come under the spell of the thud of my boots landing heavy on a stair followed by the creak of the floor. Over and over again. Thud. Creak. I lost all sense of myself in that sound. Come clean out of my body and watched myself from above make the journey one step at a time. The staircase continued on and on and on – Upward to nothing.

“J-522,” Mr. Kilroy said.

I tumbled back down into myself only to find me and the administrator standing shoulder to shoulder in front of a door labeled J-522. I looked up and down the long hallway and noticed dozens of doors almost identical to the one in front of me. Only the numbers set them apart.

“One is like the next,” I mumbled to myself.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing – I was just saying – Nothing.”

He nodded. “I understand this can be overwhelming.” He put his hand on the doorknob. “I must reiterate that your father’s condition may be shocking – ”

“Open the door, Mr. Kilroy.”

He did as requested and pushed the door open. “One final warning. While we do our best to maintain a clean and orderly hospital, some of our patients are prolifically untidy and – Well, the smells can be unbearable.”

“Mr. Kilroy, one of the finest men I have ever known was the foulest smelling being you can imagine.” I entered the room and was struck by an odor far more putrid than my old friend Piney ever produced. I lifted the back of my hand to my nose.