The Wave

I

The freighter took forever to pass – each trundling carriage the same dull rust as the last. An occasional splash of graffiti caught Joel’s eye, and he followed each motif along to the end of the platform. He was trying to work out what they meant but they didn’t seem to mean anything at all. When he ran out of platform he jogged back toward the shelter or to the next piece of graffiti – whichever came first. He recalled something Mr Frost had said about him speaking double Dutch. Were the symbols on the carriages double Dutch? Maybe.

‘It’s all double Dutch’, he said as reached the door of the shelter.
‘Right,’ said Tom. He was typing a message on his phone to nobody in particular.
‘What is double Dutch?’
‘Huh?’
‘What’s double Dutch?’
‘It’s when you’re talking shit. Like when you’re saying something that doesn’t make any sense.’
‘That’s what I thought.’

Joel lifted his cap slightly and flapped the bottom of his sports jacket back and forth to let the air get to his body but also to hear the swish-swish of the material as it moved around. He was sweating a lot and his heart was beating very quickly inside his chest. He could feel the pulse in his neck and he thought maybe he’d have a heart attack if he didn’t stop running up and down the platform. What would it be like to have a heart attack?

‘If you’re hot just take the jacket off,’ said Tom without looking up.
‘Nah. It’s new.’
‘I’m bored.’
‘Yeah.’

Joel sat down. Tom put the phone away and they watched the slow parade together. For some reason the grinding of metal on metal was growing louder and louder. Eventually it filled every frequency. Tom wanted desperately to be reminded of something by this scene – to be moved by it somehow. He pictured an endless procession of great waves on their way to wipe out some little town on the shore of a warm ocean. He thought of the people at the other end of this line, sleeping in their beds while the giant waves came for them. Then he thought they might be animals – elephants passing through a secret valley on their way to pasture or wherever. He was trying hard to think up other analogies but he couldn’t. The important thing was that they were going somewhere – a destination. They had a destination and nothing could stop them. He liked the wave metaphor the most, and so he stuck with that. Joel got up to follow a six foot dick and Tom went back to the message. So far it read ‘On my way 2c Marcus’. He already knew that that was as far as it was ever going to get. The noise had died down again. Maybe the wave had already crashed.

Joel was sweating again. ‘Did you see that massive prick?’ he said.
‘You’re the prick.’
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘You’re already asking me, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What is it?’
‘When are you gonna come home?’
‘Huh?’
‘I wanna to know if you’re coming home.’
‘Didn’t I say not to bother asking? Didn’t I already say that?’
‘Yeah.’
Tom put the phone back in his pocket again. ‘I don’t know. Alright? I don’t know.’
‘Is that why I’m not supposed to ask?’
‘Yeah.’
‘OK.’

Their train was late. When it finally came they waited to see which end the conductor was at and when he stepped onto the platform at the back of the train they walked down to the front. They sat in the furthest seats forward, even though there was hardly anyone else in their carriage – just a guy with a tattoo on his face, a fat Asian woman with her hair in pigtails and a couple of girls. One of the girls was black, one white. Tom tried to get a better look at their faces but they kept laughing and moving around so he gave up. Joel took the cap off his head and crushed the peak between his hands as he looked out the window while the train pulled away, but there was nothing much to look at and he felt himself becoming bored.

The train went on. Nobody got on or off at Edgerton. At Green Bank a skinny woman with a dramatic headscarf got on but then immediately got off again. Tom kept an eye out for the conductor, ready to jump off if he made a move. He could see him through the window in the door between the carriages – a tall grey haired man with a sunken face. He looked too young to have so much grey hair. Instead of taking for tickets he was staring into space, allowing his body to sway back and forth with the movement of the train. He didn’t seem to care what happened on this journey – maybe any journey. Tom wondered if he was suicidal. Who could know?

Joel had decided he was definitely bored. He’d left his phone at home and he could picture it there on the bedside table. It was driving him crazy. He thought he might cry, but then nothing happened. ‘Where did you say we’re going?’ he said.
‘To see Marcus in the hospital.’
‘Alright.’
‘Don’t you even want to know why he’s in the hospital?’
‘I dunno.’
‘He crashed his bike.’
‘Is Marcus the one with the pellet gun?’
‘Yeah.’

Joel had a packet of sweets in his pocket. He pulled them out and opened them up. The first one that came out was black and he dropped that one on the floor. The next was orange. He put it in his mouth. ‘Why’s Marcus in hospital?’ he said.
‘Didn’t I just say that?’
‘I forgot.’
‘He crashed his bike.’
‘Motorbike?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh.’ The next sweet was green. He offered it to Tom.
‘Nah.’
He put the sweets away. ‘What stop is it.’
‘The next one. Hetling Road.’

At Hetling Road they found themselves alone on the platform again. Joel put his cap on and looked at Tom, waiting. There was only one platform which had only one exit, but the decision to carry on seemed to be taking some time. Tom stared out into the middle distance – at the open fields in the wide valley with the small roads intersecting them in sporadic crisscrosses. His mind was completely empty, even of thoughts of emptiness. A car on one of the roads caught the sun and the flash seemed to reach somewhere inside him. He breathed in sharply.

‘So?’
‘What?’
‘Let’s go.’
‘OK.’

Tom started out of the gate. He led them down the gravel track past the tiny station house and onto the lane that wound down through the trees. Birds chirped everywhere. It was hot even in the shade but since neither Tom nor Joel had thought to bring sunglasses it was at least a relief to not have to squint any more. They followed the lane along a low dry stone wall, behind which was a sheer bank. At the bottom of the bank was a river. Joel wondered what it was called. He wrenched a stone from the wall and held it aloft. ‘Check this out,’ he said and threw the stone as hard as he could down the bank. They both watched as it bounced off tree roots and other stones, flattening a sapling on its way down to the water where it broke the surface with a mighty crash. Save for the birdsong, their own heavy breaths, their own heavy footsteps and the swishing of the jacket it was the only sound they had heard since the train pulled away.

‘That was cool,’ Tom said. He wanted to go the same way as the stone. He walked on. Joel followed. At the very bottom of the hill, just as the road was beginning to veer back toward the light, they came upon a sign that read HECTAGON MEDICAL CARE – NEXT RIGHT. They walked on, following the next right where a long driveway led them to what looked like an Alpine lodge. Joel thought it was like something out of a horror film. “Hectagon”. He said the word aloud. Now they had come over the rise they saw that people were lounging on the grass, reading newspapers, laughing. Some of them were wearing white robes. It was all very strange. Around near the shaded part of the building was a selection of small silver cars. At one time Tom may have felt compelled to kick the wing mirrors off them, but the thought only occurred to him now as a sort of memory. At the foot of the steps he spat in the leaves of a potted olive tree and then they went up, toward a pair of automatic doors –one reading HECT; the other, AGON. The doors opened with a tasteful swish and there was nowhere left for them to go but in.

II

‘Good morning,’ said the woman at the desk. ‘Welcome to Hectagon.’
Joel stared into space. ‘Thanks,’ said Tom.
‘How may I help?’
‘Yeah. We’re here to see Marcus May.’
She repeated the words very slowly as she typed them into her computer. ‘Mar-cus-s M-a-a-y.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Are you expected?’
‘Expected?’
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘No.’
‘That’s fine. One moment please.’ She picked up a telephone and dialled two digits. ‘Hi Sandy. I have two young men in reception for Mr May. Uh-huh. That’s right.’ Tom watched her chest as she spoke. Joel coughed into his hand.
‘I will. Thank you.’ She hung up the phone. ‘Mr May is in room 16. That’s through the doors behind you, down the hall and on your right. You can follow the blue line.’
‘Alright,’ said Tom. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Come on.’ Tom grabbed Joel by the jacket and pulled him away from the pamphlet on anaesthesia he’d been browsing.
‘I thought you said this was a hospital?’
‘I don’t know. It’s a medical centre. Whatever. Come on.’

In the corridor Joel treated the blue line as a tightrope, placing his steps heel to toe, arms outstretched. His feet fit inside the breadth of the line, and he tried to stay within that slim margin. He wanted to make it all the way. At one point he had to move off the line for a man in a wheelchair being pushed by another man. They were laughing. The one in the pushchair wore silk pyjamas. Joel wondered if this was what gay men looked like. He watched them trundle on and when they passed through the door he stepped back onto his tightwire to resume the balancing act.

Tom came to the door. It was slightly ajar and it looked dark inside. He waited for Joel to arrive, glad of an excuse to slow everything down. He could hear his own heartbeat. He considered every possible scenario that didn’t involve opening the door. Joel arrived at his shoulder. His options had dwindled away, leaving only one. Together they stepped inside.

Marcus sat in a low armchair near the window. Draped in hospital gowns he looked as frail as a funhouse skeleton. They’d shaved off all his hair and replaced it with a network of dark stitches that ran riot across his skull. The whole left side of his face had a sort of jaundiced look about it. His eyes were little more than dark holes and his mouth was fixed into a half smile, as if the wind had changed on him and never changed back.

‘Marcus?’ Tom stepped further in. The large room was sparsely furnished. There was no reply.
‘Is that him?’ said Joel. He looked scared.
‘Yeah. Marcus? It’s me. Tom.’ He leaned in closer. Marcus’ head lolled slightly to one side, as if on a broken pivot. His mouth opened a little wider. A globule of drool formed at the corner of his mouth. Tom was about to say something else – anything else – when the door swung open and a young woman in a beige dress hurried in.
‘Oh,’ said the woman as she strode across the room. ‘Guests. Hello boys.’ Her voice had a faint Irish lilt to it. It reminded Tom of his mother’s voice. A shiver ran through him. She opened the curtains. Light flooded in.
‘Hi,’ said Tom.
‘Hi,’ said Joel, who had found an orange on the bedside table. He’d peeled a strip of skin off even though he had no intention of eating it. He shoved the whole thing into his pocket.
‘My name’s Sandy. I’m Marcus’ nurse. You’ll have to excuse him - he’s only just woken up. Haven’t you, dear?’ No reply. ‘He likes the window. Shall I leave the three of you alone?’
‘No – don’t go,’ said Tom.
‘I’m sorry, dear.’
‘Don’t leave.’
‘OK,’ she said, smiling at him with what he took to be a great swell of pity in her eyes. She took a bottle of pills, a small plastic cup and a bottle of mineral water out of the large front pocket of her dress and placed them on the table. ‘He’s in a great deal of pain,’ she said, pulling the lid off the bottle and pouring two enormous red pills into the cap, which she then poured into the cup. Tom was glad not to have to participate in this ritual. He stood on the spot, willing himself in vain to look away from the grim constellations on Marcus’ skull as Sandy brought the cup to his lips. He looked at her with eyes full of blank terror as his mouth fell open and she tipped the pills in. When she brought the water to his lips he laughed for no reason at all. She placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘Swallow them now, dear,’ she said. He laughed again. Water trickled out of the corner of his mouth. Tom watched on in silence. Finally Marcus swallowed. It was all too much.

Joel had his phone in his hand. He started at the screen blankly, hoping it might open up and swallow him. He felt that he needed to see something good, but there was nothing to see but the anesthetised minimalism of the room and the shape Tom’s aching silence and Marcus’ delirious somnambulence. It was all he could do to keep from throwing himself out of the window. He wished for a fog to descend upon them or for an explosion in some distant place that he could watch from afar. As the nurse tried desperately to look busy – tidying the already tidy bed, straightening the already straight curtains – Joel watched her. He put the phone back into his pocket and when his hand bushed against the soft orange it gave him such relief that he felt he might cry.

‘We’ve got to go,’ said Tom. He was shaking his head, pinching the corners of his mouth with a thumb and forefinger.
‘You what?’ said Joel. He hadn’t been listening, being so engrossed by the shape of the fruit.
‘I said we’re fucking leaving. Come on.’ There was a quaver in his voice that Joel had never heard before. He saw rage in Tom’s eyes. Rage and confusion and fear all at once. He was stood with his feet shoulder width apart, as if steadying himself for an impact.
‘See you Marcus,’ said Joel as he rose and made ready to leave. No reply. He left the room.

Tom clenched both fists. He bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood. His head shook from side to side, beyond his control. These feelings were beyond his understanding – beyond his control. He could sense the nurse watching him as he stood there, and the eyes on him were more than he could tolerate. He turned on his heels and started walking. He walked as fast as he could without running but when he came out of the doors and into the harsh sunlight he broke into a dead sprint. He pictured the wave breaking over and over. He pictured the rock at the bottom of the river. He pictured himself adrift in a vast ocean.

He ran faster. He believed he might have to run forever.