Ugly Puggly 81

Wee Jim came up to the hospital to visit me. I’d have ducked him. But I’d haemorrhoids. My ducking days were over. I’d enough grief to deal with and cut up a bit of a stink. I hit him with the good news before he’d sat down and tried to stop the flow of bad news he’d backed up.

‘I’m gettin oot.’

He put a hand to his mouth and coughed into it. Pulling out a hanky, he wiped a spider’s cradle of phlegm from of his hand and fingers. He blew his nose, offering a blast from one nostril. Then the other. ‘That’s great.’

Wee Jim wasn’t good at good news. It contorted his face into something between a grimace and a twisted penknife of a smile. He’d have made a fine surgeon. His fingers were shaking as he poured himself a cup of water from the plastic beaker. And jiggled his arse in for the long haul and straightened his back into the contours of the seat so he could peer at me at his leisure. A patient man with patients. I’d probably be home before him.

‘The thing is, you were daeing quite well’ Jim used that as a crutch, before he launched into his diatribe. ‘Then you werenae.’ He tugged at his right earlobe. ‘You missed meetings. And you thought you could handle it alone?’

He has a captive audience. Doctors have prescribed anal suppositories and antibiotics. Wee Jim was more likely to prescribe a healthy dose of brimstone. I made the necessary submission, mumbling something about being sorry. ‘The truth is, I’m scared.’  

His eyes danced as if he’d been on the brandy. He nodded. ‘We’re aw scared. That’s why we drink.’

I tugged my gownie over my stomach as if he’d finished inspecting it, but was reluctant to touch the wound. ‘I’m scared tae go hame,’ I whispered. ‘But I’m scared to stay here.’

He pondered this, while clearing his nostrils like a horse into his hanky. ‘But they’ll no let you stay.’ He shook his head and sighed. And he gave me his lecture about being born different. I’d heard it a hundred times.

‘Me and you are like a black man living in a white world. We try and fit in and dae aw the things they dae. We play the white man.’ He paused to let my mirth overflow. I offered a tight smile. ‘We get that good at it, some people assume we’re just like them. We’re the life and soul. And the more we try and be white, the blacker we get.’

I glanced at the door, hoping a nurse would rescue me. Most of them were in too much of a hurry to do more than glance at me with prison-warden eyes. I’d an eye for a younger nurse with spikey hair and a matching attitude. But it was the cleaner with her bucket and the wee woman that brought the tea on her rounds that did most of the talking and doctoring. And they weren’t due for a while.

‘That could be called racist?’

He sighed. He’d heard that argument before and come prepared. ‘Our affliction isnae about skin colour, or hair colour, or about being fat or thin. Smart or a loony tunes. Our affliction isnae about the mind or body. But about the soul.’ He raised his arm and pointed the finger as if the Holy Ghost was ready to swoop down from the ward above.

‘Aye, I know.’ I bowed my head and sounded suitably penitent.

He had to spell it out. ‘You miss a meeting. You don’t jist miss a meetin wae aw yer pals. That can take it or leave it. You miss a meetin wae God. Then it aw goes wrang, cause you hink you ur God.’

‘Aye,’ I couldn’t meet his eyes. He was Billy Graham, waiting for the crowd to part, come down and bow before the Lord. ‘I’ll no dae it again.’

He scratched and rubbed at the side of his head. ‘It’s no about no daeing it again. When we hink we’re hame and dry. That’s when we’re most likely to go back on it.’

‘I know.’

His nostrils flared. Because obviously I didn’t know. Only he and God knew. ‘I’ve got a phone. And I want you tae use it.’ His eyes shifted from left to right. He patted himself down but couldn’t find his phone. He squinted at me as if I was the cause of him losing his phone. ‘You know where I’m ur.’

I shifted my feet and sneaked a look at the telly. The sound was down and a daft Christmas movie was on even though it was Autumn. ‘That’s great.’

He poured me a glass of water and handed it to me like it was communion wine. He waited for me to take a sip. Puckering my lips, I nodded my head to show my appreciation.

He pointed the finger. ‘It no aw about you.’

‘Yer right.’ I was too quick to agree and he glared at me.

‘The thing is, there ur other people that are dependent on you.’ Disquiet flashed across his face. His difficulty was compounded by not knowing who they were. ‘God knows there ur.’

I heard the clack of heels and the nurse with the spikey hair popped her head in and smiled at me and my visitor.

A groan escaped from my mouth and she came in and stood by the bed peering at me. ‘You in pain?’

‘A bit,’ I admitted.

‘Where does it hurt?’

I squinted sideways at Wee Jim. In a flash, he was on his feet, buttoning his coat to the neck.

Yawning, I put my hand over my mouth. ‘Stomach and arse,’ I whispered.

Wee Jim held a hand up and waved his farewells. ‘I’ll be away.’  He picked up a plastic bag he’d brought with him. I’m sure he’d the AA’s Big Book in it. He might have been leaving me a copy, but he wasn’t one to waste anything, especially if he thought I was going to die.

I held my hand up and let it slump when he left.

‘I’ll need to palpitate your stomach.’ The spikey haired nurse went to fold the blanket back, but I held on.

‘No, I’ll be awright noo,’ I said. ‘Probably jist a bit of wind.’