The day was done and my fatigue was very evident to me as I finished up the dishes from supper. I was tired. I was tired of all the running here and there. I was tired of all the hassles I had encountered at ever turn of the day. I was tired. A hot shower and a change into comfortable evening wear and I was ready to recline on the couch and just do nothing. No television. That just brought the terrible events of the world into my home. No radio. I did not need to hear another top 20 pop hit of the day. No newspaper. More bad news to haunt my dreams. Dreams....
I realized that the dreams I had been having these past many nights were not mere reflections of the events of the day. They were so very much more. They were freedom. They were freedom like nothing I had ever experience in my entire life. I was free to do anything and everything. I was free to explore where I could not explore in my wakeful hours. I could meet friends and relatives long since passed. I could travel to exotic or mundane places and just be myself. It was freedom like you could only imagine.
I learned that if I escaped to this place in my mind, I could forget the haunting events of the day. I needed to be away from this world. It was getting to be just too much to cope with. Every time the news came on, there was a new piece of bad news. Voices were yelling all the time about the condition of the world and just how messed up we all had made it. I had not made it that way. They had made it that way. I needed to escape from their world. Asleep. I needed to be asleep so that could drift away like a rising thread of smoke from an extinguished candle. Float away to the blend into the darkness and become a part of the night. When I slept I dreamt of everything. Because of that freedom of consciousness I found in unconsciousness, I chose to sleep, and dream......
O'Cromruic's Gift
by Scott Crumley
Hospital rooms can be ever so cold. They are hardly ever a place of rest for the sick. Beeps and noises are always present from the many monitor and devices in the I.C.U.. There beside the bed was an I.V. dosing machine. Its calibrated drip from the three hung bags was accompanied by a steady sound of gears tumbling. Or, maybe it was more like an almost imperceptible dull bubbling sound that soon became the dominant noise in your head. It did not matter which it was. It was there. That was only the beginning of the irritants. The lights were always ON at some level, day or night. Nurses and Doctors come and go at all hours. It is impossible to get a sound sleep. You tend to lay there and doze between disturbances. Sleep deprivation is common in an Intensive Care Unit. The only means of escape was the drug induced haze, if you were lucky to be put on some sedative or narcotic.
Jim lay on his left side, favoring the bandaged right side of his body, where the surgeon had removed his kidney. He drifted back and forth from reality to a dream world. The intermittent swirling fog was induced by the narcotic drip, supplied by one of the piggyback I.V. bags hung on the stainless steel rod above his I.V. monitor. He listened, both in his dream state and in his semi-alert state to the constant noise of the monitors. The I.V. dosing machine was the most important sound he listened for. It fed the fluids down the long, clear plastic tubes, through the monitor and filters, to the tube that ran down to the needle in the vein in his arm. White cloth tape held the butterfly I.V. set in place. Morphine was all that he cared about at this point in his life.
Cancer of the kidneys was a difficult diagnosis to hear when you are just in your late fifties and thinking about retirement. One kidney had to be removed immediately. The other kidney was going to be saved, if possible, by chemotherapy and a new immunization treatment. The odds were not as good as they could have been, considering. Things were in a delicate balance at this stage. This was a damned rotten way to have to end a relatively short life. What the hell had he ever done to deserve such luck?
Jim had grown up in a small Texas town. He had been the oldest son in a family of one sister and two younger brothers. Being the oldest son was like being an adventurer who set out to discover the world and all that was in it for himself and his younger siblings. He was the brother who was to be looked up to for guidance and advice. Much depended upon how he performed, while in this role. Much indeed rested upon his shoulders!
He had studied hard to learn the finer things from books. At a young age, he learned the exciting truth that much could be gained if you read good books. Jim also learned to play music. His Mother saw to that. Piano and guitar were the two areas he pursued in his musical training. His Father had seen to it that he knew the importance of hard work. His Father also saw to it that he was introduced to the wonders of nature. Fishing and hunting had been a large part of his childhood. A bird dog named Spot was his hunting companion during part of his life. Old Spot was a good dog. She lived in a hole she had dug underneath the doghouse that had been built for her. She found it to be cool and shady under the house on those long hot Summer days in Texas. It was better to be outside of the doghouse than inside, and that was the way she wanted it. Maybe that was an early lesson to Jim on existing outside of the box. Spot eventually passed on. She had cancer in her abdomen. How ironic it was to think that he might go in a similar way to his old hunting buddy. Thoughts and memories like that were coming into his mind more often now. You tend to have lots of time to think when you are lying around with a bandage over a hole in your back and an I.V. tube pouring liquid dreams into your veins.
This day, Jim struggled to remain in the real world. It was not an easy task with the drugs and the lack of sleep. Doctors and Nurses still came and went on a regular basis. The nursing unit noise was always in the background. The small room had no windows. With the unreal light from the florescent bulbs making it "daytime" always, you tend to lose track of night and day. It really did not matter since he had nowhere to go and nothing to do but drift. When Jim opened his eyes, all he saw were white ceiling tiles and white walls and a thin white curtain over a window facing the nurse's station. One contrast was the door, which was brown. That seemed to be the only color in the room besides the neon green on the monitor screens. The only color was white and the poster... there on the wall was a poster size picture of green hills and valleys that stretched out before your eyes, inviting you to come to Ireland. "The Emerald Isle beckons you to come and see the land of the Shamrock". Morphine can play tricks on the mind. You can look at a poster like that and see all kinds of things there among the trees. Soon, you just seem to incorporate all the things your senses are experiencing into one big dream of false reality. The morphine dripped steadily. That wonderful morphine felt good right now "What the Hell...", Jim thought. "Lets just take a little nap." He closed his eyes and tuned off the world that was around him. The monitors disappeared, as did the little sounds. The bubbling I.V. faded out of his mind. He closed his eyes and slowly darkness came over him. It was finally time for some real sleep....
It was just a far off echo of sound which he heard at first. Voices and sounds of laughter all intertwined to awaken him from his sleep. Was it the shift change where the Nurses all talked about their patients? Jim lay there for a moment longer with his eyes not quite open or closed. It was so comfortable there in that twilight that exists between the rest of sleep and the toil of being awake. Just a moment longer to keep the eyes closed before you opened them and the light sparked the brain into a new state of comprehension. The voices seemed to be coming from behind him. He was on his side and he realized that in order for him to be able to see where they came from he would have to roll over. With great difficulty, he managed to turn his head and take a look over his shoulder, just before he rolled on his back. He recognized the green hills and valley of the picture poster. He closed his eyes once more. Gradually, a soft echo of music entered his mind. Tin whistles,flutes, guitars, fiddles, drums and bagpipes floated in the morning air. What was this lively music he was listening to? It sounded a bit Irish in its tones and melodies. The voices returned shouting and whooping in time with the music. What in the world was this? Jim did the impossible. He sat up in bed, only to realize that he was no longer in bed. He was awake...fully awake.
No monitors were to be seen. No white walls surrounded him. There were no sterile white lights over his head. He was not in his room any longer. He sat up from a bed of soft green grass on the side of a tree covered hill. There below him was the greenest valley he had ever seen. Wild flowers dotted the expanse of ground around him. Birds flew in the clean blue sky. The air was sweet with the smell of the outdoors. He reached out his hand to touch the blades of the soft green grass, which seemed soft as any feather bed. The coolness of the fresh air was like a slap to his senses. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the clean crisp air. It was not at all like the the stale sterile air of the I.C.U..
What a feeling this was! No pain could he feel anywhere in his body. Jim got up off the grassy ledge where he had been sleeping. Suddenly, a voice from behind startled him as it came clearly across the hillside to his ears. "Top of the morning to ya Lad." Jim spun around to see a Wee little Man sitting on a stone lodged into the side of the embankment of the hill. What a sight to see. Moss covered the stone like a green velvet slip cover. There were tall flanking ferns that grew under an overhang of a stone ledge above the Wee Man's resting place. He was a framed picture of great curiosity. The face of the Wee Man was well tanned with reddish cheeks. He wore rough boots and baggy dark pants held up with a well worn brown leather belt. His shirt was a green plaid covered by a red leather vest, buttoned from waist to neck. His hat was a bit on the pointy side. Jim could not help but notice a wonderful curly white beard on the face of the Wee Man. And, there clutched between his white teeth was a long curved tobacco pipe, which had been carved from what looked like a long gnarly branch of a tree. The Wee Man spoke again to Jim as he puffed on the pipe. With his distinct Irish brogue, he spouted out, "Its about time you found it in ya to wake up on such a glorious morn as this. What took ya so long Jimbo?"
Jim had not been called "Jimbo" in many years. Jimbo was a name he had been tagged with as a little boy back home. The nickname hung on through the years he had gone to grade school. When he reached the University, he had become Jim or James, as his Mother called him, or Mr. Jackson as the Professors addressed him. Professors at the University tend to be a bit more formal . In a place of higher learning the focus changes. You tend to forget the childish pleasures of your youth. You become a man, a scholar, a student of the world of academia. Life tends to change. For the most part, play ceases and work takes its place in your life. Your mind is filled with new facts. You become learned and respected and above the childishness of running along wild creek beds through tall grass. You forget about playing Indians and Cowboys. You let slip from your mind frogs and fish and cattails. You grow up.
Jim was now more than a bit confused. "Where am I?" he asked. The Wee Man answered in a riddle of sorts, "Ya are at a crossroads of paths in your life, for those souls traveling here and there." The Wee Man continued, "We felt that it would be nice for ya to take some time to rest and refresh on your journey." The Wee Man puffed his gnarled pipe and a huge cloud of blue white smoke rose from his lips. It swirled up over his face momentarily, hiding the sly smile that was building on his lips. He said, "Come, let us walk a bit to a place I know of. There ya will find food and refreshment and perhaps a bit a entertainment to refresh the senses."
Accepting the offer Jim and the Wee Man set off through the soft green grass, down the hillside. This is a dream Jim was thinking...only a dream. Ahead of them in the valley stood an impressive grove of oaks. Through the trees ran a pathway. It was bordered by flowers and stones and grasses, which defined the path to the travelers. Jim could not help but notice that he stood a great deal taller than the Wee Man, yet the further they traveled, the less he noticed the difference in height. It was good to walk among the trees. The branches were filled with birds singing such pretty little songs. The sky was clear and the blue was decorated with puffy little white clouds. It was like the canvas of heaven was being painted with ever changing shapes. It was good to be out in nature again. It was good to escape the confinement of solid walls with windows that offered too narrow a point of view. Brick and wood and steel and glass had been replaced with trees and plants and birds and sky and a Wee Man. These woods were walls of a different sort with many points of view.
As they walked together in silence, Jim could see a break in the trees up ahead. A clearing of sorts was visible at the end of the path Once again, there was green grass surrounding a patch of brown soil cleared of all vegetation. In the middle of the cleared ground was a stone circle and within the stone circle was an inviting fire. The air had remained pleasantly crisp on the hillside and under the trees of the woods. This would be a welcomed chance to warm up a bit at the campfire. A thin column of smoke rose up through the canopy of trees to the sky above. What a curious vision his eyes beheld as he took in the entire clearing. All around the fire, within the ring of stones, were other Wee Men. They were busy preparing a meal and talking to each other. Their voices were of all octaves. Loud voices and soft voices could be heard around the camp. Without exception, cheerful voices were all you heard. The Irish lilt of the tongue was pleasant on Jim's ear. This was going to be something special and he knew it.
Jimbo had not sat next to a campfire in what seemed like a lifetime. He could not remember the last time he had built a fire outside of his fireplace. Perhaps it was next to a lake or river on a cool Fall night. Maybe it had been on a fishing trip to the coast with the fire being built among the dunes on a star filled night. He could not say for sure but it did not matter. Jim had not enjoyed the company of men around a campfire in a very long time. His thoughts were running wild with wonder as they walked across the clearing. The jolly band greeted him and the Wee Man loudly and warmly as they approached. They all came up to shake their hands and pat them on the back and coax them closer to the gathering spot. This group looked remarkably alike in their manner of dress and in their common heritage. How strangely wonderful this was to be among what felt like new friends.
Jimbo was shown to a place to sit next to the fire. Food was cooking in large pots,nestled in the coals, at the edge of the crackling embers. The smell was glorious. There were meats and vegetables prepared to just the right point of doneness. Loaves of bread were sliced and ready to daub in the juices of the plates being prepared. A crock of water was in the shade cool to the lips and sweet to he tongue. The Wee Men passed a plate to Jim. A tankard of ale was served with a steaming plate of delicious food. Jim took a drink from the tankard and the sweet cold ale felt good going down his throat. He remembered a time long ago when he and a friend had sat in the basement of his house and drank a cup of homemade peach brandy. Homemade hooch was best consumed in private and with a friend. He remembered two little boys peering through the dirty window panes of the door to the basement as they drank the brandy. The two little boys giggled at the discovery. Those two were his little brother and the little boy from across the road. Jimbo's secret had been discovered, but it did not matter. The alcohol had taken hold of his mind by then. He was rapidly approaching that feeling, like a candle being blown out by a sudden rush of wind. He was drunk as was his friend. The peach brandy was the first time in his life he had drank to the point of no return. His basement drinking establishment was his first taste of the sweet fermented delights of liquor and the fun of the swirling mind. He seemed to be lost in memories as he ate the food and drank the ale. Everything was so good. He asked for more when he finished his plate and another serving was provided along with a refill of ale. Jim had not noticed before just how hungry he was. The fresh air seemed to stimulate his appetite and he ate and drank his fill. The Wee Men all ate and drank and laughed and talked, louder and louder as the meal progressed. The group were all boasting and telling stories and lies and laughing boldly as the day progressed. Each little Man had a story to tell and it was grander than the one before. Each story a treasure of adventure, good nature and humor. Soon, Jimbo was prompted to join in with a story of his own. In his youth, Jimbo had never been at a loss for words when it came to a good story. He always had a story or a bit of philosophy to expand upon. Lets see, perhaps a story of ghost and spirits was in order. Perhaps the one about the old Lady who lived by herself out on that lonely stretch of road in the countryside. She lived there by herself till the day she died. The story of how two young boys had ventured out there to her vacant house one moonlit night to see if there were any spirits to be seen. They drove along the dusty road with the lights off on their old car, parking it at the bottom of the hill. They climbed the gate and saw the house in the dim light just up the winding dirt path on the crest of the cedar covered knob of land. With every step up the path they imagined every noise they heard to be someone watching a waiting in the brush off the side of the dark incline. As they approached the front porch, they noticed an old rocking chair that sat on the rotting boards of the wooden porch. Not a breeze was blowing. The night air was as still as the grave. As the two walked up the steps timidly past the chair and reached out for the door knob, they saw the door of the house open slowly and the chair began to rock. Just a bit at first. The hair on the back of their necks stood up as they opened their eyes even wider to see in the pale moonlight. The chair rocked and the porch boards creaked. This was as far as they needed to venture that night. No one was about to enter the old house on a dare now. When the chair stopped rocking and the top step on the porch stairs creaked behind them, they had enough. They turned and leaped from the top step and ran down the dirt path to the dirt road. The rough limbs of the trees reached out for them to catch them as they ran towards the gate. Without hesitation, then climbed the gate and stumbled to the car door. Wy had they left the doors closed? Why hadn't they rolled down the windows so they could have jumped in the front seat? They did not have time to ask many questions. Something seemed to be following them down the hill as fast as they had run. They hopped in their old car, slammed the doors shut and cranked the engine. It turned over and over and finally kicked to life. Pushing the accelerator pedal to the floor, they sped off home down the gravel road. The old Ford fishtailed in the loose surface of the road. No traction. Too frightened to turn and look to see if there was anyone or anything following on horseback down the road, they sped on. Too frightened to see anything but what was in front of them, they sped on, raising a cloud of dust and rocks. They were too frightened to see if there perhaps was an old dead Lady sitting in the back seat of their car...dared not look in the rearview mirror, they sped on. Too frightened to even imagine if there might be a boney hand reaching out from the darkness of the back seat to touch their shoulders. Their hearts raced in their chests with a fear that was almost too much to stand. They did not chance looking back at all till they got back to the well lit streets of their home town. Even then, they went straight home and never stopped till they were in their homes and in the the bed, under the covers. It was a good thing they were spending the night together. There was safety in numbers and no one wanted to be a coward in the dark by himself. Still breathing hard and laughing, they realized that it was all in their minds, as they lay there under the sheets, not willing to peek out . Who would even want to know if there was an old wrinkled Hag hovering over their beds? Her long white hair blowing in the night breeze would touch their nose if they ever came out from under the safety of the covers. The young boys imagined her cold breathe just moving the sheets above their heads as she waited for the boys to slip the sheets off their faces. If she could look into their eyes with those dark sunken eyes in the dried skin pulled tightly over her skull, she might be able to have their souls....Jimbo paused in his telling of the tale. The pause meant to allow the Wee Men to picture in their minds a boney hand waiting to snatch the boys as they pulled down the covers... The Wee Men sat in silence as Jim wove his story around them. They all moved a bit closer to the next, watching intently for the next gesture as Jim was to continue the frightening tale. They almost jumped out of their skin as Jim leaped up with a loud banshee whoop... Their hearts pounded with fear and then they all fell backwards laughing. They all rolled with laughter and tears as they took deep breaths to recover from the story.
Somewhere in the crowd, a Wee Man grabbed his fiddle and another picked up his guitar. Over there a Man picked up his whistle and here one took up the flute. A drum began the beat of a lively tune and all joined in with the energy of a storm. The bagpipes offered up the harmonious tones of the hills and an Irtish jig erupted. Each song got more intense and soon everyone not playing an instrument was up dancing in a wild circle around the fire. Arms were hooked together and boots stomped out the rhythm as the jigs and reels were played. Jimbo could not contain himself and he was up dancing with the crowd. Hands in the air and head back they all sang and danced and whooped like a band of wild men. It was like a disease of frenzy that spread to all. No one was sitting any longer. They whirled and danced until they dropped with fatigue and laughter. More ale and more song and more dance until they could go no more. Once again Jimbo fell to the ground. It was getting dark and the sun was about to drop below the horizon. The stars were appearing in the night sky. One by one, they sparked into brilliance as the heavens turned from deep blue to darkest black.
Jimbo had not realized how late it had grown. He had not been aware of the coming night and the end of the wonders of this day. He did notice the stars and how beautiful they were. He lay there on his back gazing up into the heavens. He had never seen so many stars in his life. The sky was perfectly defined with shapes and designs and brilliance from the multitude of heavenly bodies that made up the constellations. The coolness of the damp night air was chased away by the warmth of the fire which still burned. He was comfortable and content. All around him the Wee Men continued their song and dance. He was just too worn out to join them so he watched with amusement. Orange tinted faces and beards glowed in the light of the fire. Their forms danced as black shadows on the circle of trees at the edge of the clearing. Raising himself up on his elbows, Jimbo looked around and smiled. What a wonderful rest stop this had been. Soon, the music slowed to a less invigorating tempo of sad melodies and laments from the deep recesses of the heart. The bagpipes softly wept and the fiddle cried with the feelings of loves lost and battles long since fought. Jimbo lay back and listened to the soft music and gentle voices and the sounds of the night. The crickets chirped and the breeze rustled the leaves in the darkness of the forest. The warmth of the fire eventually brought on sleep. Jim fell into a deep sleep that wrapped him up in dreams the entire night. He slept like a contented baby in the arms of his loving Mother. The fire slowly burned down to embers. Besides the chirping of the crickets, the only sounds that entered his mind were the hissing and popping of the dying fire. He did not notice a warm wool blanket being place over him. It was thick and warm and well made. All slept as the stars stood guard over the merry band of men. The damp sweet night air drifted over them all, off the green hills, hidden now in the darkness. Sleep....
The morning came bright and fresh. The birds seemed to sing from the tops of every tree on every green hill. Jim awoke with a crowd of Wee Men slumbering all around him. The revelry of the night had them all a bit on the groggy side. Jim was sore. He had not danced or drank or ate like that in years. His muscles complained greatly as he stretched. It was good to feel the pain from such a night as he had. It was good to be alive again! Alive! How could this be? Just a day hence, he had been in an Intensive Care room, recovering from a difficult operation. One kidney was gone. His other was hopefully going to be saved by some medical miracle. His life had been in the balance, so to speak. All he could remember was his private room and monitors and I.V. tubing and constant light and that one odd travel poster on the sterile white wall. That poster of the Emerald Isle, inviting him to come and experience that which is Ireland. The voice of the Wee Man once again startled him back to the present. He said, "Jimbo, my boy, ya are on a journey now. No more hospitals and Nurses and Doctors...No more surgery and tubes and beeps and flashes...No more cancer." The Wee Man stated, matter of fact, "Ya are free and clear of all your Earthly debts and cares of any kind." Jim was even more confused now. Had he died? Was this all a dream from which he would awake at any moment? Or was he cured and healthy and the ordeal at the hospital long behind him? It was confusing but for some comforting reason, it did not seem to matter much any more. He was on a journey now. It was going to be a journey he would have to make alone. "What rotten luck ya had getting the cancer." the Wee Man said. "Ya need not worry about that now." With a big smile and a puff of smoke from the pipe, the Wee Man stated, "If it were not for ya sweet Irish luck, ya might have ended up somewhere else last night." Jimbo looked at the Wee Man and said, "But, I did not know I had any Irish luck or that I was even Irish, for that matter." The Wee Man replied, "Well someone back there thought you were. I distinctly remember O'Cromruic introducing ya as a fine Irish lad who needed a bit of rest and comfort and entertainment before he took his Journey." The Wee Man continued, "I remember him asking me, 'Could you find it in your heart to give him a good send off for my sake?'" The Wee Man winked and nodded with another puff of smoke from his gnarled pipe. "Oh, I suppose ya know O'Cromruic as a young lad named Crumley." the Wee Man added. Still confused, Jim tried to sort out what he had been told. He was happy for what had happened, but he still did not understand completely.
Then it clicked. He thought of a young boy he had watched growing up across the road. That boy was the best friend of his youngest brother, Ed. Ed and the boy had both looked up to Jim as a mentor It was the young pair of boys who had spied him drinking the brandy. It was the young pair he had first told the old Lady ghost story to. It was the young pair who had sat and listened to him play his guitar and sing songs about the world outside of their hometown. It was the pair that saw him go off to University and to the War in Viet Nam. It was the same pair that were still there when he finally returned. They both respected him and looked up to him as a brother and a friend. How could this young boy have arranged this for him? But then again, how could Jimbo have known how much he had influenced that young mind? How could he have ever imagined that he was so well liked that this young fellow would gladly have arranged this for him no matter how much it took. Perhaps their paths would cross again one day on this Journey.
The Wee Man brought Jimbo back to the the moment when he said, "Jim, it is time. You have to walk this path alone." Jim looked at the Wee Man and saw that smile grow once more on his face. He shook his hand and turned and saw the path on the far side of the clearing. This was his destiny. He walked on. Voices called out with a parting message of farewell. Little hands waved from the crowd of Wee Men. Jimbo raised his arm and waved a departing gesture to them all and called out, "Good bye my Friends." A song was struck up by the Wee Men and a lively jig it was. Jimbo felt the joy of the song in his bones and he shuffled just a bit with a departing dance step and a leap in the air and a click of the heels together. The music filled the forest and echoed off the hills....
The Nurse entered the room to check on her patient. He slept soundly for a change. It must be the morphine drip that produced the sleep. She took down all his vital statistics and wrote them in his chart. All were a bit off. Nothing to be concerned with just now. She turned to leave and stopped. Once more she turned and looked at her patient's face. Where usually there was a grimace of the underlying pain, there was a visible small, satisfied smile. She could not help but notice a movement under the sheets at the foot of the bed. There was a click on the footboard as Jim's foot tapped the railing. Perhaps it was muscle spasms from lying in bed for so long. Or, perhaps it was a bit of a rhythmic movement of his toes and feet. It was almost like he was trying to dance a little to a tune in his head. She could not help but smile herself. She turned and walked to the door. As she left, she turned out the lights in a gesture of kindness to her sick patient.
Dedicated to the memory of my Dear friend, Jimbo Jackson...a scholar, a veteran of war, a teacher, a friend....
No comments:
Post a Comment