The bed has cool white sheets. The nurses have clean white uni-
forms and the nun, Sister Rita, is all in white. Dr. Humphrey and Dr.
Campbell have white coats and things hanging from their necks which
they stick against my chest and all over. I sleep and sleep but Im awake
when they bring in jars of bright red stuff that hang from tall poles
above my bed and they stick tubes into my ankles and the back of my
right hand. Sister Rita says,Youre getting blood, Francis. Soldiers blood
from the Sarsfield Barracks.
Mam is sitting by the bed and the nurse is saying,You know, missus,
this is very unusual. No one is ever allowed into the Fever Hospital for
fear theyd catch something but they made an exception for you with
his crisis coming. If he gets over this hell surely recover.
I fall asleep. Mam is gone when I wake but theres movement in the
room and its the priest, Father Gorey, from the Confraternity saying
Mass at a table in the corner. I drift off again and now theyre waking
me and pulling down the bedclothes.Father Gorey is touching me with
oil and praying in Latin. I know its Extreme Unction and that means
Im going to die and I dont care.They wake me again to receive Com-
munion. I dont want it, Im afraid I might get sick. I keep the wafer on
my tongue and fall asleep and when I wake up again its gone.
Its dark and Dr. Campbell is sitting by my bed. Hes holding my
wrist and looking at his watch. He has red hair and glasses and he always
smiles when he talks to me. He sits now and hums and looks out the
window. His eyes close and he snores a little. He tilts over on the chair
and farts and smiles to himself and I know now Im going to get better
because a doctor would never fart in the presence of a dying boy.
Sister Ritas white habit is bright in the sun that comes in the win-
dow. Shes holding my wrist, looking at her watch, smiling. Oh, she says,
were awake, are we? Well, Francis, I think weve come through the
worst. Our prayers are answered and all the prayers of those hundreds of
little boys at the Confraternity.Can you imagine that? Hundreds of boys
saying the rosary for you and offering up their communion.
My ankles and the back of my hand are throbbing from the tubes
bringing in the blood and I dont care about boys praying for me. I can
hear the swish of Sister Ritas habit and the click of her rosary beads
when she leaves the room. I fall asleep and when I wake its dark and
Dad is sitting by the bed with his hand on mine.
Son, are you awake?
I try to talk but Im dry, nothing will come out and I point to my
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