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Years
of
training
,
and
all
three
black
boys
tune
in
closer
and
closer
with
the
Big
Nurse
's
frequency
.
One
by
one
they
are
able
to
disconnect
the
direct
wires
and
operate
on
beams
.
She
never
gives
orders
out
loud
or
leaves
written
instructions
that
might
be
found
by
a
visiting
wife
or
schoolteacher
.
Does
n't
need
to
any
more
.
They
are
in
contact
on
a
high-voltage
wave
length
of
hate
,
and
the
black
boys
are
out
there
performing
her
bidding
before
she
even
thinks
it
.
So
after
the
nurse
gets
her
staff
,
efficiency
locks
the
ward
like
a
watchman
's
clock
.
Everything
the
guys
think
and
say
and
do
is
all
worked
out
months
in
advance
,
based
on
the
little
notes
the
nurse
makes
during
the
day
.
This
is
typed
and
fed
into
the
machine
I
hear
humming
behind
the
steel
door
in
the
rear
of
the
Nurses
'
Station
.
A
number
of
Order
Daily
Cards
are
returned
,
punched
with
a
pattern
of
little
square
holes
.
At
the
beginning
of
each
day
the
properly
dated
OD
card
is
inserted
in
a
slot
in
the
steel
door
and
the
walls
hum
up
:
Lights
flash
on
in
the
dorm
at
six-thirty
:
the
Acutes
up
out
of
bed
quick
as
the
black
boys
can
prod
them
out
,
get
them
to
work
buffing
the
floor
,
emptying
ash
trays
,
polishing
the
scratch
marks
off
the
wall
where
one
old
fellow
shorted
out
a
day
ago
,
went
down
in
an
awful
twist
of
smoke
and
smell
of
burned
rubber
.
The
Wheelers
swing
dead
log
legs
out
on
the
floor
and
wait
like
seated
statues
for
somebody
to
roll
chairs
in
to
them
.
The
Vegetables
piss
the
bed
,
activating
an
electric
shock
and
buzzer
,
rolls
them
off
on
the
tile
where
the
black
boys
can
hose
them
down
and
get
them
in
clean
greens
...
.
Six-forty-five
the
shavers
buzz
and
the
Acutes
line
up
in
alphabetical
order
at
the
mirrors
,
A
,
B
,
C
,
D.
.
.
.
The
walking
Chronics
like
me
walk
in
when
the
Acutes
are
done
,
then
the
Wheelers
are
wheeled
in
.
The
three
old
guys
left
,
a
film
of
yellow
mold
on
the
loose
hide
under
their
chins
,
they
get
shaved
in
their
lounge
chairs
in
the
day
room
,
a
leather
strap
across
the
forehead
to
keep
them
from
flopping
around
under
the
shaver
.
Some
mornings
--
Mondays
especially
--
I
hide
and
try
to
buck
the
schedule
.
Other
mornings
I
figure
it
's
cagier
to
step
right
into
place
between
A
and
C
in
the
alphabet
and
move
the
route
like
everybody
else
,
without
lifting
my
feet
--
powerful
magnets
in
the
floor
maneuver
personnel
through
the
ward
like
arcade
puppets
...
.
Seven
o'clock
the
mess
hall
opens
and
the
order
of
line-up
reverses
:
the
Wheelers
first
,
then
the
Walkers
,
then
the
Acutes
pick
up
trays
,
corn
flakes
,
bacon
and
eggs
,
toast
--
and
this
morning
a
canned
peach
on
a
piece
of
green
,
torn
lettuce
.
Some
of
the
Acutes
bring
trays
to
the
Wheelers
.
Most
Wheelers
are
just
Chronics
with
bad
legs
,
they
feed
themselves
,
but
there
's
these
three
of
them
got
no
action
from
the
neck
down
whatsoever
,
not
much
from
the
neck
up
.
These
are
called
Vegetables
.
The
black
boys
push
them
in
after
everybody
else
is
sat
down
,
wheel
them
against
a
wall
,
and
bring
them
identical
trays
of
muddy-looking
food
with
little
white
diet
cards
attached
to
the
trays
.
Mechanical
Soft
,
reads
the
diet
cards
for
these
toothless
three
:
eggs
,
ham
,
toast
,
bacon
,
all
chewed
thirty-two
times
apiece
by
the
stainless-steel
machine
in
the
kitchen
.
I
see
it
purse
sectioned
lips
,
like
a
vacuum-cleaner
hose
,
and
spurt
a
clot
of
chewed-up
ham
onto
a
plate
with
a
barnyard
sound
.
The
black
boys
stoke
the
sucking
pink
mouths
of
the
Vegetables
a
shade
too
fast
for
swallowing
,
and
the
Mechanical
Soft
squeezes
out
down
their
little
knobs
of
chins
onto
the
greens
.
The
black
boys
cuss
the
Vegetables
and
ream
the
mouths
bigger
with
a
twisting
motion
of
the
spoon
,
like
coring
a
rotten
apple
:
"
This
ol'
fart
Blastic
,
he
's
comin
'
to
pieces
befo
'
my
very
eyes
.
I
ca
n't
tell
no
more
if
I
'm
feeding
him
bacon
puree
or
chunks
of
his
own
fuckin
'
tongue
.
"
...
Seven-thirty
back
to
the
day
room
.
The
Big
Nurse
looks
out
through
her
special
glass
,
always
polished
till
you
ca
n't
tell
it
's
there
,
and
nods
at
what
she
sees
,
reaches
up
and
tears
a
sheet
off
her
calendar
one
day
closer
to
the
goal
.
She
pushes
a
button
for
things
to
start
.
I
hear
the
wharrup
of
a
big
sheet
of
tin
being
shook
someplace
.
Everybody
come
to
order
.
Acutes
:
sit
on
your
side
of
the
day
room
and
wait
for
cards
and
Monopoly
games
to
be
brought
out
.
Chronics
:
sit
on
your
side
and
wait
for
puzzles
from
the
Red
Cross
box
.
Ellis
:
go
to
your
place
at
the
wall
,
hands
up
to
receive
the
nails
and
pee
running
down
your
leg
.
Pete
:
wag
your
head
like
a
puppet
.
Scanlon
:
work
your
knobby
hands
on
the
table
in
front
of
you
,
constructing
a
make-believe
bomb
to
blow
up
a
make-believe
world
.
Harding
:
begin
talking
,
waving
your
dove
hands
in
the
air
,
then
trap
them
under
your
armpits
because
grown
men
are
n't
supposed
to
wave
their
pretty
hands
that
way
.
Sefelt
:
begin
moaning
about
your
teeth
hurting
and
your
hair
falling
out
.
Everybody
:
breath
in
...
and
out
...
in
perfect
order
;
hearts
all
beating
at
the
rate
the
OD
cards
have
ordered
.
Sound
of
matched
cylinders
.
Like
a
cartoon
world
,
where
the
figures
are
flat
and
outlined
in
black
,
jerking
through
some
kind
of
goofy
story
that
might
be
real
funny
if
it
were
n't
for
the
cartoon
figures
being
real
guys
...
Seven-forty-five
the
black
boys
move
down
the
line
of
Chronics
taping
catheters
on
the
ones
that
will
hold
still
for
it
.
Catheters
are
second-hand
condoms
the
ends
clipped
off
and
rubber-banded
to
tubes
that
run
down
pantlegs
to
a
plastic
sack
marked
DISPOSABLE
NOT
TO
BE
RE-USED
,
which
it
is
my
job
to
wash
out
at
the
end
of
each
day
.
The
black
boys
anchor
the
condom
by
taping
it
to
the
hairs
;
old
Catheter
Chronics
are
hairless
as
babies
from
tape
removal
...
.
Eight
o'clock
the
walls
whirr
and
hum
into
full
swing
.
The
speaker
in
the
ceiling
says
,
"
Medications
,
"
using
the
Big
Nurse
's
voice
.
We
look
in
the
glass
case
where
she
sits
,
but
she
's
nowhere
near
the
microphone
;
in
fact
,
she
's
ten
feet
away
from
the
microphone
,
tutoring
one
of
the
little
nurses
how
to
prepare
a
neat
drug
tray
with
pills
arranged
orderly
.
The
Acutes
line
up
at
the
glass
door
,
A
,
B
,
C
,
D
,
then
the
Chronics
,
then
the
Wheelers
(
the
Vegetables
get
theirs
later
,
mixed
in
a
spoon
of
applesauce
)
.
The
guys
file
by
and
get
a
capsule
in
a
paper
cup
--
throw
it
to
the
back
of
the
throat
and
get
the
cup
filled
with
water
by
the
little
nurse
and
wash
the
capsule
down
.
On
rare
occasions
some
fool
might
ask
what
he
's
being
required
to
swallow
.
