Planet Reese. Cordelia Strube

like it, you’ll be able to see daylight.”

      On the floor, a new caller who works nights at a bakery is distributing day-old Danish, unaware that food on the floor is prohibited. “They’re a bit sawdusty,” he admits, “but what do you want for free.” The adolescents grab at the pastries as though they haven’t eaten for weeks. Reese sees Serge Hollyduke fast approaching, his jaw clenched, to enforce discipline. The caller offers a lemon Danish to Avril Leblanc. “Hi, I’m Holden, would you like one?”

      “I don’t do wheat,” she says. “But it’s sweet of you to offer.”

      Holden then offers the lemon Danish to Serge. “Do you do wheat, sir?”

      “Food is prohibited on the floor,” Serge says.

      “Really?”

      Serge scowls and turns to Reese. “There’s an urgent call for you.”

      Immediately Reese imagines his children mangled in a car crash. He is in his office within seconds. His mother is on the line. “It’s your father,” she says, “he’s fallen off the toilet again.” Within half an hour, Reese is dragging his father on the hall rug to the stair glider.

      Betsy hovers. “Every ten minutes he’s straining. Getting himself off that chair and onto the toilet. He’s taking laxatives, stool softeners ...”

      “How would you know what I’m taking?” Bernie demands.

      “Tell him you can’t pee anymore, Bernard, tell him what’s going on, he’s your son, he should know.”

      “What’s going on, Dad?”

      “She’s driving me nuts, that’s what.”

      “You do look paler, Dad, and you seem weaker.”

      “Why won’t anybody leave me alone, would you tell me that?”

      “Because you keep falling off the toilet, Bernard.”

      Reese can’t lift his father onto the wheelchair. Two days ago his father could assist him. “You’re losing strength, Dad. Are you eating?”

      “You try eating when there’s nothing coming out the other end.”

      “He had Campbell’s soup made with cream. I told him to have plain broth but oh no ...”

      “I can’t lift you by myself,” Reese says. “You’re going to have to make some effort here.”

      His father lets out a small muffied cry of either pain or despair before collapsing onto the stair glider.

      “I think we should call an ambulance and get you to the hospital,” Reese says.

      “Out of the question.”

      “Do you want to die?” Reese says harshly because he can’t do this anymore. “That’s what’s going to happen, you’re going to die.”

      “You don’t have to shout,” Betsy says.

      “How long ago did they tell him he should be on dialysis? Weeks ago. He’s losing strength, he can’t shit or piss, what do you think’s going to happen?”

      “He’s right, Bernie. It’s not right. It could be serious.”

      His father sits with eyes closed, shrunken.

      “I’m calling Med-Merge,” Reese says.

      A wild-eyebrowed Greek puts his finger up Bernie’s rectum and tells him that his bowel must be disimpacted. The doctor leaves to search for a nurse who would be willing to do the disimpacting. Reese waits for his father to sit up. When he doesn’t, he puts his hand on his shoulder. “You alright, Dad?”

      “They send me a Greek.”

      “He seemed alright.”

      “He’s incompetent.”

      “How do you know?”

      “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

      “What should he be doing?”

      “Not what he did.”

      “Did they do it differently in 1948 when you were in medical school?”

      “Don’t act smart.”

      A fierce Jamaican nurse appears, ordering them into the corridor.

      “Shouldn’t we be in the room for the disimpacting?” asks Reese.

      “I’m not responsible for any disimpacting. Dr. Panaglotopoulos should have done it when he did the rectal.”

      “So what do we do now?” Reese inquires.

      “That’s up to Dr. Panaglotopoulos.”

      “Where is he?”

      “As you can see we’re very busy.” And she’s gone, lost among the patients stranded on wheelchairs and gurneys, waiting for care, beds, death.

      “Are you hungry, Dad? I’ve got a Crispy Crunch.”

      “Save it for your mother. Maybe if she eats enough of them she’ll have a cardiac arrest. Where’s the can?”