Stephen King - The Woman In The Room

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THE WOMAN IN THE ROOM

The question is: Can he do it?

He doesn't know. He knows that she chews them sometimes, her face wrinkling at the awful orange taste, and a

sound comes from her mouth like splintering popsicle sticks. But these are different pills . . . gelatine capsules.

The box says DARVON COMPLEX on the outside. He found them in her medicine cabinet and turned them

over in his hands, thinking. Something the doctor gave her before she had to go back to the hospital. Something

for the ticking nights. The medicine cabinet is full of remedies, neatly lined up like a voodoo doctor's cures. Gris-

gris of the Western world. FLEET SUPPOSITOUES. He has never used a suppository in his life and the thought

of putting a waxy something in his rectum to soften by body heat makes him feel ill. There is no dignity in

putting things up your ass. PHILLIPS MILK OF MAGNESIA. ANACIN ARTHRITIS PAIN FORMULA.

PEPTO-BISMOL. More. He can trace the course of her illness through the medicines.

But these pills are different. They are like regular Darvon only in that they are grey gelatine capsules. But they

are bigger, what his dead father used to call hosscock pills. The box says Asp. 350 gr, Darvon 100 gr, and could

she chew them even if he was to give them to her? Would she? The house is still running; the refrigerator runs

and shuts off, the furnace kicks in and out, every now and then the Cuckoo bird pokes grumpily out of the clock

to announce an hour or a half. He supposes that after she dies it will fall to Kevin and him to break up

housekeeping. She's gone, all right. The whole house says so. She is in the Central Maine Hospital, in Lewiston.

Room 312. She went when the pain got so bad she could no longer go out to the kitchen to make her own coffee.

At times, when he visited, she cried without knowing it.

The elevator creaks going up, and he finds himself examining the blue elevator certificate. The certificate makes

it clear that the elevator is safe, creaks or no creaks. She has been here for nearly three weeks now and today they

gave her an operation called a 'cortotomy'. He is not sure if that is how it's spelled, but that is how it sounds. The

doctor has told her that the 'cortotomy' involves sticking a needle into her neck and then into her brain. The

doctor has told her that this is like sticking a pin into an orange and spearing a seed. When the needle has poked

into her pain centre, a radio signal will be sent down to the tip of the needle and the pain centre will be blown out.

Like unplugging a TV. Then the cancer in her belly will stop being such a nuisance.

The thought of this operation makes him even more uneasy than the thought of suppositories melting warmly in

his anus. It makes him think of a book by Michael Crichton called The Terminal Man, which deals with putting

wires in people's heads. According to Crichton, this can be a very bad scene. You better believe it.

The elevator door opens on the third floor and he steps out. This is the old wing of the hospital, and it smells like

the sweet-smelling sawdust they sprinkle over puke at a county fair. He has left the pills in the glove

compartment of his car. He has not had anything to drink before this visit.

The walls up here are two-tone: brown on the bottom and white on top. He thinks that the only two-tone

combination in the whole world that might be more depressing than brown and white would be pink and black.

Hospital corridors like giant Good 'n' Plentys. The thought makes him smile and feel nauseated at the same time.

Two corridors meet in a T in front of the elevator, and there is a drinking fountain where he always stops to put

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THE WOMAN IN THE ROOM

things off a little. There are pieces of hospital equipment here and there, like strange playground toys. A litter

with chrome sides and rubber wheels, the sort of thing they use to wheel you up to the 'OR' when they are ready

to give you your 'cortotomy'. There is a large circular object whose function is unknown to him. It looks like the

wheels you sometimes see in squirrel cages. There is a rolling IV tray with two bottles hung from it, like a

Salvador Dali dream of tits. Down one of the two corridors is the nurses' station, and laughter fuelled by coffee

drifts out to him.

He gets his drink and then saunters down towards her room. He is scared of what he may find and hopes she will

be sleeping. If she is, he will not wake her up.

Above the door of every room there is a small square light. When a patient pushes his call button this light goes

on, glowing red. Up and down the hall patients are walking slowly, wearing cheap hospital robes over their

hospital underwear. The robes have blue and white pinstripes and round collars. The hospital underwear is called

a 'johnny'. The 'johnnies' look all right on the women but decidedly strange on the men because they are like knee-

length dresses or slips. The men always seem to wear brown imitation-leather slippers on their feet. The women

favour knitted slippers with balls of yarn on them. His mother has a pair of these and calls them 'mules'.

The patients remind him of a horror movie called The Night of the Living Dead. They all walk slowly, as if

someone had unscrewed the tops of their organs like mayonnaise jars and liquids were sloshing around inside.

Some of them use canes. Their slow gait as they promenade up and down the halls is frightening but also

dignified. It is the walk of people who are going nowhere slowly, the walk of college students in caps and gowns

filing into a convocation hall.

Ectoplasmic music drifts everywhere from transistor radios. Voices babble. He can hear Black Oak Arkansas

singing 'Jim Dandy' ('Go Jim Dandy, go Jim Dandy' a falsetto voice screams merrily at the slow hall walkers). He

can hear a talk-show host discussing Nixon in tones that have been dipped in acid like smoking quills. He can

hear a polka with French lyrics - Lewiston is still a French-speaking town and they love their jigs and reels

almost as much as they love to cut each other in the bars on lower Lisbon Street.

He pauses outside his mother's room and for a while there he was freaked enough to come drunk. It made him

ashamed to be drunk in front of his mother even though she was too doped and full of Elavil to know. Elavil is a

tranquilizer they give to cancer patients so it won't bother them so much that they're dying.

The way he worked it was to buy two six-packs of Black Label beer at Sonny's Market in the afternoon. He

would sit with the kids and watch their afternoon programmes on TV. Three beers with 'Sesame Street', two beers

during 'Mister Rogers', one beer during 'Electric Company'. Then one with supper.

He took the other five beers in the car. It was a twenty-two-mile drive from Raymond to Lewiston, via Routes

302 and 202, and it was possible to be pretty well in the bag by the time he got to the hospital, with one or two

beers left over. He would bring things for his mother and leave them in the car so there would be an excuse to go

back and get them and also drink another half beer and keep the high going.

It also gave him an excuse to piss outdoors, and somehow that was the best of the whole miserable business. He

always parked in the side lot, which was rutted, frozen November dirt, and the cold night air assured full bladder

contraction. Pissing in one of the hospital bathrooms was too much like an apotheosis of the whole hospital

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Stephen King - The Woman In The Room

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