The Oldest Debt
As the ambulance screamed into the yard, its siren winding down, the beams from its revolving lights chased each other across the old man’s face, up the brick wall and across the windows. They flashed red streaks across the white clapboard of the house across the street, then danced diagonally down the chain link fence, intermittently coloring each diamond strand of galvanized wire. Then they slipped from the fence, resuming their race over the sidewalk, down the curb, and across the dirt street once again.
In the next instant, the ambulance seemed to explode, and the three paramedics were out, already pulling on plastic gloves. Their boots kicked up a cloud that mixed with the dust from the ambulance and hovered over the barren yard, then settled on the old man’s shoes.
A paramedic grabbed the old man by the shoulders and peered into his eyes. The revolving lights flashed over the back of the paramedic’s head, momentarily lighting his close-cropped blond hair with a surrealistic pinkish hue. “I’m Mike. I’m here to help you, okay? Where’s the victim? Are you a relative, Sir?”
Mike’s colleagues slammed open the back door of the ambulance and reached inside for their equipment.
The old man nodded. “Relative... yes. My name?” He straightened just a bit and met the young paramedic’s gaze. His eyebrows arched. “I am Rafael... Rafael Cordones.” He motioned toward the house. “She... my wife—”
Maintaining his grip on the old man’s shoulders, the paramedic leaned forward and looked intensely at him. “Sir—Mr. Cordones—is she in the house?”
Rafael’s slight frame sagged and he trembled, then nodded. “Inside, yes... but I... I do not know yet how I might pay, and—”
Mike looked over his shoulder and yelled, “In the house!” Then he released Rafael and raced for the front door.
Mr. Cordones slowly turned his five-foot frame and limped toward the house, dust still settling in the creases of his worn khaki trousers and shirt. The lights continued to race across the yard, up the brick wall and across the windows, alternately illuminating his path.
By the time he stepped onto the porch, the paramedic had already shoved aside the battered oak coffee table and was kneeling beside the couch, his stethoscope over his neck. An elderly woman lay before him, supine and still.
Rafael touched him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Sir. I need to know—”
The other two paramedics rushed through the door with the gurney. One, a young Latino woman, placed her hands on Rafael’s shoulders and gently but insistently moved him aside, then knelt alongside the first paramedic. “How’s she doin’, Mike?”
“Not good, Maria. She’s still here, though. Wanna get a saline IV started for me?”
“Sure.” With the precision and easy efficiency that comes only with endless practice, the young woman reached into her kit, then stood and hooked a bag of saline solution to the hook on the portable hanger that protruded over the head of the gurney. She reached into the kit again, removing a sealed plastic bag full of tubing and hooked it to the bag.
Rafael stared for a long moment at his wife of over sixty years. His eyes harbored sorrow, but they also held a look that was something akin to relief. Eventually he tore his gaze away from her and shook his head. He turned to look at the third paramedic, Charlie, a tall, slim young black man with glasses who remained near the gurney just inside the front door. He was watching as Maria hooked up the saline drip.
As Rafael shuffled toward Charlie, Maria brushed past him on her way back to the couch, where she resumed her position near Mike. “Good veins?”
He shook his head. “Not so much.”
Maria reached into her kit a third time and pulled out a small package containing a butterfly needle, then took out a few alcohol swabs and a short roll of white tape.
Rafael glanced in her direction, then touched Charlie’s arm lightly. “Sir? I’m not sure how I can pay, and—”
Charlie smiled sympathetically. He put one hand on Rafael’s thin, bony shoulder. The old man’s suspender strap was faded and all but threadbare, the flaccid elastic showing through in several spots. The paramedic shook his head. “You don’t owe us anything, Sir. Nothing at all. She’s your wife, right? How long has she been down?”
Rafael looked at him. “She... yes, she is my wife....” He shook his head. “No, no money... but I mean, I will pay.” He seemed to drift into his own thoughts. “Of course I will.... I must.... I just do not know—”
“It’ll be all right, Sir. You just hang here with me and let my friends help her. It’ll be all right.” He bent slightly to peer into Rafael’s eyes. “Do you know how long she’s been down? Sir?”
Rafael nodded and glanced at the couch, then back to Charlie. “She was just so sick.... I... maybe ten minutes, I think... maybe. She’s been there about ten minutes. I did not know who to call, what to do.... how to pay.... I’m just not sure yet how I can—”
Mike looked over his shoulder. “Okay, Charlie, let’s get her on the gurney.”
Charlie guided Rafael to the overstuffed easy chair on the other side of the living room. “Wait here, Sir. It’ll be all right.” As Rafael grasped the arms of the chair and gingerly sat, Charlie turned away and pulled the coffee table farther into the room. Maria helped Mike position the gurney alongside the couch.
Mike leaned over the arm of the couch and slipped one arm under the old woman’s frail left shoulder. Maria slipped both arms under her right shoulder, and Charlie gently grasped her legs just above her ankles. Mike looked up. “On my count: one... two... three.”
As they lifted the woman from the couch and placed her as gently as possible on the gurney, Rafael struggled to his feet. Maria busied herself with finding a viable vein in the back of the woman’s hand. She swabbed the area, then easily inserted the butterfly needle, taped it to the back of her hand, and attached the tubing for the saline drip.
Rafael slowly limped across the floor toward the paramedics. “Sir? I really need to know—”
A patrol car pulled up and two officers stepped out and crossed the yard, the lights from their car joining the lights from the ambulance in the haunting race up the brick wall and across the windows. Their shoes sounded loudly on the hollow wooden porch before the screen door creaked and they walked in. “What you got, Mike?”
“Stroke, I think. Unstable as hell. She must be 80 though, if she’s a day.” He saw Rafael coming and put up one hand, palm out. “Sir, you have to stay back now.” He looked at the cop again. “You guys handle the husband for us?”
The younger officer nodded. “Sure.” He took the old man’s arm and guided him gently back toward the overstuffed chair in the opposite corner of the room. “Sir? What’s your name?”
“Rafael... I am Rafael Cordones. Officer, I need to know—”
“Okay, Mr. Cordones. This lady is your wife?” Rafael thought the officer spoke louder and more carefully than was necessary. “You been married quite awhile?”
Rafael glanced toward the couch, toward where the woman he’d loved his entire life had lain only moments earlier, and nodded slowly, as if momentarily lost in thought. He looked at the officer oddly, as if wondering whether to trust him. “She was just so sick. I... she has been sick before, but not like this. So much pain this time... too much pain. And she wanted... she said she wanted... said she needed—”
As the paramedics pushed the gurney past the officer and through the doorway, the spring on the screen door strained again, protesting as the door itself slapped hard against the clapboard wall. They steered the gurney off the porch and across the yard, and the door slammed back against the door jamb.
The older officer approached Rafael. “Sir, it’s all right now. The paramedics will take good care of her. You want a ride to the hospital?”
Rafael seemed relieved to speak with the older officer. “Oh... no... no, there’s no need.” His eyes teared. “Sixty-two years we were together. I loved her. But I must stay here. Officer, what I need to know is how to pay. I do not know how I can—”
At the sound of the gurney sliding into the ambulance, the officer interrupted him. “Sir, you want to ride down with her in the ambulance? You can ride down with her if you like, right there in the ambulance.”
Rafael stared at him, deep worry lines furrowing his brow.
Mike’s voice drifted in from the outside. “Okay, let’s ro—oh damn! She’s crashing!”
The older officer started as if pinched. He glanced at the other officer. “Stay here, Rob. I’ll make the run.” Then he was out the door speaking to the paramedics. “Follow me to County, Mike. Seven minutes, max. I’ll block Main.”
Rafael tried again with the younger officer. “Officer, I must pay.... How... how can I possibly pay when—”
The young man put his hands gently on Rafael’s shoulders. “Sir—Mr. Cordones—she’ll be all right. They’ll have her at County in about ten minutes.”
The old man nodded, again seemingly lost in thought. “Ten minutes... ten minutes....” He turned and began to limp across the room. When he reached the screen door, he stared into the darkness, the lights no longer racing across the yard, having sped out into eternity. The sound of the sirens filtered through the heavy night air, but grew more and more distant as he listened. He shook his head. These men do not understand. She was sick before, but never like this... never in such pain. And I must pay. They don’t understand. She said she wanted the pills, needed them. The special pills... all of them. I owe a debt... the oldest debt of all. I must pay.
“Mr. Cordones, are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? When my partner comes back, we could take you.”
Rafael turned to look at the officer and sighed. They just don’t listen. They just don’t understand. If only there were another way for me to pay.... He nodded. “Yes... yes, perhaps I will go. She will need her rosary.” He limped toward the bedroom, his mind racing. “I will gather some things.” As he stepped into the bedroom, he closed the door softly, then quietly turned the lock in the center of the door knob. He couldn’t help wondering what might happen to the younger officer. I hope he will be all right... it is not his fault.
When the old man shut the bedroom door behind him, the young officer took a seat in the overstuffed chair and picked up a dog-eared copy of Time magazine from the coffee table. He was turning to an article on the overall reduction in violent crime in the nation’s capitol when another article caught his eye: The Oldest Debt: Cain and Abel. The subtitle read Responsibility—Are We Our Brother’s Keeper? The author of the article had taken an unusual stance. Perhaps Cain had slain Abel not in a jealous rage, the author theorized, but as an act of love. “Ridiculous,” the young officer mumbled, but he found the idea intriguing.
Several paragraphs into the article the author noted the increasing popularity of human euthanasia among the nation’s elderly, those members of what Brokaw called The Greatest Generation who had married young and remained married most of their lives. Sixty-two years, Mr. Cordones said, he thought. Then he remembered the old man had also used the past tense: I loved her. His eyes grew wide and goosebumps crept up his arms. He all but leapt from the chair and raced across the living room, barking his shin on the coffee table. When he tried the bedroom door knob, it wouldn’t turn. He tapped lightly on the door. “Sir? Mr. Cordones? Are you all right?”
Rafael was sitting quietly on the edge of his bed, his feet on the floor and a faraway look in his eyes. The pills were too many. I knew... she knew... they were just too many. She was in such pain.
The officer tapped harder on the door. “Sir? Mr. Cordones?”
Rafael placed his trembling hands together, touched them to his chin, then raised them toward the ceiling. Dios, Dios... forgive this weak human frame. I knew the pills were too many, but she hurt. Ah Dios, how she hurt! But I knew. I knew....
He lowered his hands, resting one on each side of him on the mattress, then leaned forward and reached for the drawer on the night stand. He pulled a pistol from the bureau drawer and his trembling hands stilled.
The officer banged on the door. “Mr. Cordones!” Just as the young man leaned back, gathering all his momentum to shoulder his way through the door, Rafael squeezed the trigger.
Down the block, more sirens sounded, joining the racing lights to form a wailing red sound, speeding off into eternity.
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