textfiles/reports/ACE/lamp.txt

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Grade Level:       Type of Work           Subject/Topic is on:
 [ ]6-8                 [ ]Class Notes    [Creative Story named    ]
 [ ]9-10                [ ]Cliff Notes    ["In the Lamp Light"     ]
 [x]11-12               [x]Essay/Report   [                        ]
 [ ]College             [ ]Misc           [                        ]

 Dizzed: o4/95  # of Words:1819  School: ?              State: ?
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ>ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ>ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ>Chop Here>ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ>ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ>ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ>ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
                        In The Lamp Light

   After my first evening at Pine Vale, I decided I'd never tell Howard
Finley my name.

   I was sitting on a stone bench under the evergreens in the darkening
twilight, inspecting the piece of wood that I'd been carving.  It was going
to be a dog--maybe a German shepherd.  I liked to shape things, not just
whittle.

   I thought about smoking.  Not thinking of actually doing it, mind you,
only remembering.  Over the years, liver spots had replaced the nicotine
stains on my fingers.  I'd begun carving a set of chess pieces to occupy my
time back when I quit.

   Howard walked along the sidewalk from the clinic door.  His steps were
slow and deliberate.  Not like those of someone suffering the wounds of
age, but as if each step was a new adventure with no past and an uncertain
future.  He stopped beneath a yellow light.  Tall and slim, he was, with
thick, white sideburns, and a distant manner that added to the impression
of nobility.

   I sucked a slow, deep breath between pursed lips and held it, as if I
had a cigarette.  First I remembered the smoke warm and biting; then I
remembered it menthol-cool.

   Where the second person came from, I'm not certain.  I was surprised to
hear Howard's voice, strong and clear from across the driveway.  "I know
you, Roy Best," he said.  "I know about you and Mary.  You want to take her
away from me."

   Roy was a short man who walked with the help of a cane.  I'd seen him
during the afternoon, sitting in the lounge, talking to the prettiest woman
in Pine Vale.

   "You never even talk to her," Roy said.  "Not once in all the years
we've been here."

   "I--I will.  And until I do, I don't want you interfering."

   "She's not your property.  I don't think she'd want to hear you sayin'
what she can and can't do."

   "How dare you!  I've got a good mind to--"

   Roy's snort of derision echoed off the brick wall of the clinic.
"That's exactly what you don't got, Howard.  I hear you haven't got much
mind left at all."  Roy pushed past the taller man and continued on,
forcing a wheezing, artificial laugh.

   Howard twisted his head and watched Roy tap his way along the walkway.
By the light from the lamp, I could see Howard's face wrinkle up as if he
were going to cry, then he shouted at the departing figure.  "That's a mean
thing to say, Roy Best.  I'll remember you for that!"

   At that moment, Roy was gone.

   If I'd just lost sight of him, I wouldn't have been so spooked.  A tree
might have blocked my view as he walked away or I might have blinked
without realizing it.  But I remember the silence when his silly laugh and
the click of his cane on the concrete simply stopped.

   Howard stared for a long time at the cars passing on the street beyond
the wrought-iron fence that fronted the property. Maybe, I thought, he was
so upset from his encounter that he was paralyzed.  In some kind of stupor.
Maybe, I thought, I should go find an orderly to help him get back inside.
But he turned once more and, whistling a peaceful tune, retraced his
measured steps.

                                #

    Next morning after breakfast,  I sat by a window in the lounge,
considering what I should do.  The sun touched the ripples on the pond with
silver and reflected off a car bringing the first Sunday visitors.  Like a
wave through the room, blankets were tucked, shawls straightened, and
smiles practiced in response to the crunch of gravel from the parking lot.
I didn't bother; it wouldn't be anyone for me.

   At the lounge door, I saw the nurse who'd signed me in on the previous
day.  I looked about to make sure no one was watching, walked past her out
of the lounge, and whispered from the hallway.  "Excuse me."

   "Yes, Mr. Mc--"

   "Don't!  Not my name.  He might be listening."

   "Whoever are you talking about?"

   "Howard Finley."

   "Howard?  Howard's a little quiet, but you'll get along fine once you
get to know each other."

   "It's him I have to talk to you about.  Last night, I saw him make a man
disappear."

   "What do you mean?  What man?"

   Down the hall, the clinic's front door opened.  A young couple dressed
in their Sunday best looked about uncertainly until they spotted the
nurse's uniform.  The man asked where he could find Mary Waterford and was
directed into the common room.

   "Howard called him Roy Best," I said.  "He was here yesterday, but not
at breakfast."

   "We have no one here by that name."

   "I saw him.  Short.  Bent over.  Favoring his right leg."

   "That's not one of our guests, believe me.  We only have seventeen rooms
and I know who's staying in every one of them."

   "Eighteen."

   "Pardon me."

   "You said yesterday. . . .  Or maybe I'm not remembering right."

   Mary's visitors were arrayed around her as I returned.  The man and
woman sat together on a love-seat facing the sofa where Mary and the little
girl were looking over an envelope of photographs.

   Mary put her arm around the child's shoulders and hugged her. "This is a
wonderful surprise.  You were the best neighbors anyone could have had."
She winked at the woman who faced her. "Especially Kathy, here."

   "You remember me?" the girl asked.

   "You used to bring your kitten over for me to pet.  Of course I remember
you."

   Kathy seemed to glow.  Color suffused her cheeks.  Her clothes were
suddenly more vivid as if drawn in purer shades.  Her arms were folded
across her chest, and I saw the outline of a gray cat cradled lovingly.  It
rubbed its head against her shoulder, a vision so clear that I could see
its white whiskers and a tear at the edge of one ear.

   "He's a big cat now," said Kathy.  "And a real bully, always getting
into fights."

   I waited impatiently until Mary's visitors left, then moved to the same
love-seat.  Here was someone with the ability to put things right.

   "There's a problem with Howard Finley.  It's his memory, and I know you
can help."

   "Howard?"  She looked at him where he sat, quiet, staring into space.
"Yes, poor man.  He seems so lost."

   "He likes you.  I'm sure he'd be happier if you talked to him
sometimes."

   She leaned close and whispered.  "It's awful of me, but I get so
depressed when I'm around him.  I try to be cheerful, but with Howard it's
like writing on a blotter.  He makes me feel so old; drained and grave and
sad.  It's the kind of old I've always feared."

   "But it's important.  Can't you see what he's doing?"

   "I don't under--"

   "We're in danger from him.  Everyone in here.  Everyone he's ever
known."  She was shifting sideways as if trying to find room to escape,
should I prove violent.

   I lowered my voice and spoke as calmly as I could.  "Everyone remembers
things differently.  You breathe life into the past and make it more real.
Howard recalls what he dislikes in order to be rid of it.  Last night he
made Roy Best disappear."

   "Roy Best?"

   "You were talking to him yesterday when I arrived."

   "That name. . . .  I knew someone.  It's seems so long ago."

   Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a little man standing outside the
window, peering in.  His image flickering in the sunlight.  He lifted an
indistinct walking stick and rapped on the glass.

   "Look, Mary," I said.

   She appeared to hear neither me nor the tapping.  She shook her head and
sighed.  "I'm sorry.  I don't think I was talking to any such person."

   I looked toward the window again, though I knew no one would be there.

                                #

   Throughout the day, I could not rid myself of the memory of that ghost
at the window.

   I approached Howard after dinner, with what intent I can't be sure.  I
knew I must stop him.  I touched the jack-knife in my pocket and wondered
if I could use it on anything other than wood.  Even in self defense; even
if he tried to remember me.  He stared straight ahead, unseeing, but his
lips were moving and, by concentrating, I could make out the words.

   ". . .and then, thirty years ago, I moved to a little street near Queen.
And I remember an ice cream parlor on the northeast corner.  And children,
I remem--"

   "Stop!"  I screamed into his expressionless face.  "You can't do this to
them.  You destroyed one person last night.  Leave these ones alone."  I
lifted my hand to strike him.  I can not remember whether that hand held a
blade.

   Shocked, he heard me and ended his reminiscence.  An attendant was
beside us within seconds who led me to a spot by the window, then returned
to comfort Howard.

   Some of the residents, alarmed by the disturbance, milled about near
Howard to see whether he was all right.  Mary, as she passed by to join
them, paused for a moment beside me, a determined expression on her face.
"Roy had the room at the far end of the hall on the south side.  He mostly
wore sweaters. Black ones or forest green."

   She sat beside Howard and placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Howard," she
said, "why don't we have a long chat?  It might be good for both of us."

   "I forget so many things," he said.  "People.  Places.  I used to have
visitors, I think, every week.  Then there was a Sunday when they couldn't
come.  I spent that whole day playing a game, imagining that they were
here.  Nothing crazy, you know, passing the time, going over what I'd say
next time."

   "Your family?" she asked.

   "They never came again and everyone here says they didn't exist.  'Poor
Howard,' they say.  'He hasn't anybody.'  And even I can't picture them.
It's just something I know is true."

   "Tell me about them.  What can you remember?"

   "Him and her.  No kids.  And he always wore jeans.  Funny, I never
remembered that before."

   "I remember," said Mary.  "We can have fun remembering all kinds of
things."

   "I like talking to you.  Not--not him.  He--he upset me."

   "It's OK, he didn't mean to."

   "That talk about last night and someone. . . .  I did go for a walk.
The glow from the light looked lovely on the grass.  I remember the
lights."

   Outside, the evening turned jet black as the lamps along the walkway
disappeared.

   "So do I," said Mary.  "I remember the lights too."

   Brighter than ever, blue globes shone in the front yard, lighting the
walkway, the trees, and the benches.  Blue?  No, yellow.  I remember them
yellow.