“Alvin, what’s the matter?” Jason asked. Hayes didn’t reply. His right hand again pressed against his chest. A moan escaped from his lips, then both hands shot out and gripped the tablecloth, clawing it toward him. The wine glasses fell over. He started to get to his feet but he never made it. With a violent choking cough, he spewed a stream of blood across the table, drenching the cloth and spraying Jason, who jumped backward, knocking over his chair. The blood didn’t stop. It came in successive waves, splattering everything as nearby diners began to scream.
As a physician, Jason knew what was happening. The blood was bright red and was literally being pumped out of Hayes’s mouth. That meant it was coming directly from his heart. In the seconds that followed, Hayes remained upright in his chair, confusion and pain replacing the fear in his eyes. Jason skirted the table and grabbed him by the shoulders. Unfortunately there was no way to staunch the flow of blood. Hayes was either going to exsanguinate or drown. There was nothing Jason could do but hold the man as his life flowed out of him.
When Hayes’s body went flaccid, Jason let it slump to the floor. Although the human body contains about six quarts of blood, the amount on the table and floor appeared to be considerably more. Jason turned to a neighboring table that had been vacated and took a napkin to wipe his hands.
For the first time since the initial catastrophe, Jason became aware of his surroundings. The other patrons of the restaurant had all leaped from their tables and were crowded at the other end of the room. Unfortunately, several people had gotten sick.
The maître d’ himself, with a green complexion, was swaying on his feet. “I’ve called for an ambulance,” he managed to say through a hand clamped over his mouth.
Jason looked down at Hayes. Without an operating room right there, with a heart and lung machine primed and ready to go, there was no chance of saving him. An ambulance at this point was futile. But at least it could take the body away. Glancing again at the still body, Jason decided the man must have had a lung cancer. A tumor could have eroded through his aorta, causing the bleeding. Ironically, Hayes’s cigarette was still lit in the ashtray that was now full of frothy blood. A bit of smoke languidly rose to the ceiling.
In the distance Jason heard the undulating sound of an approaching ambulance. But before it arrived, a police cruiser with a flashing blue light pulled up outside, and two uniformed policemen came bounding into the dining room. They both pulled up short when confronted by the bloody scene. The younger one, Peter Carbo, a blond-haired boy who looked about nineteen, immediately turned green. His partner, Jeff Mario, quickly sent him to interview the patrons. Jeff Mario was Jason’s age, give or take a couple of years. “What the hell happened?” he asked, astounded at the amount of blood.
“I’m a physician,” Jason offered. “The man is dead. He bled out. There was nothing that could have been done.”
After squatting over Hayes, Jeff Mario gingerly felt for a pulse. Satisfied, he stood up and directed his attention to Jason. “You a friend?”
“More a colleague,” said Jason. “We both work for Good Health Plan.”
“He a physician also?” Jeff Mario asked, motioning toward Hayes with his thumb.
Jason nodded.
“Was he sick?”
“I’m not certain,” Jason said. “If I had to guess, I’d say cancer. But I don’t know.”
Jeff Mario took out a pad and a pencil. He opened the pad. “What’s the man’s name?”
“Alvin Hayes.”
“Does Mr. Hayes have a family?”
“I guess,” Jason said. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know too much about his private life. He mentioned a son, so I presume he has a family.”
“Do you know his home address?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Officer Mario regarded Jason for a moment, then reached down and carefully searched Hayes’s pockets, coming up with a billfold. He went through Hayes’s cards.
“The guy doesn’t have a driver’s license,” Jeff Mario said. He looked at Jason for confirmation.
“I wouldn’t know.” Jason could feel himself begin to tremble. The horror of the episode was starting to affect him.
The sound of the ambulance, which had gotten progressively louder, trailed off outside the window. There was now a red flashing’ light in addition to the blue. Within a minute two uniformed emergency techs came into the room, one carrying a metal case that looked like a tackle box. They went directly over to Hayes.
“This man’s a doctor,” Jeff Mario said, pointing at Jason with his pencil. “He says it’s all over. He says the guy bled out from cancer.”
“I’m not sure it was cancer,” Jason said. His voice was higher than he intended. He was visibly trembling now, so he clasped his hands together.
The EMTs examined Hayes briefly, then stood up. The one who’d been carrying the case told the other to go down and get the stretcher.
“Okay, here’s his address,” said Jeff Mario, who had gone back to searching Hayes’s wallet. He held up a card. “He lives over near Boston City Hospital.” He copied the address down on his note pad. The younger policeman was taking down names and addresses, including Jason’s.
When they were ready to leave, Jason asked if he could go along with the body. He felt bad sending Hayes to the morgue all alone. The cops said it was fine with them. As they emerged onto the square, Jason could see that a considerable crowd had formed. News like this traveled around the North End like wildfire, but the crowd was silent, awed by the presence of death.
Jason’s eye caught one nattily dressed man who seemed to melt backward into the crowd. He looked like a businessman — more Latin American or Spanish than Italian — particularly his clothing — and for a moment Jason wondered at himself for even noticing.
Then one of the emergency techs said, “Want to ride with your friend?” Jason nodded and climbed into the back of the ambulance. Jason sat on a low seat across from Hayes, down near his feet. One of the EMTs sat on a similar seat closer to Hayes’s head. With a lurch, the ambulance moved. Through the back window Jason saw the restaurant and the crowd recede. As they turned onto Hanover Street, he had to hold on. The siren had not been turned on, but the flashing light was still functioning. Jason could see it reflected in the glass of the store windows.
The trip was short; about five minutes. The EMT tried to make small talk, but Jason made it apparent he was preoccupied. Staring at the covered body of Hayes, Jason attempted to come to terms with the experience. He couldn’t help but think that death was stalking him. It made him feel curiously responsible for Hayes, as if the man would still be alive if he’d not had the misfortune of meeting with Jason. Jason knew such thoughts were ridiculous on a rational level. But feelings didn’t always rely on rationality.
After a sharp turn to the left, the ambulance backed up, then stopped. When the rear door was opened, Jason recognized where they were. They’d arrived at the courtyard of the Massachusetts General Hospital. It was a familiar place for Jason. He’d done his internal medicine residency there years ago. Jason climbed out. The two EMTs unloaded Hayes efficiently and the wheels dropped down under the stretcher. Silently, they pushed the body into the emergency room, where a triage nurse directed them to an empty trauma room.