“Oh, God,” Bud said. He reached into the tub and turned off the shower.
“Go away,” Andy said. “Leave me alone.”
The razor blade in Andy’s right hand was stained with blood. And now that the water had been turned off, Bud could see a thin narrow red streak across Andy’s left wrist.
“Is he... is he all right?” Carol asked. She kept the knuckles of her hand pressed tightly against her teeth. She was not crying. Her eyes were brimming, ready to let loose, but she staunchly held back the tears.
Bud looked at Andy’s wrist. It didn’t seem to be bleeding very heavily. He looked at the narrow line more closely.
“Leave me alone,” Andy said. “I want to die.”
“You won’t die from that,” Bud said. “You’re lucky you’re even bleeding.” He felt suddenly let down. Even in suicide, Andy had failed.
Andy looked up. His eyes seemed yellow now, too, the white stained against the deep brown pupils.
“Come on,” Bud said, “let’s tape that up.” Disgustedly, he went to the medicine chest. “He barely got through the skin, Carol. He couldn’t have borne down very hard.”
Andy was crying. The tears began suddenly, and he made no effort to control them. “Can’t even kill myself right,” he said. “Have to foul up even that. Buddy, my head hurts. Buddy, I can hardly see my head hurts so much. And my eyes are burning, why’d I have to foul up, why should I have so much pain in my body?”
“Take it easy,” Bud said. “We’re going to get you a doctor. As soon as I tape up your wrist we’re calling a doctor.”
“No!” Andy said sharply. “No doctor! I don’t want a doctor around here telling me what to do and what not to do. You call a doctor, and I’ll kill you.”
“Give me your wrist,” Bud said calmly. He wadded the absorbent pad in place and then began taping the wrist.
“Bud, no doctor, please. I don’t want a doctor. They don’t understand, you follow me? Doctors, I mean. They don’t know what’s inside a man, they don’t understand. No doctor.”
“Andy,” Bud said, “you need help.”
“Call Helen then. Call her. She’s been through this. She knows. Call her. Please.”
“What’s her number?” Carol asked.
She listened while he gave it to her, and then she went to the phone.
“Helen’ll know what to do,” Andy said. “Am I very hot? Bud, feel my head. Am I very hot?”
Bud put his palm on Andy’s forehead. “You’re hot,” he said. “Do you want to take your temperature?”
“No, no. Must be all this excitement. Jesus, it looked like such a good idea. I mean, I really wanted to, do you know what I mean? I could just picture being dead, Jesus, it must be great, it must be great just to lay there and not have a goddamn—”
“Don’t talk like that,” Bud said sharply.
“I’m alive, ain’t I? I goofed, didn’t I? I slashed the blade across my wrist, and all I drew was a little blood. It seemed funny to me because I thought, Jesus, you should bleed more, you know? But I guess I was scared. I guess I didn’t really slash away because I was scared death would... well, I don’t know what I was really scared of, except, suppose... suppose it wasn’t what I... well, how could you know, Bud? So when I drew that razor across my wrist, I guess I didn’t push very hard. I didn’t feel anything, would you believe it? I just saw the blood come out behind the razor and then the water was washing it away, and I thought, Good, you’re going to die, and all the while I knew I wasn’t really going to die, but the idea of dying was a good one, and so I tried to tell myself, Yes, you are going to die, all the while knowing differently, and all the while afraid that I would die because death, too... it might be... I don’t know... I... oh, hell, there’s nothing I can do right.”
“You’re shaking the habit,” Bud said. “You’re doing that right.”
“Am I? Am I doing it right? I shot up yesterday, didn’t I? That’s some way to shake it, all right. And what happens when it gets rougher, like Helen said it would get? What do I do then? Slash my wrists whenever it gets rough? The funny part was I didn’t even feel like taking a shot this morning. I was just laying here, and all of a sudden there didn’t seem to be anything left for me, and I thought how great it would be to be dead, really dead. Why did I have to miss? Why couldn’t I have done it the right way?”
“Shut up, Andy,” Bud said.
Into the phone Carol said, “May I speak to Helen Cantor, please?”
“Have you got her?” Andy said.
“I’m waiting.”
“She’ll know what to do. You don’t mind, do you, Carol? That I want her to come over?”
“No.”
“It’s just... she’s been through this, you know? She’ll know how to handle it. She knows the tricks.”
“I don’t mind,” Carol said. She waited. The boys were silent. “Hello?” she said at last. “Helen? This is Carol... No, everything’s all right... that is, well he tried to... he cut his wrist... No, he’s all right... He wants you to come over... He doesn’t feel well... Do you think you can?... Yes... well, yes... all right, fine... We’ll be waiting for you.” She paused. “Helen?... thank you.” She hung up.
“Is she coming?”
“Yes. She said she’d take a cab. She should be here in a few minutes.”
“A wonderful girl,” Andy said. “A rock. Solid as a rock. Jesus, a wonderful girl, Helen.”
“Lay down,” Bud said. “Get some rest. God, you’re burning up.”
She was wearing green, a green woolen dress that picked up the color of her eyes. She looked very cool and very efficient when she walked into the apartment, and Bud couldn’t help contrasting her calm demeanor with the way he and Carol looked. There was despair on Carol’s face, a sadness she could not hide. She was struggling valiantly to keep from crying, and the struggle put a pained look on her face, and the pain robbed her of her beauty. Her blond hair hung limply, even her clothes seemed to have grown suddenly stale. Her shoulders were hunched, and she kept her arms folded tightly across her chest, as if she were huddling against the cold.
He looked at Carol, and then he looked at Helen and the contrast was so vivid that he felt a sudden uplifting of his own spirits. Helen was a rock. Andy was right. In Helen there was strength. You could count on Helen, you could always count on Helen. He had not, until seeing her, realized how much the suicide attempt had shaken him. It had been a pitifully weak attempt, an attempt that magnified Andy’s own weakness. It had drawn only a little blood, but it had still been a harrowing experience, and he trembled now as he thought of what could have been, and he was extremely grateful for Helen’s presence.
She walked to the sofa where Andy lay stretched out.
“How’s the patient?” she asked.
“Hello, Helen,” he said.
“You goofed, huh, dad?”
Andy smiled weakly. “I goofed.”
“I’m kind of glad you did. It wouldn’t be the same around here without you.”
“Thanks.”
“No more of that, huh?”
“No, Helen.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She put her hand on his forehead, and her face clouded momentarily. “You’re—” She didn’t complete the sentence. She turned to Bud. “Have you called a doctor?”
“No. No, we didn’t know what to do. We... we thought we’d wait until you got here.”
“We’d better get one,” she said.
“No, Helen,” Andy pleaded. “No doctor.”
“You lay back and relax, Buster,” she said. “Do you use anyone in particular, Bud?”