Far From the Sea

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From his hotel room he could see the ocean on the east and the bay on the west. The hospital was on the bay side, not very far from the sea. He stayed in the room only long enough to unzip his bag and lay it flat on the bed.

It was stiflingly hot in the street outside.

The cab driver who responded to his hand signal wheeled the taxi up onto the hotel ramp and asked where he was going.

“St. Mary’s Hospital,” he said.

The light on the corner took an eternity to change. He looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to three. Visiting hours were at eleven, two, four, and seven — for ten minutes each time. On the telephone last night, the doctor had told him he would leave word to admit him whenever he arrived.

“You got somebody in the hospital?” the driver asked.

“My father.”

“What’s the matter with him?”

“He’s sick.”

“Well, sure, a hospital,” the driver said, and fell silent for the remainder of the trip.

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