My brother, Pat. (born November 4, 1963)
The Man With the Dark Sad Eyes
Homeless, Dying a Slow Neurological Death
Anne G. McWilliams
Good Samaritan delivery
to the emergency department
found down in an alley
behind a bar
downtown.
The young blonde nurse
called the chaplain to come
to the neurological
intensive care unit
to please continue the quest
to identify the silent small dark man.
Trim of beard and spare of body
he lay in white sheets
dark sad eyes stared ahead
as if thinking deep thoughts
brow furrowing
in pain?
solution of lactated Ringers dripping into a vein
closed soft lips absolutely silent.
now and then startling his head up from the pillow
pointing the oxygen saturation probe
taped to his forefinger like the extra-terrestrial
phone home?
slowly soundlessly
you might say
deliberately
but probably not.
Compact and brown
like Gandhi in his middle years
hair black sprinkled with silver
peaceful and present like a saint
a peasant
a king
an imam
a holy man
a professor.
Dark sad eyes beneath
wire framed glasses
free of scratches
clothing neat
soiled with human waste
collegiate
blue chinos
rugby shirt
Rockport shoes
no socks.
Bag of belongings
signs of ER detective work:
his clothing and
Googled pages
images of India
Pakistan
Middle East
Africa
Elephants
Camels
Taj Mahal
Jameh Masjid
Pyramids of Giza
Arabic script
God is Great
Allahu akbar!
Word spread to speakers of languages
the United Nations
of a hospital’s underclass
housekeeping
sanitation
cooks
the dark-skinned people from the basement trades
came up the service elevators to the fourth floor
in the middle of the night
to speak phrases
Urdu
Farsi
Hindi
Arabic
Swahili
Tamil
tribes of
Kenya
Ethiopia
Madagascar
Liberia
no answer
no evidence of comprehending
dark sad eyes looking
wise
lost
dying.
Signs of Islam
cut of hair and
facial hair
female staff please
do not touch
or pray
falsely
avoid offense
to person
place,
and faith.
All of our projections
could not find him
create him
identify him.
Infection crept through
every cell
sinus abscess
sick brain
sepsis
seizure
and, without a word or sound
after a long time
death.
In death, illusions fell away
like leaves of paper shredded
in the nursing station
in morning shift change
as with the battle-hardened on the front lines
the tongues did wag and strip away
what dignity created in mystery
we remember -- disgusting --
he stank of urine and feces
and decomposition
and gangrene of the sinuses.
My brother is often homeless
alcohol dependent
drug-addled
twice head-injured
left for dead
he looks like a world traveler by foot
dark skin, black hair sprinkled with silver
a beard not so neatly trimmed
and dark sad eyes.
You might place him
without ID
in Italy
Brazil
Nicaragua
He could be Roma
Latino
Uzbekian
I don't know
Call the UN.
Will a young blonde nurse
in the neurological
intensive care unit
page a patient service assistant
to give him a bath
with the green soap
call a patient old chaplain
to hold his hand
to speak softly to him
fetch an extra blanket
a drip of water
with some sugar in it?
Will he
reek with lingering stench
finally naked
beneath clean white sheets
brunt of chatter
at change of shift
man of mystery.
And after
a long time
laid to rest
without benefit of clergy
the coroner's burden.
