Chubby little Patty Clausen, age 5, was unharmed, but her mother perished. With her father hospitalized, hospital authorities put out a plea. “Can’t someone take this most adorable child home? She keeps asking for her ‘bow wow.’?” The dog had been left in a kennel while the family went on vacation. Her uncle picked her up last night, but said he would wait before telling her of her mother’s death.
Hospitalized newlywed Linda West, 25, was unaware of the status of William, her husband. They were married at noon on Feb. 10, and pulled from the wreckage 12 hours later. “When can I see my husband?” She begged her mother to bring him to her bedside. Her mother didn’t know how to break the news to her daughter that Mr. West had died of a fractured skull and brain injuries the previous night.
In much better spirits was 17-year-old Cele Bell, who was anxious to get on another flight. “I want to go on vacation to Miami! I’d go tomorrow if I could,” she told reporters. She had been traveling with her mother, who was pinned under her seat after the crash. But Cele was able to pull her to safety. They had been in the last two seats on the right side of the plane.
Of the 38 who survived the initial crash, two have died in the hospital. Some remain in critical condition, but the prognosis for most is good.
24
Natalie
Natalie’s parents took her to New York, to the Central Park West office of some old man who smelled bad. Her mother assured her he was a famous psychoanalyst from Vienna, that he knew Anna Freud, daughter of the great man. Anna lectured frequently in the United States and Dr. Boltzmann might be able to arrange for Anna to see Natalie. Today’s appointment with Dr. Boltzmann was a consultation, not a session, not that Natalie knew the difference.
The walls were paneled in dark wood, the floor covered with overlapping Oriental rugs. A faded red brocade sofa strewn with needlepoint pillows stood in the middle of the room, a crocheted afghan folded at one end. There was a big leather chair and two smaller chairs. Dr. Boltzmann sat in one of the smaller chairs, a cushion behind his back. She didn’t like this. Didn’t like that her parents were in the waiting room, not with her. Maybe the famous doctor had already seen them. Either way, she wasn’t going to tell him anything. Half the time she couldn’t even understand what he was saying, his accent was so thick. It reminded her of when they used to play Dracula. They’d run around the playground shrieking, I vant to bite your neck! She knew enough not to lie down on that faded sofa. She would never lie down on it, even if her parents brought her here every week. Instead she slumped in the big chair, feeling small, feeling like her old Raggedy Ann doll, which she still kept in her closet.
The famous doctor cleared his throat. It sounded like he had phlegm. Robo’s father had phlegm. When he drove he often rolled down the window and spit it out. Natalie hated when he did that. She had to look away to stop herself from gagging. She thought she might gag here, in this dark, faded room.
“You can talk,” the famous doctor said. “No one can hear you.”
You can hear me, she thought. But she didn’t say it aloud. Instead she said, “I don’t want to talk.”
“Ah…you don’t want to talk and you don’t want to eat.”
“I want to eat but I can’t. I have a disease.”
“Not a disease. A condition.”
“Did my parents tell you that?”
He shrugged. “We both want to help you get well. The parents and the doctor. Do you want to get well?”
That was a stupid question, a trick question, and she wasn’t going to answer it.
“What would you like to talk about?” he asked.
“My hair. It’s falling out.”
“Do you pull it out?”
“No. Why would I do that?”
“Just now,” he said, “you pulled out a clump.”
She looked down and saw a golden-blond clump in her hand. How did it get there? She didn’t remember pulling it out. She needed to ask Ruby about this. Ruby would tell her what to do. But lately, she felt Ruby had other things, other people on her mind. Natalie wanted to cry, roll herself into a ball and let the tears come. But she was not going to cry in front of this old man, in this old room, which smelled as musty as he did.
She wished she could twirl. Twirl and twirl until she was so dizzy she’d collapse on the floor. She’d like to slap her taps on the wood floor under the rugs, making more noise than this old doctor had ever heard. She couldn’t believe her parents had brought her here. He was like a relic from the olden days. Something right out of a movie.
“Why are you here?” he asked. “What do you think?”
“I don’t have to think—I know the answer. I’m here because my parents brought me.”
“Why do you think they brought you?”
“To see you, obviously.”
He ignored her sarcasm, not a good sign. “But why to see me?”
“Because their friend who is our doctor told them to.”
“Yes, but why would he make such a suggestion?”
“Because you’re famous.”
“Ah, famous.”
“And because they don’t have any idea what’s going on.”
“And you won’t tell them.”
“That’s right. And I won’t tell you, either.”
“Of course. Why would you tell me?”
“Because you really want to know, don’t you?”