Haun-nn Part I

How can they say that God cares for strangers if he will let his own son hang on a cross? How can they say that people will care for their own if the Supreme Being of Love does not care for his own?

God help me! No, I promised myself that I would not seek aid from any unearthly sources. But when there is no help coming from he earth where else can I turn? I do not want to cry again, but what else can I do? If only there was someone else.

The buzzer sounds. The nurse asks if I am all right. Do I need anything? I reply as politely as I can. "No, I'm fine." Why is my door locked? Can't I have a little privacy. "I just wanted to be alone for awhile." The rules say that no doors can be locked without special permission. Worried that some old fucker will die without a roomful of spectators? "If I unlock the door can I be left alone?" Of course, of course the parrot squawks. I click the lock open, the nurse gives the knob a try to check my honesty. I wait until I cannot hear the sound of footsteps, and than count to ten because my hearing is not as good as it used to be before I re-lock my door. I am in no mood for Old Lady Austen to come wheeling into my room tonight.

Damn them! What right do they have to tell me if I can have my door locked or not? Damn them, because I know the answer. The Law of Evolution. The strong must rule over the weak. The survival of the fittest. The young lording it over the old. The old, weak, sickly ones must step aside for the coming of the young, strong, healthy ones. But what if you are not ready to step aside? It does not matter. They, that mysterious they who make the rules and break our will to them, do it for your own good. "Ask not what your country can do for you, but ask what you can do for your country."

Whatever happened to the wizened, old grandfather who gives his valuable wisdom to his descendants? He is living in the Sunnyville Recreation Home.

The buzzer sounds again. I ignore it. I am in no condition to answer. If they find me crying they will assign me to therapy class. An hour and a half of explaining to some twenty year old child how it feels to be antiquated.

The buzzer resounds. Please go away. I curl up in my bed, and cower beneath the sheets. I'm afraid that I will hear the sound of keys turning in the lock. If they find me like this, they will tell my daughter.

"Mr. Martin." I stop shaking. That is not the voice of the nurse. It is that stupid bitch, Mrs. Austin. I still decide to keep quiet. I do not want to talk to her.

"Mr. Martin! Are you allright?" I can hear the squeeking noises her wheelchair makes when it moves. She is wheeling back and forth in front of my door. "Oh dear, perhaps I should call a nurse. Poor Mr. Martin. He might need help." Stupid old lady, not everyone needs help to take a shit.

"Mrs. Austen." Her wheelchair comes to a halt.

"I hear him. Thank God!" I hate her habit of talking to herself. Especially in the middle of a conversation with someone else. "Mr. Martin! I thought you might be in trouble."

"No."

She waits for more. After all, everyone else around here runs off at the mouth without the slightest excuse. "Do you know your door is locked?"

I am not that senile. Yet. "Yes."

"Why do you have your door locked, Mr. Martin? My goodness, you would think that the dear old mand did not want to see anyone. I came by to show you some pictures of my grandchildren. Bobbie and Jill are so cute."

"I locked my door because I felt like being alone for a little while. I thought I might get a little sleep."

I hear her wheelchair move, and than something bumps against my door. She speaks in a whisper now. "Mr. Martin, don't you know it is against the rules to lock your door? We're all supposed to be on big happy family here. Ouch!" She exclaims. "Stupid chair. Move back a little, Thelma. There, bumped your hand, didn't you? Silly old fool."

There is a word in the Lakotah language, which is the speech of the Teton Sioux Indians, that means "the cry of a dying man." The word is Haun-nn. Sometimes I feel that the last decade of my life has been a great Haun-nn.

"Nurse Able said I could lock my door, Mrs. Austen. I haven't been feelling well lately, so the Nurse advised me to get some sleep. She said I should lock my door so no one would disturb me."

"Oh, no! And I woke you up! I'm so sorry!" I assure her that it is no problem, and that I will not tell Nurse Abel. "Let's go, girl. We can go see Mr. Hill. But if his door is locked we won't ring the bell, will we?" The sound of her squeeking wheels disappears from hearing far too soon.

Suddenly I realize how futile the locks on our doors really are. They cannot keep the nurses and doctors out, the people we really want to keep out. A key could open them in an instant. Such a big thing is made about not locking your door only because it gave us an easy rule to break. We could break the rule, but not really be breaking it at the same time. But the locks kept out the old fools. Except for the old fool behind the locked door.

Why do I not want to see my fellow inmates? Is it because I am afraid that I will be looking into a mirror?

I lower the sheets from my head, and look about my room. Confined to life with 12 x 15 feet of breathing space. My single size bed is stuck up against the wall in the corner. A dresser next to it hold my clothes, the ones that I have to hang up are in a closest next to the dresser. Across from the dresser is a bookcase that holds the few remaining books that I have been able to keep. Ellison's Deathbird Stories, some Travis McGee novels, an assortment of other paperbacks, and a couple books by Mark Twain.

"If one truly believes that there is an all-powerful Deity, and one looks around at the condition of the universe, one is led inescapably to the conclusion that God is a malign thug." Mark Twain wrote that. It is a quote that I have come to associate with my religious beliefs. I have seen too much to believe in a God that is love, I have been through too much to believe in a God that cares. I believe it when Ellison says that God is "the mad one who capitalized his name."

That is how bad it is for me. I am seventy-two years old with no friends or family that care, and I cannot even turn to my God. A God that I have come to hate as strongly as I once loved Him. Because if anyone is to blame, I blame God for this world in which I am confined.

I sit up on the edge of my bed. I know senility is eroding my mind away. I know that my mind tends to wander from subject to subject without definite plan, and my mind has been known to play a few tricks on me. But still - I am a human being, I can still live for myself, if I was only given half a chance. My mind still retains more information than the minds of most younger people. My experience, my learning, my life has to stand for something, or what was the use in living it? There has to be more to life than living trapped with a bunch of old fools whose greatest thrill in life is a visit from their children.