Conundrum (41 page)

Nathan starts weeping again. Dave ponders his dying friend’s words.
Maybe Nate is thinking God is punishing him for his choices. Nathan had more than once mentioned this line of reasoning before. Dave doesn’t know what Nathan believes about God, but he knows that when you’re close to death, you can’t help but question and wonder if someone is up there.

So, maybe he is blaming God for all this. For taking him away from his children, all because he walked out on them. As if God was saying,
“
You want out, I’ll give you ‘out.’” That’s the only thing Dave can think of as he tries to piece it all together and find something consoling to say.

“
I
f there is a God,” Dave says softly, “He can’t be like that. Wanting to cause suffering. Punishing good people with deadly diseases
—
”

Nathan thrashes some more, this time knocking over his water cup. “Not him!
Not God!”

Dave sits on the chair beside the bed as Nathan drops his head back on the pillows. He wishes he could think of something to say, anything to help ease Nathan’s agitation. He sits quietly while Nathan continues to mutter, kicking his legs in little motions that reminds Dave of a small boy working himself up to a temper tantrum.

Dave is tired, weary. He hasn’t had breakfast
,
and his stomach rumbles. The
st
r
ingent
smells of the hospital irritate his nose. He wants to cheer up the room, turn on a light, the TV, something to distract Nathan away from his mood, but knows it would be counterproductive. This is something Nathan needs to get out. Maybe no one else comes to visit him—except Shirley. Nathan probably holds back from exploding at her. Chivalrous to the last. But he can speak freely with his best pal, let out the frustration and anger. That’s okay.

Dave thinks he should encourage Nathan to keep talking, but maybe Nathan is done. Dave looks at his friend, whose eyes are
squeezed
shut, his mouth in a
tight
line, tension rippling across his features. Maybe, Dave thinks, he should buzz the nurse, have them give Nathan something to knock him out. He’s at a loss what to do,
to know
what would be best for his friend.

Nathan’s eyes open
,
and he stares at Dave vacantly. The room is quiet while Dave waits, ponders on the things Nathan has said, none of it making sense.

“Simple
.
 
.
 
.
really. The casing only forty centimeters long
.
 
.
 
.
easy to dismantle with the right tool
.
 
.
 
.
”

Dave leans closer. What in the world is Nathan talking about? As his friend goes on about dimensions and weight, Dave’s eyes widen. “The SNAP 3. That’s what you’re talking about, right?”

Nathan nods excitedly. “Not ha
r
d to get one
.
 
.
 
.
in storage, security
.
 
.
 
.
no problem getting through security
.
 
.
 
.
p
ress the right sequence of numbers
.
 
.
 
.
”

A chill runs through Dave’s heart
,
and he stops breathing. What on earth is Nathan going on about? He realizes his friend is describing how to take apart the housing on the SNAP 3 and remove the components
—a housing he helped design
.

Dave’s heart races. Is this something Nathan has done, or is this just another
example
of Nathan’s cancer-ridden brain wandering off on tangents
?
Yet, as Dave looks deeply into Nathan’s eyes
,
h
e sees a st
r
ong focus and concentration, unlike other times when Nathan would just blabber. This comes forcefully as a memory, in Dave’s opinion, and he does not like what he is hearing or where he thinks all this is leading.

Nathan startles Dave by suddenly laughing. Dave looks on in shock as Nathan’s laughter brings tears to his eyes. Soon he is laughing and crying. In between sobs, he forces out more words.

“Simple, see?
.
 
.
 
.
no one would know
.
 
.
 
.
late at night
.
 
.
 
.
strap the fuel cell under
.
 
.
 
.
desk
.
 
.
 
.
close proximity
.
 
.
 
.
radiation leak
.
 
.
 
.
brilliant, actually
.
 
.
 
.
”

Dave trie
s
to get Nathan to look at him “What? What did you do? Why?”

Nathan is still laughing
. T
ears soak his hospital gown just below the neck. Dave r
e
aches for a washcloth and wipes Nathan’s face. Nathan grips Dave’s wrist again, this time softly, his hand shaking uncontrollably. “After
.
 
.
 
.
switched offices
.
 
.
 
.
had the desk sent to the city dump
.
 
.
 
.
no one would know
.
 
.
 
.
no one
.
 
.
 
.
”

Nathan sits up in bed and turns toward the window; it takes some effort. He gestures to the drapes. “
Please, o
pen
.
 
.
 
.
”

Dave spreads the fabric apart slowly, allowing time for the bright winter light to spill into the room. Nathan squints
,
but a smile comes over his face. “They say
.
 
.
 
.
confession is good for the soul
.
 
.
 
.
forgiveness
.
 
.
 
.
I tried. Can’t forgive myself
.
 
.
 
.
Easy to forgive others, but never yourself.
”

At his point, Dave is in a panic. It’s pretty clear what Nathan has just confessed to, but it’s unbelievable! Ho
w
could Nathan do such a thi
ng, something so calculated and self-destructive
?
All because his wife gave birth to another man’s baby? Was that it? Was Nathan so distraught that he felt he could no longer go on living, and did the only thing he could think of to end his life?

W
hy this way? If you wanted to die, there were quicker methods—pills, a gun, jumping off a bridge. But expose yourself to a large dose of radiation that would only stretch ou
t
your pain and suffering? Or was that the point? Nathan feel
ing
his shame merit
s
suffering? This is insane!
Dave
thinks. Bizarre and
insane
!

Nathan stares out the window, then turns to Dave, who is stunned by the sudden calm on his friend’s face.
“I told him I forgave him. For all the rotten things he did
.
 
.
 
.
doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
Nathan chuckles again. “Didn’t want to hear that
.
 
.
 
.
forgiven
.
 
.
 
.
”

“You mean Ed, right?”

Nathan nods, his eyes closing.
“I’m tired. I think
.
 
.
 
.
you should leave
.
 
.
 
.
But, promise me. Promise not to tell anyone. Not
R
uth, not Ed,
Shirley,
no one
.
 
.
 
.
promise!
”

“Of course, Nate. I promise. Won’t tell anyone. Ever.”

“Okay
.
 
.
 
.
” Nathan
shakes his hand toward the door
,
and soon his breathing deepens and his face relaxes. The morning’s events have all but drained away Nathan’s last bit of
strength
.

Dave pauses for a moment and studies his friend’s face—
unaware that this is
the last time he will ever see it. His mind is spinning with this sudden understanding of the source of Nathan’s leukemia
. Disbelief, puzzlement, confusion. All these things flit through Dave’s brain as he tries to picture Nathan sneaking one night into the SNAP storage area of the warehouse, the building where the prototypes and other components
are
safely
stored. Wouldn’t someone notice a fuel cell missing? Or had Nathan closed up the housing
,
leaving
no one the wiser? Maybe months, even years
,
might go by before someone realized the part was missing. The SNAP might be halfway around the world at that point.

As Dave
walks
toward the elevator, he thinks of all the hours Nathan had spent behind his closed office door, secluding himself, always working intently on a project, wanting to be left alone. At the time, Dave
had
just thought it was Nathan’s way of avoiding Ed Hutchinson
, hunched over his desk, working on formulas. And that when, months later, Nathan suddenly switched offices, thinking it was because the third floor was scheduled for painting and refurbishing. Dave never gave it a thought when Nathan moved down to his floor, leaving behind all his furniture, just doing what management told him to do. How had Nathan arranged that?

Dave takes one look back down the hallway before stepping into the elevator. How
can
Nathan expect him to keep this a secret, not tell a soul what he had just revealed to him? Shouldn’t someone be told? The doctors? His employer? And then, Dave realize
s
it
’
s too late.

Too late to save Nathan, too late for this information to help him in any way, except maybe hurt those who love him. No, Dave conclude
s
, Nathan made him promise
,
and he would honor that promise. He would leave Nathan to his shame and pain, let
those
feelings
die with him in the grave where
they
could not hurt anyone else.

He
i
s glad no one g
e
t
s
on the elevator with him as he travel
s
down to the lobby. It’s just too painful for anyone to see a grown man cry.

My heart hurt, listening to
Dave
tell his story. I thought I would have mountains of questions, but I didn’t. In fact, I couldn’t think of anything at all to say. I was beyond stunned. All this time my mother had sworn that my father’d had a death wish, willed himself to die. And it was true! In some skewed way, her reasoning was sound—my father
believed
he had bad blood, so gave himself a blood disease.
This, then
,
was the deed without a name my father had done—a deed I now could name.
Maybe, deep down, Nathan Sitteroff never felt worthy of life. Maybe he had suffered from depression like my brother, and like his sister, who had killed herself. But the details were shocking—and so outrageous.
Who would ever believe it
?
Did I?