Set the Night on Fire (20 page)

“Of course I’m sure.” Anger flashed in Dar’s eyes. “Why? What are you getting at?”

“I don’t know. Her background . . . her values . . . they’re so different from yours.”

“That’s not true. We agree on a lot. Anyway, it’s what’s in here that’s important.” He tapped his chest. “Not here.” He tapped his forehead.

Rain angled her head. “You know, of course, that Casey’s in love with her.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you seen the way he looks at her when he doesn’t think anyone’s watching? How he’s always doing things for her? Like taking Billy to the hospital when you weren’t around. Making sure she has all her jewelry supplies. Buying Billy comic books. It’s almost sad how grateful he looks when she doles out a smile. Like a dog waiting for a bone.”

Dar crossed his arms. “Casey is my closet friend. And Alix is . . . my soul mate. That will never change.”

“Are you sure, Dar? Are you sure she’ll always be there for you?”

Dar narrowed his eyes.

“I would,” Rain said softly.

Dar looked at Rain. Then his face took on a knowing expression. He looked like he was groping for a response.

Rain immediately regretted what she said. She’d always sworn to hide her true feelings, and she wasn’t sure why she’d blurted them out. To make things worse, the length of time it was taking Dar to reply confirmed her worst fears. She’d been stupid. She tried to backpedal. “As your friend, of course.”

Dar didn’t say anything, but there was a catch in his eyes.

“Never mind.” Rain got up, went to the radio, and snapped it on. The announcer was still talking about the men on the moon. “Let’s listen to more of those giant steps for mankind, okay? ’Course, he should have said ‘humankind’, don’t you think? At least ‘men and women.’”

B
illy’s cough came back in August, worse than a smoker’s hack. He was coughing up blood again, and this time the Kleenex turned red. He seemed tired, and he was losing weight. At night, he sometimes ran a fever.

Alix went to the health food store on Wells Street. The owner recommended a combination of echinacea, garlic, licorice, and eucalyptus, all of which would fight respiratory infections. He also told her about something called
Arsenicum album
for cough and chest pain. He didn’t have any but could get some. She put in an order.

She took the bus to another health food store in Lincoln Park. The woman behind the counter suggested
Calcarea carbonica
for chills, sleepiness, and night sweats. She also suggested Alix talk to a homeopathic doctor who would prescribe something tailored exactly to Billy. Alix wrote down the doctor’s name.

Despite the remedies, Billy didn’t get better. He was still bringing up blood and sputum, his chest hurt, and he was hardly able to get out of bed. Alix got a used mattress from Goodwill and moved him from the boarding house into a corner of their bedroom. She told Dar they needed a doctor.

“How are we going to pay for it?” he asked. The bill for their visit to Fullerton Hospital came to over two hundred dollars. It would take months to pay it off. “And what will they do? Make us wait another four hours for a vial of antibiotics?”

“We have to find a doctor who will see him for free.”

Alix and Dar combed through the phone book and, through a stroke of good luck, found the American Indian Center on Wilson Avenue. The organization had sprung up more than ten years before to help Indians who’d relocated from reservations. The center referred them to a doctor in Uptown who, when they showed up at his storefront office, looked a little like Robert Young from
Father Knows Best
.

He examined Billy in a small cramped room, took a chest X-ray, and after studying it, called Alix and Dar into another cramped room for a consultation. Billy had TB, he told them. It was a difficult disease to diagnose conclusively because it was tricky—and took too much time—to culture the bacteria in the lab. But he pointed out what looked like tiny bubbles on Billy’s x-ray that he said were incidences of cavitation—little holes—in his lungs.

They were obligated to report it to the Chicago Health Department, the doctor said. “But that isn’t a bad thing. They can set you up with the MTS.”

“What’s that?”

“The Municipal Tuberculosis Sanitarium. He needs to be insti-tutionalized while he’s recovering.”

“In a hospital?” Alix asked.

“That’s his best chance for a full recovery,” the doctor said.

“How much does it cost?”

“I don’t know, but I think they have a sliding scale.” The doctor wrote down the name on a scrap of paper. “There’s probably a waiting list, though. What about a private sanitarium?”

Dar and Alix exchanged glances. “I . . . I don’t know,” Alix said tentatively. “Even if we could afford it, Billy hates hospitals. He’d probably run away.”

The doctor paused. “Well, there
is
another possibility.” His tone made it clear he didn’t think it was the best solution.

“What’s that?”

“The MTS and Chicago Health Department have clinics around the city. He could go there for his medicine. They’ll make sure he takes it, and they’ll supervise his overall health.”

“That sounds perfect,” Alix said.

The doctor rubbed a finger below his nose. “He’d have to go there every day for eighteen months, you realize.”

Alix’s eyes widened. “Eighteen months?”

“That’s the standard course of treatment. There are some new protocols that are only six months, but they’re not available yet.”

“He can hardly take medicine for eight days, much less eighteen months.”

“It’s either that or a sanitarium.” The doctor handed over the slip of paper. “You’d better get him on the waiting list.”

While Alix was still processing the information, Dar asked, “How contagious is TB?”

The doctor inclined his head. “It’s not as contagious as people think. It can be spread by coughing and sneezing, but you can’t spread it by touching, for example. Still, you need to take reasonable precautions. Wear a mask when you’re with him . . . actually, he should, too. Wash your hands after being with him. Keep him quiet and isolated in a room with good ventilation. And keep the door closed. And make sure he always uses a tissue when he coughs or sneezes. Once he’s been on the medications for a few weeks and the active part of the disease goes into remission, he won’t be contagious.”

“Do you have any idea how he got it?”

“Probably on the reservation.”

“His mother died last year, but he never explained why. I thought it was cancer. Now I wonder if she had TB,” Alix said.

“It’s possible. It’s also possible he’s been infected since birth. Most people who are infected don’t develop symptoms, and their X-rays remain negative. The disease only turns active when the individual’s immune system or general health is compromised. Like it might be on the rez.” The doctor paused. “And there’s always the chance it might have become active in the past and was misdiagnosed as a cold or flu.”

Alix recalled their trip to the ER. “Or bronchitis?”

* *

 “Get him out of here,” Payton demanded when Alix told them about Billy’s TB. “And burn the fucking mattress he’s been sleeping on.”

“But he’s not that contagious,” Alix began. “And I’ll make sure . . . ”

“Payton’s right, Alix,” Casey cut in. “Billy can’t stay here. It’s not fair to the rest of us. Even if he’s not contagious.”

“But we have no idea when he’s going to get into the MTS. Where’s he supposed to go?” Alix asked.

“If we’re lucky, he can hole up in his room at the boarding house,” Casey said soothingly. “We’ll do everything the doctor says.”

Alix turned to Dar. “That’s not good enough. He needs to be in a private sanitarium. I’m going to call my father.”

Dar stiffened. The phone calls she’d made to her parents over the past year had ended badly—her father had been full of dire predictions about her “drug-crazed, hippie” lifestyle. He reminded her of that.

“But this is different. It’s for Billy.” 

“He doesn’t know that, Alix. And he’s been looking for a way to drag you out of here. The minute you ask him for money, you’re giving him power over you. What if he puts conditions on it?”

“Like what?”

“What if he won’t give it to you unless you go back to Indiana?”

“He can’t make me.”

Dar shrugged. “And you can’t make him give you money.”

Alix massaged her temples. “So what do we do? Billy needs help.”

“I have an idea. Give me a day.”

“That’s about all we have,” Alix said more sharply than she’d intended.

* *

Dar spent most of the next day on the pay phone at the corner of North Avenue. He came back looking dejected.

“Where were you?” Alix asked.

“Trying to talk to the BIA.” At her puzzled look, he added, “The Bureau of Indian Affairs. But, between getting transferred to people on vacation, and those who didn’t know what I was talking about, I didn’t get far.” He squared his shoulders. “The only thing to do is to show up down there.”

“Where?”

“At the BIA field office.”

“Billy can’t go. He’s too sick.”

“I’ll go by myself.”

Alix softened. “If someone looks after Billy, I’ll come too.”

Casey agreed to watch Billy, and the next day Dar and Alix took the El downtown. The BIA office was tucked away on the seventh floor of a faceless government building in the Loop. They would have missed it altogether if Alix hadn’t noticed a small sign halfway down a long hall.

The door opened to a windowless room with no pretense at decoration. Two men sat behind standard issue metal desks covered with paperwork. One of the men, whose five o’clock shadow was noticeable though it was well before noon, looked up.

“Yes?”

Dar pointed Alix to the chair beside his desk and made her sit down. He stood behind her and explained the situation. The man listened without interrupting. Dar finished by saying, “So we’re looking for some financial help so he can be admitted to a sanitarium.”

Alix stole a glance at the other man, who was leaning back in his chair, listening.

The man Dar had talked to cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, you’ve reached us at a difficult time. Our programs are in transition.”

“What does that mean?”

“BIA used to have jurisdiction over every aspect of Indian affairs, but Congress  ‘reassigned’ some of our duties. Indian health care, for example, is now the responsibility of HEW. Health, Education and Welfare.”

“Which means what?”

“You’ll need to talk to them.”

Dar took in a breath. He was trying to stay calm. “And where are they?”

“In the Government Services building. Across the Loop.” The man frowned. “Although, as far as I know, most of the Indian programs are on the rez. There’s not a lot going on here.”

“So what do we do?”

The bureaucrat opened a drawer, withdrew a pencil, licked it, and started writing. “Try Medicaid. The state of Illinois gives medical care to children through AFDC—Aid to Families with Dependent Children. Is he your son?”

“Well . . ., ” Dar began.

Alix cut in. “Yes.”

The clerk threw them a skeptical look. “I thought you said he was Indian.”

“He is. Lakota Sioux. He’s adopted.”

“I see.” Alix knew he didn’t believe her. “Well,” he said slowly, “if you’re on welfare, you can get Medicaid.”

“We’re not on welfare,” Alix said.

“Oh.”  He pursed his lips. “Well, then, I . . . ”

“How long would it take to sign up?” Alix asked.

He tapped the pencil against his desk, then opened the drawer and dropped it back in. “I wouldn’t know.” He slid the drawer closed. “Not my department.” He scraped his chair against the floor and stood up.

Alix stayed in her seat.

“Sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he said in a clipped tone that clearly indicated the meeting was over.

Alix didn’t move.

“Alix.” Dar prodded her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“No, not yet.” She looked at the bureaucrat. “There’s got to be something you can do.”

An irritated look came over his face. “I’m sorry, but there’s . . . ”

The man at the other desk cut in. “There is one other thing.”

“What?” Alix twisted around. A photo sat on his desk, he and a woman grinning at the camera, the woman cradling a baby. A good sign.

“We have a relocation program. For Indians between eighteen and thirty-five. If he wants to join, we could help him with transportation, job placement, and subsistence funds until his first paycheck.”

Alix deflated. “He’s only sixteen, and he can’t work. He has TB.”

“But that’s what I’m saying. If he relocates formally, and we can look the other way when he fills in his age, he might be able to get health benefits.”

“He needs help now. Not in two months or whenever the paperwork goes through.”

The man spread his hands. “Then I’m sorry. I just don’t have any advice.”

* *

Alix and Dar walked past Kerr’s State Street store on their way back to the El. The windows, festooned with artificial autumn foliage, featured manikins dressed in earth-toned fashions. Alix looked away as they passed, but Dar gazed silently at the building with an odd expression, almost as if he was seeing it for the first time.

They didn’t speak on the El back to Old Town. It was only after they took the steps down to the street that Dar said, “I’m sorry, Alix. I tried.”

She placed a hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault.”

He took her hand and gently removed it. His expression darkened. “If you still want to call your father . . .,” he paused, “ . . . go ahead.”

Alix hesitated. Then she said, “I already did. They’ll be here tomorrow. They want to have dinner.”

* *

Alix wasn’t surprised her father suggested a steak house—he was a meat-and-potatoes man. But she was a little surprised he’d chosen Gene and Georgetti’s. His tastes ran more toward Bing Crosby than Frank Sinatra, and she didn’t think he would like a place where anyone from the mayor to a mob boss might drop in. It wasn’t until she was nearly there that she realized he’d probably chosen Gene and Georgetti’s because he didn’t want to be seen at the fancy, white-bread establishments he usually went to in Chicago—that he might be embarrassed at his daughter—and her boyfriend.

Tucked away under the El tracks, the restaurant was loud, rambunctious, and crowded. It sported lots of paneling, celebrity pictures, and a high-gloss bar, all rendered a little hazy by a curtain of smoke. Alix gave her name to the maître d’.