Life Support

Dick Bird

Life Support
by Dick Bird

URGENCIAS: crude letters in red paint over a door. A spidery shadow cast by the light bulb dancing on a wire. Shadow of what? Two thick legs splayed out from the shoulders, two thin ones from the hips. Now he feels the weight on his back. Hed forgotten he was carrying something, blanked the whole episode out. He shoves the door with the dead mans legs, staggers in and tips him on a gurney. Straightens arms and legs, crosses the feet in rubber fins, leaves the head twisted on a broken neck, eyes wide open in the foggy mask. The light around him dims, his shadow swells as he aims himself at a vacant bed, and collapses. His arms and legs relax, but his mind sinks down through underwater gloom He opens his eyes to shadows racing on the corrugated roof. Shadows of leaves on the trees outside, tossing in the wind. The wind sweeps through the open door, swirling dust and paper. Frank cant move his arms or legs, but his mind retraces every step of the climb. His ribs are tight, his air controlled by his diaphragm, spasming with a will of its own. When he can spare a breath he shouts for help in Spanish: OYE, SOCORRO, AYUDA! Nobody answers. Just two men in wetsuits, nobody else in the building. Huge feet stick up in scuba fins, no wonder he had such a hard climb. He closes his eyes, relieved. Hes done his duty, done all he could. His breathings back to normal. Moonlight shines on wet sand. His head up the beach, legs stretched down, feet sucked by the receding wave. He lies on his front, the weight of a tank on his back, one

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Life Support

Dick Bird

numb arm bent under him. He shifts his arm and pushes up the mask. It hurts his neck to move. He feels the sucking of waterlogged sand dragged down to meet the wave. The wave rears up on the edge of his vision. He digs in his claws as it crashes on top of him. Hes holding on as it rushes back without him. Hes a land creature again. He spits out the snorkel and sucks in air. Hes not alone. A pair of eyes on stalks like popsicles swivel in moonlight, regarding him from inches away. Its a crab erect on its hind legs, stretching its claws in a crescent to the moon. More crabs all over the beach, standing and facing the same direction. Army crabs on parade, saluting the moon before the next wave sends them down. The crabs tuned in to the suck of watery sand. As the wave rears up, just as it crashes, the crab tilts sideways and dives down its hole. Its hard to be sure, his visions uncertain, but did that wave throw up a body on the shore? Tumbling over in foam, something black? What was his name? Vacca something? Frank? Now the crashing surf is a sigh from far away. The wind is loud, the wind is right behind the door. Somebody has closed the door. Footsteps slap the floor. The clinic light is on. So youre awake, says a man in Spanish. The medics face looms over him, eyes brimming behind glasses. The man means him well. He takes Franks wrist in a professional grip and takes his pulse. How are you feeling, better? Im okay but hows my compaero? Which compaero? He cant see the gurney, the doctors pants are in the way. Him on that stretcher. He can just see the feet. Bare feet. Hes not your compaero. The doctor moves aside. A putrefied body lies on the gurney, clad in slimy rags.

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Life Support

Dick Bird

Frank starts up with a pain in his neck. A man in a wet-suit, fins and mask. I carried him up here Take it easy, relax. The doctors hand presses down on his chest. Your compas there turning Franks head towards another gurney with a slack wetsuit sprawled upon it. You carried two men up the cliff. A magnificent effort. You deserve an award. But one of them was dead. The medic times his bits of information, watching Franks reaction. Sal, thats who he is. Salvatore Vacca. A tourist from Italy. And you? Frank. From Canada. We met at the dive shop here... in Quepos. Thats good. The more you remember, the better. I was afraid of brain damage. For him, Salvatore, it may be too late. Whos the dead guy? Frank turns his head, never mind the pain. Dont worry. Thats a fisherman who died in a storm last year. Left a widow and four kids. Theyll be grateful to you for finding him. Now hell get a proper funeral, thats important. Where did you find him? Deep. It was dark as night, so deep. The boat was white so we could see it. His feet were caught in a rope. I cut the rope. Then I dropped my knife. Never found it. The body shot up. Hey ! He starts up, pinching the nerve in his cervix. Thats what happened! Sal ran out of air! He was clueless, used up his air and never told me, then shot up to the surface. He turns to the other gurney. Hell be having decompression problems. Dont worry, this is a Rural Public Service Clinic. I will take care of your friend.

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Life Support

Dick Bird

Hes unconscious. Drowned. And decompression, you know about that? The nitrogen in his bloodstream? Have you got a decompression chamber? Please be calm, Im a qualified physician. Actually we have a machine. I think you have the name wrong, but youre not a doctor are you? What we have is called Life Support. Frank lies still, thinking better than nothing. The doctor is pulling something from a cupboard. A packing box, sealed with tape. Your friend is lucky. The first one to use this. Well, perhaps not the first. Its second-hand of course. A gift from the United States. So, the first in Costa Rica. He makes an incision in the sealing tape with a scalpel. Frank tries to sit up, but a lightning strike behind his eyes persuades him not to. His head lies on a rough blanket. He wishes for a pillow. The wet-suit binds him tight. He cant even wiggle his toes in the fins. His toes are cold and numb. This Vacca descends way too fast. He never stops to equalize the pressure, never looks up to check his partner. No wonder, he never took a course. Got his PADI ticket from his brother or cousin who runs a sporting goods shop in Italy somewhere. Just paid for it like his airline ticket. No training. No wonder Frank has to risk his own skin just trying to keep him in sight. Sals obsessed no other word for it by the fishermens tale of a boat lost offshore and the man still missing. A chance to employ his novice skills. They studied the dive shop chart, the circle drawn around possible location. They saw how deep those chasms are. Not even salvage divers go that deep without danger money. Yet they went there was no holding Salvatore back hed have dived alone if Frank hadnt gone. Its becoming obvious this is Vaccas first deep dive. And its going to his head.

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Life Support

Dick Bird

Somewhere around fifty meters too dark to read the gauge Frank lost his fear. Let Sal go on out of sight no worries mate the environments friendly, welcoming even those warnings were for nervous nellies, nursed on fear of the unknown. But seen up close in purple shadows, muted blues, everything moves so softly, smoothly, fronds and feelers of plant and animal life intermingled, beckoning, so he could join them... take his regulator out... hed never moved so smoothly, never felt so unthreatened by the mouths of caves. He couldnt read his gauges, his air, his depth, might as well throw them, throw it all away who needs air? He laughed at his bubbles drifting away as he realized what was happening. Nitrogen narcosis! It was so much fun and harmless so long as you didnt take it seriously. Getting serious would kill the fun and perhaps kill you as well. An intoxicating fluid flowed up from his stomach and spread through his body . He got it sufficiently under control to look below for Vaccas undulating fins, get a grip on himself, tip head-down and follow. The doctor had set up his rig on a table. He was talking all this time, Frank just wasnt listening. Sal lay on the gurney pushed up close. Only his scuba fins stood up, his body in black neoprene lay fore-shortened, shrunk, deflated. Crouched over him like an insect, the apparatus was a rubber and tubular contraption of bladders, coils, flasks and dials and a drum that looked electric. The doctor caught him staring. Ha, youre awake. This, in case youre wondering, is our Life Support Apparatus. It just came down from San Jos. With luck, it will save your compa. It doesnt look very new.

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Life Support

Dick Bird

I didnt say new. Though it could be fifty years old and still be new to us here. How much do you think the government cares for our fishermen and families? That much! He spits on the floor. But dont laugh. This may be obsolete in Yankee-land but itll give us years of service. Were thankful for whatever we can get. Only one problem, theres no instructions, Im just trying to figure it out. Mi compa hasnt got much time. You mentioned brain damage Dont worry, Ill have it going ahorita. Then we can run a test. A test on who? On him of course. Bueno, now I just connect the current. With a click the machine parts snap together. A red bladder doubles its size. The doctor sniffs an open tube. Aha! We have respiration! On the second click the bladder flattens while a brown one patched with duct tape swells. A work of genius! A secondary system! Reciprocating! This will bring back the dead, a resucita-muertos! Too bad our poor friend heres already rotten with a glance at the corpse across the room. He frowns over dials, knocks one with his knuckle, twists a lever one way then the other. Hoses arch up stiff then slacken in sequence, though the rhythms erratic. A turn of a knob produces speed. So, breathes the doctor as the motor hums smoothly, ready for test! He pulls out the snorkel in Sals mouth and inserts a fat black hose. Even Frank, who was reared in the school of dashed hopes, is ready for a miracle. But the diver unconsciously resists. The hose is abruptly spat out of a body that stays inert. The doctor looks over his shoulder. Do you feel strong enough? I could use a hand. His eyes dilate in their frames of glass as if trying to hypnotize Frank. The doctor uses one hand to push the hose between Sals teeth and the other to adjust the pumping speed as Frank rolls up on his elbow and pushes off. He lowers his

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Life Support

Dick Bird

feet to the floor, feeling dizzy. His scuba fins are so long and wide, fitter for swimming than walking. He wonders how hes going to make it across the undulating floor. While he sits, pushing down on the edge of the bed, he meets the eyes of the dead man turned towards him. He feels a pang of pity for a friend. These are the eyes that stared in the deep underwater, eyes nibbled and empty, hollow as squids, but turning, turning, keeping Frank in view wherever he moved. After all those curious fish, hed be the first man to look at in all that time. He must have drowned still hoping for rescue. Surely someone would untie the rope. So he never lost that hopeful look, even though he lost his sight. Drowned in darkness, waiting for a friend. No matter if he came too late, some time he would come. So Frank feels pity for a man who gave up life but never gave up hope. The light bulb dims for a second then flares. The apparatus rattles into rapid fibrillation. Jesus Christ, not now! the doctor growls. Not a black-out, please! We havent even got diesel for the generator. You, are you helping or not? Frank inflates his chest and makes the effort. He lifts each flipper high so as not to trip. Watching, the doctor shakes his head muttering, Qu payaso! Frank blinks and rubs his eyes. Its working! As the rhythmic clicks speed up, spasms wrench the divers limbs, so sudden that he looks to the face for signs of waking. He only sees distended cheeks and bulging neck and the stretching rubber strap that holds the mask. The jaws are grinding, to eject the hose thats being shoved between them. Spine arched, fins paddling, heels drumming on the sheet, stiff-kneed jerking from the hips, the wet-suit fills, swells, stretches to hold a giant crammed inside it. With each stroke of the pump the chest expands to greater dimensions. The doctor holds him down by an elbow pressed against his throat.

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Life Support

Dick Bird

Tie him down! Straps right there! He grits his teeth at Frank, nodding at webbing dangling off the gurney. Frank throws straps across the chest and clasps the buckle. Sees a second strap for the thighs and grapples it. The light bulb blazes at double strength. Its too much power! Too fast! Thisll kill him! Its working isnt it? shouts the medic, gripping the control. Never mind kill him, Im bringing him to life! Frank tightens straps, ashamed hes betraying his compa. Even this idiot should be able to count on his partner, thats what scubas all about. The webbing cuts into the divers thighs. Black neoprene bulges up around the chest straps. When Franks hand goes to loosen the buckle, the doctors is there to restrain him. If you dont do exactly as I say, he whispers, I wont answer for the consequences. While the doctor watches him for signs of mutiny, Frank watches Sal for signs of life. Thus far its only a life of the body, dumb animal life. Frank looks to the face for a life of the mind, a human mind. He reaches for the divers mask but the doctor grips his arm. Will you leave this to me? The intensity of his tone is frightening. Franks losing his facility with Spanish. Hes dumb and speechless, cant explain. So close up to the medics spectacles, those dilated eyes fill him with dread. The next phase, the physician continues, is to stimulate the heart. The lungs are working, as you see. But oxygen is not reaching the brain. I realize Im talking to a layman. But if the brain doesnt get oxygen quickly, it will suffer Brain damage, Frank says huskily.

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Life Support

Dick Bird

The physician smiles. So. The heart needs a wake up call. Well administer an electric shock. Do you understand? He glances up at the flaring bulb as if expecting a blackout any moment. I want to help, says Frank, searching for a lead in the tangle of wires on the table. The doctor with hands full ramming a hose in the struggling victims mouth can only nod: See those terminals? Pass them over. I want you to press them to his chest. How do you open this pinche rubber suit? These terminals, Frank feels the heat in the wires, are not insulated. What happens to me if I hold them? Rubber gloves, the doctor nods towards a cupboard. Shadows swell and shrink and vanish as the current surges through the light-bulb. Frank stumbles over his fins and smacks his skull on the cupboard. On his knees, trying to clear his head, he feels caught between malefic forces: the divers unconscious growing strength and a doctor whose qualifications and training are unequal to the demands of a complex machine and fluctuating current. Zippers in back. Weve got to turn him, he tells the medic. Ridiculous, how do you take a pee? Help me says Frank. The doctor lets him unfasten straps. Now hes using head and shoulders as well as arms to turn the diver over. His twisted neck is treating him to excruciating pain. Crushed under the weight he can hardly breathe, but tastes the slime of cold rubber and brine. Theres no way to tell if the doctor heard him. He can feel the air being forced into Sal. Theres a slosh of body fluids, a brewing turbulence.

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Life Support

10

Dick Bird

The dark triggers panic which doubles his strength. He sees a streak of light and burrows to it. The weight that smothers him lifts. The doctors helping. He stands up, looking down at Sals zipper. In the struggle they changed places, now the flexible hose to the divers mouth goes around Franks neck. Hurry up, the medic tells him. Theres such tension on the zipper that its jammed. Take off the gloves, the doctor says, adding under his breath payaso! He gets the zipper halfway down and stares horrified at pale swelling skin. No access here to the divers chest. The skin is stretched to breaking point, tighter than the neoprene. He shakes his head. The medics spectacles are so close, the round eyes glazed as doughnuts, that speech seems unnecessary. We have to turn him over again, the medic says however. Grab the terminals. Put on the gloves. Ill cut the rubber. Pass me the scalpel. Frank wishes he could escape this nightmare. Every decision snatched out of his hands, yet he knows its all his fault. He ought never to have let the Italian sucker him into that dive. Should have hit him, knocked him down. The little shrimp was only half his size. Was. Now hes twice as big as Frank. But hes got to go through with this to the end. The end, he cant imagine the end. The doctor watches him expectantly, so expert now at holding the hose in Sals mouth he doesnt need to look. Frank pushes past the flailing fins and finds the scalpel. He can feel it through the rubber gloves. He has doubts about their insulating value. Electrocuted, crushed or smothered, one way or another hes doomed. To be extinguished here in Costa Rica. His safe secure Canadian home has never seemed so out of reach.

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Life Support

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Dick Bird

He goes through the motions in a coma. He doesnt have to call on strength, it floods him as he needs it. The doctor working alone must pass his whole life in this state. Standing shoulder to shoulder, an unlikely team, the qualified and the ignorant, they turn the flailing diver on his back. Frank watches his eyes through the fogged glass of the mask. No intelligence there, just a fluttering panic. He can feel the metal terminals through his gloves. Hes given up thinking. Its easier, and the pain is numbed. He watches the scalpel slice through rubber. The chest is filled with such pressure it bulges up to meet the blade. The flowing blood is an encouraging sight. He inserts the terminals into the gap and smears the blood and presses. He waits for the man to throw the switch. The life-support apparatus clicks. The air-hose grips him around the neck, smoothing his cervical vertebrae. Listo? the doctor whispers, and when Franks nods shouts Ya! in a yelp of exultation. Thats all Frank remembers clearly. That exulting shout of Ya! The rest is nightmare filling his sleep till he wakes in the hospital bed in Quepos.

Sal pops in to visit every day. He should be grateful, Sal seems to have learnt something about the buddy system from the ordeal, but Frank would rather be alone. Sal helps him piece his memories together. He regained awareness in the instant Frank lost his. The Italian tells him accusingly how the blinding shock awoke him on the spinning gurney propelled by Franks flailing fins, his inflated body lifting off the bed like a balloon, his limbs entwined by scorching wires, two helpless madmen clutched in his arms, flooded by pain and panic, smelling burned flesh and smoking rubber, hearing the maddening mechanical click that somehow triggered his racing heart. How his first response was to

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Life Support

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Dick Bird

fight, and the glorious new feeling of colossal strength. How he pumps iron in the gym every day, trying to keep that strength from ebbing away. Hes losing the battle. The conversations are one-sided due to the steel clamps gripping Franks jaw. But day by day Frank watches him shrinking. Sal brings a lovely tica girl called Sonia to whom he is getting engaged. Her family considers him ideal husband material. He shows off a wad of newspaper clippings. Franks eyes blur over the print, but focus on the photos of Sals physique, posing in leopard-skin jock-strap and boots, which must be how he hooked this lovely tica. She smiles at Frank and flutters her lashes, but he knows shes just being polite. Shes saving her real passion for this payaso. Little by little hes regaining his former insignificance. Im starting a business here in Costa Rica. My brothers coming over from Turin. Theres plenty of opportunity here. Sporting goods, retail. Tours and trips on the side. Say Frank ! gripping him with all the force of a brilliant idea Why dont you come and work for us come in with us as a diving instructor? Frank turns his face to the wall. Huge waves crash rhythmically on the beach. The bed is shaking. Rows of crabs stand upright on the sand. A crumbling cliff in moonlight. At the top one dancing light, a light that flares and dims in the wind... Hes having an episode. Hadnt we better call the doctor? calls the lovely ticas voice. No for Christs sake, Sonia, dont call the doctor...

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