Free Anna in Chains by Merrill Joan Gerber

down on the steps of the Colby Plaza and maneuvered Irving’s face, still pointing down, into her lap. She stroked the few hairs on the back of his bald head.
    â€œDon’t worry, Irving darling,” she whispered. “You’ll be fine, this is just a little nothing. We all have days like this. I myself fell in a hole in a parking lot a year ago. I still have a bone spur on my foot from it.”
    Irving was crying.
    â€œIt hurts you somewhere? It hurts a lot?”
    He nodded his head. His weight in her lap felt like the weight of one of her babies. She thought the feeling of taking care had disappeared forever, and now here it was again.
    â€œHere they come,” Ava announced.
    A shuddering vibration shook the street, and a fire truck pulled up at the curb. Four firemen jumped off; they were wearing black rubber trousers with yellow suspenders.
    â€œAah, it’s you again, isn’t it?” one of them said to Irving. Irving was sobbing without restraint now. She could feel his hot tears seep through her dress. She found his hand and squeezed it. He held on very tight.
    â€œDon’t worry, Irving dear,” she whispered into his ear. “It’s only this life-and-death business we’re having here. Don’t take it seriously.”
    The firemen were turning him over, opening a big black box, taking out rubber tubes, gauze, fancy machines. If the firemen were being the doctors, then were the doctors running up and down ladders putting out fires?
    The paramedics clumped around in their huge rubber boots. “Anything hurt?” they kept asking Irving. “Where does it hurt?”
    â€œHe’s fine,” Ava called from the card table. “The man is made of steel. I warned him, never wear shoes with rubber soles. And I told him, always get up slow, get your balance first. But no, a big shot, he was in a hurry to impress my sister.”
    Anna shot her a look, like the look Ava had shot Anna in 1914.
    â€œHere comes the ambulance,” one of the firemen said. “Are you going to the hospital with him?” He was addressing Anna.
    â€œYes,” Anna said, and at the same instant Ava called out, “No, of course she isn’t going. Let his daughter go.”
    â€œMy daughter never comes,” Irving cried, crushing Anna’s hand now that he was sitting up, propped by the firemen.
    â€œI’ll come with you,” Anna said. “Don’t worry,”
    â€œDon’t be a fool,” Ava said. She was finally talking directly to Anna, paying her the attention that she hadn’t given in the whole visit, pulling her up by the arm. “You’ll have to wait there seven hours. That’s how long they make you wait in Emergency. It’s stacked to the ceiling with old people who fell down.”
    â€œI have time,” Anna said.
    â€œNo you don’t,” Ava said. “The cab is here,”
    Anna had forgotten entirely. The Red Top. The airport. The plane. LA. Her pianos with the shrouded keys.
    â€œTake her suitcase,” Ava instructed the driver who had come up onto the porch and was staring, open-mouthed, at Irving. Ava pushed Anna toward the steps. Her mink’s head, slithering on her shoulder, showed its tiny razor-sharp teeth.
    â€œTake her to the airport,” Ava instructed the cab driver. “And you…,” she said to the ambulance driver, “you get going and take him to the hospital.”
    Irving reached out to Anna, and Anna reached for Irving. But the forces were too strong, the time was too late. They were too powerless. Two minutes later they were rushing in opposite directions—she could feel the wind tearing them apart, the seagulls were going every which way over the ocean—and Anna couldn’t tell if the sirens she heard were approaching or receding.

STARRY NIGHT
    Looking out the window of the bus, Anna could see a pandemonium of gold and glitter—the whole world