30 Pieces of a Novel by Stephen Dixon Page A

wheelchair more? it’s safer,” and she says, “The bathroom door’s almost too narrow to get through, sometimes; you don’t remember when I got stuck between it?” and he says, “The time when I—?” and she says yes and he says, “Then I’ve the answer,” and waves his hand over her head and says, “Heal, I say let thee be healed,” and she says, “What are you doing? This is no joke, my condition, and I have to get to the toilet,” and he says, “I know … wait, or don’t wait, I can do it while you’re walking, and it could work, and I’ll skip the ‘thee’ and say ‘you.’ But you’ve tried everything else, haven’t you? Acupuncture, macrobiotics, chemotherapy, various other drugs the doctors have given you … what have I forgot?” and she says, “Don’t rub it in,” and he says, “Massage, physical therapy, bee-bite therapy for just a few stings, not equine therapy, was it called? for you were afraid of getting on a horse … swim therapy you’re doing now, and I know there have been a few others over the years. But faith, miracle, an out-and-out act of God or whatever it is but done through the intermediaryship of your husband, Gould, son of Victor who’s son of Abe?” and she says, “Listen, you want me to pish right on the floor here and you’ll have to clean it up? Let me pass,” and he says, mock reverently, “By all that be holy, let this babe not only pass but be healed—at least let her walk again, I mean it, and on her own; this is serious, now, I’m not joking; please make her healed, my wife, Sally, let her be healed,” and looks at her, for his eyes were closed while he said the last part, and she snaps her head as if just awakened from something, she seems transformed—her face, the way her body’s no longer bent over and slumped to the side and straining but is now standing straight—and she says, “What”—startled—“what happened? I feel different, what did you do?” and lets go of one side of the walker, and he says, “Watch it!” and she says, “Watch what?” and doesn’t totter and lets go of the other handle and is standing on her own, something he hasn’t seen her do in three to four years and he doesn’t know how far back it was when he saw her stand like this for even this long, and pushes the walker away—“Wait, not so fast”—and she says, “I’m telling you, something’s happened, what you did worked, I feel totally different: strong, balanced, my legs not stiff but functioning normally again, I’m almost sure of it; I feel they can do everything they once did,” and he says, “No, please, don’t take any chances, what I did was just kidding around, as you said, but serious kidding, expressing my deepest hopes for you and that sort of thing, but I’ve no power like that, nobody does, nor am I an intermediary for any powers, all that stuff is malarky, bull crap,” and she says, “Watch,” and walks. One step, then another, and he says, “Hey, how’d you do that?” and she says, “It was only after what you did, and said, that I could; I had nothing to do with it,” and he says, “I can’t believe what I’m seeing, goddamn, two steps—by God, let’s dance,” and grabs her waist, and she says, “Hold it, I’m not used to it yet, I don’t think,” and he says, “The two-step, we’re going to dance it to celebrate those steps, you know how long it’s been since I’ve wanted to do it—not ‘want’ but could do it?” and takes her in his arms, spins her around, she spins with him; he doesn’t have to spin her, he finds, and he says, “The tango, that’ll be the best proof yet—big steps,” and