Requiem for the Bone Man. R. A. Comunale M.D.
doctor words to the nurse. The baby had shifted position inside the womb. It would enter the world headfirst.
“Anna, I need one big breath and push—PUSH!”
He didn’t need the forceps. The baby’s head was presenting, now the left shoulder, then the right shoulder. He eased the newborn from the womb and the nurse quickly clamped the umbilical cord in two places and cut it.
This one didn’t need to be whacked on the bottom to breathe. The red-faced baby boy let out a tremendous howl, and the nurse and doctor laughed.
“Anna, you have a beautiful big baby boy, and from the sound of him he’s going to be quite a talker. Nurse, call the father in to the side room.”
Antonio had heard the cry, not in his ears, but in his mind and heart.
He knew!
He had beaten the nurse to the door, and she was startled to see him already standing there waiting.
“Come in, Mr. Galen. Dr. Agnelli is with your wife ... and your new son!”
When he was let in to the birthing room, he stood for a moment looking at his wife lying there, weary.
“Antonio, we will call him Roberto, after my father, and Antonio, after you. Here is your son. Roberto Antonio Galen.”
With his fire-scarred hands he held the son he had always wanted. He whispered gently to the new life in his hands.
“You will be strong and smart, figlio mio, and I will teach you to be tough against the world.”
Their eyes met and forever bonded.
...
Now fifteen, Berto Galen had come to understand he could realize his dreams only through his own hard work. His father had instilled in him the need to drive himself to be the best, and consequently he had made only one friend in high school—and even that one purely by chance.
The school’s public address system vibrated and hummed as the afternoon announcements began.
“The following after-school activities will be offered this year…”
Saved by the PA!
He started to sink back into boredom as he listened to the familiar list of athletic and social activity clubs.
Then he heard it:
“The Radio Club will have its first meeting today in room 215 at 3 p.m.”
Something different! Give it a try, at least once.
The 2:50 bell rang.
He grabbed his book bag and headed for the west staircase, the nearest to 215, which as an upper classman he was permitted to use.
He lumbered down the hallway, watching his classmates putting the new freshmen through their ritual hazing: Coats reversed, walking backwards, books balanced on heads, and worse—all to “welcome” the “little brothers and sisters” to the school.
No one had attempted anything like that with him the previous year. His stony stare had seemed to intimidate even the older kids.
He pushed open the fire door and started up the steps when he saw Thornton about to slam a smaller kid against the wall.
His classmate, Greg Thornton, wasn’t the brightest bulb in the pack, but he was the meanest. Freshman Hazing Day was like a high holy day for him. The unofficial rules didn’t permit physical abuse, but that never stopped him.
“Cut it out, Thornton!” he shouted, surprising even himself.
“Back off, lard face! I was just explaining to this lowly frosh why this stairway is off limits to him.”
Thornton raised his arm to strike the younger boy, who was trying to protect himself with his book bag, but then Thornton felt such a tight grip on his arm that he couldn’t move. The pain intensified and he fell to his knees.
“For future reference, Greg, leave the freshmen alone. Oh, and by the way, did you know that lard used to be the major ingredient in soap? It’s very useful for cleaning up bad situations.”
Thornton felt the pressure release on his arm and he was able to stand again. He glanced at his classmate, glowered at the younger boy, and then walked away.
Galen examined the scrawny younger boy, with his crew cut, somewhat cross-eyed, looking like a deformed, de-furred rabbit.
“What’s your name, little brother?”
“Robert Edison,” the boy replied, then like a machine gun, he rattled off “and I know who you are, you’re George Orwell!”
Dear God, he thought, not another jokester.
“Okay, I’ll take the bait. Why is my name George Orwell?”
“Because you’re my big brother! Get it?”
Maybe he should call Thornton back and let him torture the kid, but in a silly way it was funny.
“Okay, I asked for it. Where are you headed?”
“Radio Club meeting and we’d better hurry.”
The boy was a quick thinker to assume Galen was going there, too.
“Lead on, Edison.”
“Uh, George, what’s your real name?”
“Galen, Robert Galen.”
They had begun calling each other by their last names, because it became too confusing for both to use Bob.
Appropriately enough, Edison was a whiz at electronics, albeit a bit spastic in his movements. They had agreed they would try for their amateur radio licenses together, so they quizzed each other on theory and practiced Morse code by speaking out the dashes and dots in what sounded like demented baby talk.
They each took their licensing exams and easily passed. They became hams, able to use communication equipment, to understand its theory, and to be able to build and repair it.
Both felt immensely proud, although unlike most of the mid-teenagers of the day, they couched their enthusiasm in subdued tones to conceal the emotion.
“Good job, Edison.”
“Likewise, Galen.”
Their shared interest made high school much more tolerable for them. Each knew he was a misfit, not the outgoing sociable type, but each had special knowledge and abilities the kings and queens of the prom lacked.
...
It is said that time is a turtle when you wish it to race and a rabbit when you wish it would dawdle. In some ways school couldn’t finish fast enough for Berto, and in other ways he never wanted it to end. Soon graduation approached. He had grown to love electronics, but he held tightly to an even greater love. When he wasn’t tinkering with Edison or hanging around Dr. Agnelli in his free time he would visit the town clinics and ask to follow the doctors on their rounds. He knew deep down that being a doctor was a siren call to him. The name Dottore Berto still echoed in his mind.
He had won scholarships to attend university, so his father’s troublesome question about affording it all had been partly answered, at least for this first big step.
Galen had expected his father to share his happiness about being able to go to university, but the closer he came to leaving home the quieter his father became, and his mother had no answer when his father summarily rejected all conversation. Then, as graduation day approached, he realized this might be the end of spending time with his only friend, Edison.
He also knew Edison could take care of himself now. The scared rabbit was gone. The young man had gained the confidence and strength of knowing he could do something really well: electronics.
They promised to stay in touch, a promise they both fully intended to keep.
...