I-YOUniverse

A Tale of Patmos

                “Old John’s nurse at Patmos called,” his wife Minnie said.

                “What about?” Nick asked.

                “They found him standing in Route 29 on the double yellow line, staring at the sun again.”

                “I keep telling that doctor his meds ain’t right,” Nick said. “Where’re them oatmeal raisin cookies y’made?”

                “Wrapped in foil, there on the end table by the door. Been a snake, they’d a bit ya-Elmo!”

                Daddy named him Elmo out of spite. Daddy hated Elmo Knickerbocker III, the state senator two generations removed, the family’s only claim to fame. “Near-sighted bilious old goat” is how Daddy described him under his breath. Nana, Elmo’s maternal grandmother, insisted he had old Knickerbocker’s distinguished dome-like forehead and elegant grey eyes.

                “Wouldn’t you rather take ‘em cookies yourself? He likes you,” Nick whimpered.

                “Oh, hush. It’s you he always asks about: “How’s Nick?”–y’d think there was no one else in this wide world.”

                So Nick backed the SUV out of the driveway. Every trip to Patmos cost $16.72 gas money they didn’t have. Before he got to the corner, he’d wrestled open the foil and begun munching on a cookie.

                Minnie wasn’t a looker. None too bright, neither (he told himself), though she could whiz Little Joe through his trig like it was soccer practice. However, he had to admit, nobody came that close to matching Minnie’s cookies. For rich buttery taste and soft crumbly texture, wasn’t a woman in the state could equal her oatmeal raisins.

                Alice (down the block, worked at Wal-Mart 32 hours a week, wore a blonde wig, said it made her look like Madonna) she made a passable snicker doodle. But Minnie never messed with the snicker doodle. She stuck to the tried and true: oatmeal raisin, or white chocolate chip, or caramel chocolate chip, or iced double fudge brownies.

                If the guys at work missed a batch of Minnie’s iced double fudges in a week, they thought she was goin’ through another one of her female spells. More than once, after work, a man stopped by with a sympathy card and a bunch of carnations in his fist.

                Patmos “closest thing to Glory this side of the Pecos” was Nick’s last choice of Nursing Homes for old John. It was decrepit, cramped; had so many coats of paint, the walls were an extra inch thick. But Nick didn’t catch on in time, that old John was going to choose whichever Home Nick hated most.

                His first day at Patmos, ignoring Nick and Minnie’s protests, the administrator moved him into Room 16, a frilly pink room overlooking the back parking lot and the garbage, dumped behind a bright green wall. Large clay pots full of blooming pansies prettied up the view. And in the center a small fountain featured the angel Gabriel blowing his trumpet, out of which a stream of water flowed on Family Days. The rest of the time, they shut it off to save money.

                It always brought to Nick’s mind a chubby angeling pissing in a pond.

                Nick tried to explain to old John the difference between 16 and 666. Of course, no other suitable room was available. (Translation: you’ll pay more for a room with a better view.) Nick thought of asking for a demon discount. But the administrator was not religious, except when introduced to prospective residents; old John had already signed.

                What they did, after repeated exorcisms failed to scare Satan away, is this: Nick found a decorative spray bottle at the dollar store, Minnie painted a cross with gold sequins on it, they filled it with water, and the volunteer chaplain blessed it. They sprayed the door and windows of the Room, and when Satan or his minions appeared, old John was to give ‘em a direct hit. To Nick’s and the chaplain’s disbelief, it worked.

                That afternoon, by the time Nick nosed his truck into the narrow parking place at the Home, there’re only three oatmeal raisins left. Pity to take the old man only three. So Nick left them in the truck to eat on the trek home. Next trip he’d make it up to old John.

                Anyway, Minnie never asked John how he liked the cookies, because he never remembered them, and he got upset.

                “Hey, Snickerdoodle,” old John said, when Nick walked into his room, “you bring me some o’ Minnie’s white chocolate chips?”

                “The name’s Knickerbocker, Nick Knickerbocker,” Nick said, as always. “You can call me Nick. No cookies this afternoon. Things get so jammed up in the summer, she just don’t have time.”

                “Ate ‘em all on the way, eh?”

                “No, “Nick said in perfect honesty. He couldn’t figure a tactful way to mention the old man standing in the middle of the highway.

                “Too bad,” old John sighed. “Before the End comes, I crave one more o’ her oatmeal raisins, but now there’s no time.”

                “No time?” protested Nick. “I’ll get her to bake you some next week for sure.”

                “Too late,” the old man shook his head. A single wisp of white hair floated at the top of his forehead, oscillating gently back and forth.

                “Aren’t sick, are you?”

                “Nope, I’m in tip top condition.”

                “Well, what do you mean, no time?” The second he said it, Nick wanted to suck the syllables out of the air right back between his lips.

                The old man gathered Nick by the shoulders into a conspiratorial clinch. “Snickerdoodle,” he whispered loudly, “I’ve had me a visitor!”

                “Has that gorgeous 79-year-old doll from Room 19 been checking you out?”

                “No, I mean a heavenly visitor! I saw the Lord!”

                Nick tried to be patient. “I’m going to talk to Dr. Valentine about your meds. I think they’re out of whack.”

                “You don’t believe me, do you, Snickerdoodle?”

                Nick took a deep breath. “No, old John, I don’t. I don’t believe in angels, or demons, or 666, or that obsolete old Bible you got on your laptop. I don’t believe a thee or thou of it, not one.”

                “Somebody sure addled your eggs today.”

                Words tumbling out of his mouth, Nick backed out the door. “Y’know, come to think of it, I forgot, I do have some oatmeal raisins in the truck for you. Minnie baked ‘em up this morning special. Don’t know why they slipped my mind.”

                He fled from the room.

                Old John’s reputation for a Seer spanned the whole state. Like others read the morning newspaper, he delved into End Times; every now and then he had a vision. Angels streaked across the heavens. Locusts plagued. A huge neon 666 appeared in the heavens.

                When he got back to Room 16, he found old John at his laptop, reading the book of Revelation, King James Version, red letter edition.

                “Y’see! Y’see!” old John said. Out loud he read, “I John, who also am your brother, and companion in tribulation, was in the isle that is called Patmos, for the word of God, and for the testimony of Jesus Christ. I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s Day!”

                “Oh, you crazy old coot!” Nick shouted. “You’re living in a Nursing Home some marketing guru called “Patmos closest thing to Glory this side of the Pecos.” You ain’t seen no angels, no Jesus!”

                 ”I saw the Lord, high and lifted up. His head and his hairs were like wool, white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire; and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength!”

                Nick reached down to pull the foil wrapping off the oatmeal raisins. Old John snatched the spray bottle of holy water off his dresser, shouted “Get thee behind me, Satan!” and spritzed him right in the kisser.