Virgin by Mary Elizabeth Murphy Page B

mentally ill--paranoids, borderline personalities, and
outright schizophrenics--and many had drug and alcohol problems. Multiple
substance abuse was common. Some combined the problems: chronic brain syndromes
from long-term drug and/or alcohol abuse, or mental illness compounded by
substance abuse.
    For most of
them it was a no-win situation. And Senator Crenshaw's concentration camps
would do nothing for them.
    Dan had
finished slicing the bread and the ones who wanted seconds had passed through
when he heard a chorus of voices saying, "Hello, Sister Carrie," and
"Good afternoon, Sister Carrie," and "Thanks for the great meal,
Sister Carrie."
    He glanced up and there she was, wiping her hands as she surveyed
the diners. "Did everyone have enough?" she said.
    They answered
almost as a group: "Oh, yes, Sister Carrie."
    Dan watched her
walk out through the Big Room and slip among her guests, an almost ethereal
presence, speaking to them, touching them: a hand on a shoulder here, a pat on
a head there, a whispered word for old friends, a handshake and a smile for the
new faces. He envied her ability to make everyone of them feel special, to know
they mattered.
    "Was it
good?" she said when she reached the far end of the Big Room. They cheered
and applauded, and that made her smile. And the light she shed on the room made
the applause double in volume.
    Hilda was
tsking and shaking her head. "Look at them! They're ga-ga over her."
But there was wonder rather than disapproval in her voice. "What a
politician she'd have made."
    Dan could only
nod, eternally amazed at Carrie's talent for making people love her.
    Still smiling,
she curtsied and returned to the kitchen. As the room's illumination seemed to
dim by half, the guests began to clear their places and shuffle out to the
street or line up for the bathroom.
    Dan was wiping
away the bread crumbs when he heard cries of, "Word up, Doc" and
"How's it go, Doctor Joe?" He looked up and saw a short, white-coated
Hispanic strolling toward him.
    "Things
slow at the clinic?" Dan said.
    "I
wish."
    Dr. Joe
Martinez's dark eyes twinkled as he picked up a leftover piece of bread, tore
it, and shoved the right-hand half into his mouth. He had mocha skin, dark
curly hair, and a body-builder's frame.
    "Want some
soup?" Dan asked.
    "Carrie
make it?"
    "Of
course."
    "Then
that's my answer."
    "What?"
    "Of
course."
    "Right."
Dan got him a bowl and a spoon and slid them across the table.
    Joe stared down
at the steaming green but didn't reach for the spoon.
    "Something
wrong?" Dan said.
    Joe continued
staring at the soup."Three new
HIV conversions this morning."
    "Jesus!"
    "Jesus had
nothing to do with it."
    "I know,
but . . . anybody we know?"
    Finally Joe
looked up from the soup. "You know I can't tell you that."
    "Sure,
sure, and I appreciate that, but we've got close quarters here. Know what I'm
saying?"
    "Sure I
do. But you can't catch AIDS sitting next to someone. It doesn't jump plate to
plate."
    "No
kidding. But it does jump vein to needle and needle to vein, and not a few of
our guests have been known to shoot up when mood and opportunity permit."
    Joe shook his
head. "Can't tell you, Fitz."
    "I don't
want names. Don't tell me who, just tell me how many HIV
positives in and out of here."
    Dan wasn't
looking to ostracize anyone, but it certainly would be useful to know who was
positive. A lot of St. Joe's guests regularly fell or got into fights. It was a
common occurrence for one of them to stagger in hurt and bleeding-- amazing how
much blood could pour out of a minor scalp cut--and either he or Carrie would
clean them up. He wasn't so worried about himself, but Carrie . . .
    "I don't
have to look at any faces to tell you that you've got HIV positives here. The
homeless population is loaded with them."
    Dan knew that.
He just wished he knew who.
    "So when
do I put on the rubber gloves?"
    "Whenever
you see red." Joe took the other half of his bread slice and dipped it
into his soup. "By the