firmly.
“Karen,” I
said. “What about de boot? What
about de boot, mijnheer?”
“The – what?”
she whispered.
“De boot,
Karen, de boot.”
She closed her
eyes, and I thought she’d gone back to sleep again, but then something seemed
to shift and stir on the bed. The bulging white tumor sudden wriggled, as
though there was something alive inside it.
“Oh, Christ,”
said Dr. Hughes. “Mr. Erskine, you’d better...”
“Aaaahhh,”
groaned Karen. “Aaaahhhhh.”
Her fingers
clutched the sheets, and she tried to toss her head. The tumor squirmed and
wriggled some more, as if it was clutching the back of her head, and squeezing
it.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”
she screamed. “DE BOOOTTTTTT!!”
Her eyes rolled
toward me, and for one strange moment they looked like the eyes of someone else
altogether – bloodshot and fierce and remote. But then Dr. Hughes was ringing
the bell for the nurses, and fixing a syringe of sedative, and I was ushered
away from the bedside and into the corridor. I stood there, hearing her scream
and fight inside, and I felt as helpless and isolated as I’d ever been in my
whole life.
Chapter Three – Through the Shadows
A few minutes later, Dr. Hughes came out of Karen Tandy’s room,
stripping off his gloves and his mask with weary resignation. I went up to him
immediately.
“I’m sorry,” I
told him. “I just didn’t realize it would have that effect.”
He rubbed his
chin. “It’s not your fault. Neither did I . I’ve given
her a light sedative and it should help her to calm down.”
We walked back
to the changing-room together and took off our surgical robes.
“What worries
me, Mr. Erskine,” said Dr. Hughes, “is that she
responded so violently to those words you came out with. Up until then, she was
okay – or at least as well as anybody could be expected to be with that kind of
a tumor. But it seemed like you triggered something off there.”
“You’re right,”
I agreed. “But exactly what was it? Why should a normal intelligent girl like
Karen Tandy get so upset by the idea of an old Dutch galleon?”
Dr. Hughes
opened the door for me and led me out to the elevator.
“Don’t ask me,”
he said. “You’re supposed to be the mysticism specialist.”
He pressed the
button for eighteen.
“What did the
X-rays show you?” I asked. “The ones you took in the operating theater?”
“Nothing very
clear,” answered Dr. Hughes. “When I said there seemed to be a fetus in that
tumor, I should have said it was something fetus-like, but not exactly a baby
in the accepted sense of the term. There is a growth of bone and flesh, which
seems to have a systematic pattern of development, the same way that a baby
has, but whether it’s human or not, I can’t say. I’ve called in a gynecological
specialist, but he can’t make it here until tomorrow.”
“But supposing
tomorrow’s too late? She looks – well, she looks as though she’s going to die.”
Dr. Hughes
blinked in the bright light of the elevator. “Yes, she does. I just wish to
hell there was something I could do about it.”
The elevator
reached the eighteenth floor and we stepped out. Dr. Hughes led me into his
office and went straight over to his filing cabinet and brought out a bottle of
whiskey. He sloshed out two large glassfuls, and we sat down and drank in
silence.
After a while,
he said: “You know something, Mr. Erskine. It’s ridiculous and it’s insane, but
I believe that this nightmare has something to do with this tumor.”
“In what way?”
“Well, the two
seem closely inter-related. I guess you spiritualists would think that the
nightmare was causing the tumor, but I’d say it was the other way around – that
the tumor is causing the nightmare. But whichever it is, it seems to me that if
we can discover more about the nightmare we can discover more about the
condition.”
I swallowed a
burning mouthful of neat Scotch. “I’ve done all I can, Dr. Hughes.
“Karen,” I
said. “What about de boot? What
about de boot, mijnheer?”
“The – what?”
she whispered.
“De boot,
Karen, de boot.”
She closed her
eyes, and I thought she’d gone back to sleep again, but then something seemed
to shift and stir on the bed. The bulging white tumor sudden wriggled, as
though there was something alive inside it.
“Oh, Christ,”
said Dr. Hughes. “Mr. Erskine, you’d better...”
“Aaaahhh,”
groaned Karen. “Aaaahhhhh.”
Her fingers
clutched the sheets, and she tried to toss her head. The tumor squirmed and
wriggled some more, as if it was clutching the back of her head, and squeezing
it.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”
she screamed. “DE BOOOTTTTTT!!”
Her eyes rolled
toward me, and for one strange moment they looked like the eyes of someone else
altogether – bloodshot and fierce and remote. But then Dr. Hughes was ringing
the bell for the nurses, and fixing a syringe of sedative, and I was ushered
away from the bedside and into the corridor. I stood there, hearing her scream
and fight inside, and I felt as helpless and isolated as I’d ever been in my
whole life.
Chapter Three – Through the Shadows
A few minutes later, Dr. Hughes came out of Karen Tandy’s room,
stripping off his gloves and his mask with weary resignation. I went up to him
immediately.
“I’m sorry,” I
told him. “I just didn’t realize it would have that effect.”
He rubbed his
chin. “It’s not your fault. Neither did I . I’ve given
her a light sedative and it should help her to calm down.”
We walked back
to the changing-room together and took off our surgical robes.
“What worries
me, Mr. Erskine,” said Dr. Hughes, “is that she
responded so violently to those words you came out with. Up until then, she was
okay – or at least as well as anybody could be expected to be with that kind of
a tumor. But it seemed like you triggered something off there.”
“You’re right,”
I agreed. “But exactly what was it? Why should a normal intelligent girl like
Karen Tandy get so upset by the idea of an old Dutch galleon?”
Dr. Hughes
opened the door for me and led me out to the elevator.
“Don’t ask me,”
he said. “You’re supposed to be the mysticism specialist.”
He pressed the
button for eighteen.
“What did the
X-rays show you?” I asked. “The ones you took in the operating theater?”
“Nothing very
clear,” answered Dr. Hughes. “When I said there seemed to be a fetus in that
tumor, I should have said it was something fetus-like, but not exactly a baby
in the accepted sense of the term. There is a growth of bone and flesh, which
seems to have a systematic pattern of development, the same way that a baby
has, but whether it’s human or not, I can’t say. I’ve called in a gynecological
specialist, but he can’t make it here until tomorrow.”
“But supposing
tomorrow’s too late? She looks – well, she looks as though she’s going to die.”
Dr. Hughes
blinked in the bright light of the elevator. “Yes, she does. I just wish to
hell there was something I could do about it.”
The elevator
reached the eighteenth floor and we stepped out. Dr. Hughes led me into his
office and went straight over to his filing cabinet and brought out a bottle of
whiskey. He sloshed out two large glassfuls, and we sat down and drank in
silence.
After a while,
he said: “You know something, Mr. Erskine. It’s ridiculous and it’s insane, but
I believe that this nightmare has something to do with this tumor.”
“In what way?”
“Well, the two
seem closely inter-related. I guess you spiritualists would think that the
nightmare was causing the tumor, but I’d say it was the other way around – that
the tumor is causing the nightmare. But whichever it is, it seems to me that if
we can discover more about the nightmare we can discover more about the
condition.”
I swallowed a
burning mouthful of neat Scotch. “I’ve done all I can, Dr. Hughes.
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