room, talking about getting back on his local bar’s basketball team … “the over forty league,” he had laughed.
Peter stared down at him … at his huge, hulking body … the kind of kid who used to scare him on the playground, who punched him because he couldn’t climb the ropes in school, the kind of kid he had wanted to be. He kept his hand over Thomas’s chin to keep the airway patent. He could feel Thomas’s breath on his palm—yes, the breath was there, jerking but there—and Peter felt as though he were being drawn out of himself, into Thomas’s body. He was staring right at the wound, the lacerations, and he was surrounded by Thomas’s membranes; the blood pulsated in Peter’s ears, and he felt something happening inside him, the Space crying out, wanting to be filled. He looked over at the nurse on duty … He saw the surgeon … Carpenter, waiting for them.
“How’s he doing?” Carpenter said.
“Fine,” Peter said, amazed that his voice sounded normal, for he could feel it inside him, swirling around like a screaming, whispering snow.
“Time to wake up, Mr. Thomas,” Peter said as they wheeled him into his place behind the curtain.
Thomas didn’t stir.
“Come on now, Jim,” Peter said, lightly slapping his face. “Time to wake up.”
Now Thomas began to come out of it a bit.
“He’ll be fine,” Peter said. “Just fine.”
“Sure,” Carpenter said. “Sure … okay, I’ve got another one right away … This is sheer lunacy. Can you handle this, Peter?”
“No problem,” Peter said.
Carpenter smiled and nodded good-bye, and Peter stood there looking down at Thomas.
“Yes,” Peter said. “You’re going to be fine … Fine …”
They were all around him—just outside the curtain. He reached into his pocket, felt for the syringe … Funny, he wondered why he had stuck it in his coat after the operation. The feeling wasn’t even conscious then … He smiled at the idea … He was getting his responses directly from the patients now. Cross rubbed the syringe between his thumb and forefinger. He took it out … hearing the chatter of the nurses and other doctors in the Recovery Room. He stared down at the syringe. Curare, a good, quick shot. He held Thomas by the arm.
“Has anybody seen Peter Cross?”
Peter jammed the syringe back into his pocket. He felt a cold sweat break out on his face.
“In there? Oh, thanks …”
He breathed in deeply and started to tap Thomas lightly on the side of the face.
“Okay, Jim. Time to wake up. Okay, Jim.”
“Well, hello.”
Peter looked up and saw Debby Hunter staring at him. She was dressed in a pair of tight Levis and a pink sweater, and had her sunglasses on top of her blond hair. She looked smashing, and he felt unable to speak.
“How’s he doing?” Debby said.
“Fine,” Peter said. “He’s doing just fine.”
“Terrific,” Debby said. “How are you?”
“Okay,” Peter said. His mouth was dry, and he thought of her voice at 3:00 A.M…. He felt weak.
“Listen, Peter,” she said. “I don’t ordinarily do this kind of thing …”
She laughed and sucked in her breath.
“No?” Peter said, managing a smile.
“God, that’s the oldest line in the world. But it’s true, I really don’t ordinarily ask a man out. I like to think they’ll ask me. But … anyway … I know you are a big Poe fan, and there is this Poe revival up at the Eighty-Sixth Street Cinema. I think it’s two pretty good ones.
Pit
and
the Pendulum
and
The Premature Burial.”
Peter stared back down at his patient, who was showing signs of coming to.
“There … that’s good, Jim. That’s good.”
“He’s okay?” Debby said.
“Yeah,” Peter said, in a voice so upbeat it surprised him. “He’s okay and I’m off … and, ah … I’ve got a very attractive date tonight.”
Debby sighed.
“Well, I tried,” she said.
Peter walked toward her and smiled.
“So if you’ll just go down to the cafeteria for about
Peter stared down at him … at his huge, hulking body … the kind of kid who used to scare him on the playground, who punched him because he couldn’t climb the ropes in school, the kind of kid he had wanted to be. He kept his hand over Thomas’s chin to keep the airway patent. He could feel Thomas’s breath on his palm—yes, the breath was there, jerking but there—and Peter felt as though he were being drawn out of himself, into Thomas’s body. He was staring right at the wound, the lacerations, and he was surrounded by Thomas’s membranes; the blood pulsated in Peter’s ears, and he felt something happening inside him, the Space crying out, wanting to be filled. He looked over at the nurse on duty … He saw the surgeon … Carpenter, waiting for them.
“How’s he doing?” Carpenter said.
“Fine,” Peter said, amazed that his voice sounded normal, for he could feel it inside him, swirling around like a screaming, whispering snow.
“Time to wake up, Mr. Thomas,” Peter said as they wheeled him into his place behind the curtain.
Thomas didn’t stir.
“Come on now, Jim,” Peter said, lightly slapping his face. “Time to wake up.”
Now Thomas began to come out of it a bit.
“He’ll be fine,” Peter said. “Just fine.”
“Sure,” Carpenter said. “Sure … okay, I’ve got another one right away … This is sheer lunacy. Can you handle this, Peter?”
“No problem,” Peter said.
Carpenter smiled and nodded good-bye, and Peter stood there looking down at Thomas.
“Yes,” Peter said. “You’re going to be fine … Fine …”
They were all around him—just outside the curtain. He reached into his pocket, felt for the syringe … Funny, he wondered why he had stuck it in his coat after the operation. The feeling wasn’t even conscious then … He smiled at the idea … He was getting his responses directly from the patients now. Cross rubbed the syringe between his thumb and forefinger. He took it out … hearing the chatter of the nurses and other doctors in the Recovery Room. He stared down at the syringe. Curare, a good, quick shot. He held Thomas by the arm.
“Has anybody seen Peter Cross?”
Peter jammed the syringe back into his pocket. He felt a cold sweat break out on his face.
“In there? Oh, thanks …”
He breathed in deeply and started to tap Thomas lightly on the side of the face.
“Okay, Jim. Time to wake up. Okay, Jim.”
“Well, hello.”
Peter looked up and saw Debby Hunter staring at him. She was dressed in a pair of tight Levis and a pink sweater, and had her sunglasses on top of her blond hair. She looked smashing, and he felt unable to speak.
“How’s he doing?” Debby said.
“Fine,” Peter said. “He’s doing just fine.”
“Terrific,” Debby said. “How are you?”
“Okay,” Peter said. His mouth was dry, and he thought of her voice at 3:00 A.M…. He felt weak.
“Listen, Peter,” she said. “I don’t ordinarily do this kind of thing …”
She laughed and sucked in her breath.
“No?” Peter said, managing a smile.
“God, that’s the oldest line in the world. But it’s true, I really don’t ordinarily ask a man out. I like to think they’ll ask me. But … anyway … I know you are a big Poe fan, and there is this Poe revival up at the Eighty-Sixth Street Cinema. I think it’s two pretty good ones.
Pit
and
the Pendulum
and
The Premature Burial.”
Peter stared back down at his patient, who was showing signs of coming to.
“There … that’s good, Jim. That’s good.”
“He’s okay?” Debby said.
“Yeah,” Peter said, in a voice so upbeat it surprised him. “He’s okay and I’m off … and, ah … I’ve got a very attractive date tonight.”
Debby sighed.
“Well, I tried,” she said.
Peter walked toward her and smiled.
“So if you’ll just go down to the cafeteria for about
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