Susan finished setting the table, then returned to staring into the fire. “I’d really like to visit, though, mostly to see Berman once more. I have a feeling that if I saw him again that I’d probably be able to ease up on this … crusade, as you call it. Even I realize I’ve got to get back to a semblance of normality.”
Mark straightened up from his activities in the kitchen at this last sentence, entertaining a ray of hope. He turned the steaks over again and closed the window.
“Why don’t you just show up there? I mean, it must be like any other hospital when it comes right down to it. It’s probably as chaotic as the Memorial. If you acted like you belong, probably nobody would even question you. You could even wear a nurse’s uniform. If anybody came into the Memorial dressed like a doctor or & nurse, they could go anywhere they chose.”
Susan looked back at Mark, who was standing in the kitchen door.
“That’s not a bad idea … not bad. But there’s a catch.”
“What’s that?”
“Simply that I wouldn’t know where the hell I was going even if I were able to walk into the building. It’s hard to look like you belong when you’re totally lost.”
“That’s not an insurmountable obstacle. All you’d have to do is visit the building department in City Hall and get a copy of the building plans or floor plans. There are plans on file of all public buildings. You’d have yourself a map.”
Mark returned to the kitchen to get the steaks and the salad.
“Mark, that’s ingenious.”
“Practical, not ingenious.” He brought the food into the room and served up the steaks and a generous helping of salad. There were also asparagus with hollandaise sauce and another whole bottle of red Bordeaux.
Each thought the meal perfect. The wine tended to smooth any potential rough edges, and the conversation flowed freely as each learned bits and pieces of the other’s background to fill in the gaps of the personality mosaics each was constructing of the other. Susan from Maryland, Mark from California. There was little intellectual common ground, for Mark’s education had been severely skewed in the direction of Descartes and Newton, while Susan’s tended toward Voltaire and Chaucer. But skiing emerged as a love of both, as well as the beach, and the outdoors in general. And they both liked Hemingway. There was an awkward silence after Susan asked about Joyce. Bellows had not read Joyce.
With the dishes cleared, they settled on a random grouping of pillows before the fireplace at the far end of the room. Bellows put on some additional oak logs, turning the smoldering embers into a crackling blaze. Grand Marnier and Fred’s Home Made vanilla ice cream made them quiet for some moments, both enjoying the peaceful and contented silence.
“Susan, getting to know you just a little better, and liking every minute of it, makes me even more motivated to urge you to forget this coma problem,” said Mark, after a while. “You’ve got an enormous amount of learning to do, and believe me, there’s no place better than the Memorial. In all likelihood this coma problem will be around for some time, plenty of time for you to begin again when you have a real background in clinical medicine. I’m not trying to suggest you cannot contribute; maybe you can. But the chances of making a contribution are small, just like in any research project, no matter how well conceived. And you have to consider the effect your activities will undoubtedly have, in fact already have had, on your superiors. It’s a poor gamble, Susan; the odds are stacked against you.”
Susan sipped her Grand Marnier. The viscous, smooth fluid slid down her throat, and sent warm sensations down her legs. She took in a deep breath and felt a certain levitation.
“Being a female medical student must be hard enough,” continued Bellows, “without adding a further handicap.”
Susan raised her head and looked at Bellows. He was staring into the fire. “Exactly what do you mean by that statement?” asked Susan with a sudden slight edge to her voice. Bellows was suddenly brushing against sensitive areas.