Johann grinned at him. “Always the sly one, Jake. Okay, I’ve never been one to fret about yesterday’s trouble. But now that you’re back—well, Hedrick’s a good doctor, but he’s highhanded with me when it’s not necessary. So we’ll change that. I’ll tell you what I want and you tell Hedrick—and if he balks, you can let him know that he is not indispensable.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, ‘No’?’
“I mean No. Johann, you still require constant medical attention. I haven’t interfered with Dr. Hedrick up to now and the results have been good. I won’t interfere now.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Jake. Sure, sure, you have my interests at heart. But you don’t understand the situation. I’m no longer in a critical condition; I’m convalescent. Look, here’s late news, important. Know what I did this morning during physiotherapy? Moved my right index finger. On purpose, Jake. Know what that means?”
“Means you can bid in an auction. Or signal a waiter.”
“Crab apples. Wiggled my toes a little, too. Jake, in a week I’ll be walking, unassisted. Why, I spend thirty minutes each day now without this lung thing, this corset and when they put it back on me, it’s simply set to assist, if necessary. But despite all this wonderful progress, I’m still treated like a wired-up laboratory monkey. Allowed to stay awake only a short time each day—hell, they even shave me while I’m asleep and God alone knows what else; I don’t. I’m strapped down every minute that at least six people don’t have their hands on me for physio. If you don’t believe me, lift the sheet and take a look. I’m a prisoner. In my own house.”
Salomon didn’t move. “I believe you.”
“Move that chair around so that I can see you better. They’ve even got my head clamped—now I ask you, is that necessary?”
“No opinion. Ask your doctor.” Salomon stayed where he was.
“I asked you. . . because I’m fed up with his top-sergeant behavior.”
“And I declined to express an opinion in a field in which I have no competence. Johann, you’re getting well, that’s evident. But only a fool replaces a quarterback who is winning. I never thought you would live through the operation. I don’t think you did, either.”
“Well . . . truthfully, I didn’t. I was betting my life—literally——on a long gamble. But I won.”
“Then why don’t you try being grateful?—instead of behaving like a spoiled child!”
“Temper, Jake, temper—why, you sound like me.”
“God knows I don’t want to sound like you. But I mean it. Show gratitude. Praise the Lord—and Dr. Hedrick.”
“And Dr. Boyle, Jake. Yes, I am grateful, truly I am. I’ve been snatched back from the edge of death—and now have every reason to expect a wonderful new life—and all I risked was a few more weeks of a life that had grown intolerable.” Johann smiled. “I can’t express how grateful I am, there are no words. My eyes are twenty/twenty again and I’m seeing shades of color I had forgotten existed. I can hear high notes I haven’t heard in years. I get ‘em to play symphonies for me and I can follow the piccolo clear up to the roof. And the violins. I can hear all sorts of high sounds now, higher than ever—even my new voice sounds high; he must have been a tenor. And I can smell, Jake—and I lost my last trace of a sense of smell years ago. Nurse, walk past me and let me smell you.”
The nurse, a pretty redhead, smiled, said nothing, did not move from the bed’s console.
Johann went on, “I’m even allowed to eat now, once a day—eat and swallow, I mean, not a blasted tube. Jake, did you know that Cream o’ Wheat tastes better than filet mignon? It can. Hell, everything tastes good now; I had forgotten what fun it is to eat. Jake, it’s so grand to be alive—in this body—that I can’t wait to go out in the country and walk in fields and climb a hill and look at trees and watch birds. And clouds. Sunbathe. Ice-skate, maybe. Square-dance. Ever square-dance, Jake?”