‘In a coma,’ Sarah repeated. She tried to fit the information into some sort of emotional frame and found it wouldn’t go. That Johnny wasn’t dead, that he had come through a serious and dangerous operation on his brain – those things should have renewed her hope. But they didn’t. She didn’t like that word coma. It had a sinister, stealthy sound.
Wasn’t it Latin for ‘sleep of death’?
‘What’s ahead for him?’ Herb asked.
‘No one can really answer that now,’ Strawns said. He began to play with his cigarette, tapping it nervously over the ashtray. Sarah had the feeling he was answering Herb’s question literally while completely avoiding the question Herb had really asked. ‘He’s on life support equipment, of course.’
‘But you must know something about his chances,’ Sarah said. ‘You must know …’ She gestured helplessly with her hands and let them drop to her sides.
‘He may come out of it in forty-eight hours. Or a week. A month. He may never come out of ……… there is a strong possibility that he may die. I must tell you frankly that’s the most likely. His injuries… grave.
‘God wants him to live,’ Vera said. ‘I know it.’
Herb had put his face into his hands and was scrubbing it slowly.
Dr. Strawns looked at Vera uncomfortably. ‘I only want you to be prepared for… any eventuality.’
‘Would you rate his chances for coming out of it?’ Herb asked.
Dr. Strawns hesitated, puffed nervously on his cigarette. ‘No, I can’t do that,’ he said finally.
5.
The three of them waited another hour and then left. It was dark. A cold and gusty wind had come up and it whistled across the big parking lot. Sarah’s long hair streamed out behind her. Later, when she got home, she would find a crisp yellow oak leaf caught in it.
Overhead, the moon rode the sky, a cold sailor of the night.
Sarah pressed a scrap of paper into Herb’s hand. Written on it was her address and phone number. ‘Would you call me if you hear something? Anything at all?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He bent suddenly and kissed her cheek, and Sarah held his shoulder for a moment in the blowing dark.
‘I’m very sorry if I was stiff with you earlier, dear,’ Vera said, and her voice was surprisingly gentle. ‘I was upset.’
‘Of course you were,’ Sarah said.
‘I thought my boy might die. But I’ve prayed. I’ve spoken to God about it. As the song says, “Are we weak and heavy-laden? Cumbered with a load of care? We must never be discouraged. Take it to the Lord in ‘prayer.”‘
‘Vera, we ought to go along,’ Herb said. ‘We ought to get some sleep and see how things look in the…’
‘But now I’ve heard from my God,’ Vera said, looking dreamily up at the moon. ‘Johnny isn’t going to die. It isn’t in God’s plan for Johnny to die. I listened and I heard that still, small voice speaking in my heart, and I am comforted.’
Herb opened the car door. ‘Come on, Vera.’
She looked back at Sarah and smiled. In that smile Sarah suddenly saw Johnny’s own easy, devil-may-care grin – but at the same time she thought it was the most ghastly smile she had ever seen in her life.
‘God has put his mark on my Johnny,’ Vera said, ‘and I rejoice.’
‘Good night, Mrs. Smith,’ Sarah said through numb lips.
‘Good night, Sarah,’ Herb said. He got in and started the car. It pulled out of its space and moved across the parking lot to State Street, and Sarah realized she hadn’t asked where they were staying. She guessed they might not know themselves yet.
She turned to go to her own car and paused, struck by the river that ran behind the hospital, the Penobscot. It flowed like dark silk, and the reflected moon was caught in its center. She looked up into the sky, standing alone in the parking lot now. She looked at the moon.
God has put his mark on my Johnny and I rejoice.
The moon hung above her like a tawdry carnival toy, a Wheel of Fortune in the sky with the odds all slugged in favor of the house, not to mention the house numbers – zero and double zero. House numbah, house numbah,