by Joe Derkacht
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Night was falling. I could tell because the room’s roll-up shade let through the orange-red light of the setting sun. The door opened and the shadowy figure I knew was Zell came in and turned on the brass work lamp over the card table. Behind her came a man carrying a black bag. It was Dr. Schiffman, my physician, I was sure, though he seemed to have aged considerably since the last time I’d seen him.
He sat on the edge of the bed, the small twin mattress sagging precariously under his weight. Zell watched over his shoulder.
“How are you doing, old boy?” He asked me. “Sorry I couldn’t come sooner. Do you remember me, John?”
I guess I must have nodded.
“Good, good, that’s a very good sign,” he said, removing stethoscope and blood pressure cuff from his bag. He muttered incomprehensibly throughout the examination, at each point jotting down a note or two in a little book.
He took out scissors and cut the bandage from my injured arm. As it fell away, he whistled through his teeth.
“Fine job of stitching,” he muttered.
He kneaded my belly, then peeled back the covers from the bed and scrutinized my legs. His eyes narrowed with displeasure.
“All this bruising. What on earth did they do to you in that place?”
“What the Nazis always do,” Zell said.
Tut-tutting in obvious agreement, he shook his head and removed the thermometer from my mouth, which had, I think, distracted me from most of his prodding and probing.
“Little elevated,” he muttered. Shaking the thermometer down, he said, “In a lot better shape than a few days ago, I bet.”
“Will he be all right?”
“Oh, you know John, he’s tough as nails, really,” he answered, tucking the blanket up around my chin. “Has to be, to be doing as well as he is without pain killers—
“Need anything?” He asked, turning his gaze back to me. “No? Electroshock tends to blunt normal sensory perceptions. Could be he’s not feeling much of anything.”
He swung toward Zell. “You don’t mind babysitting him a few days? If that doesn’t work for you, I could have him transported to Seaside or even our little hospital in Healy City, if they have room for him.”
“The boy’ll be fine here. I think I can remember how to care for one patient.”
“I thought so,” he said, rising from the bed. “If you notice any change, make sure you call me.”
“You’ll remember not to let on to anyone that he’s here, Dr. Schiffman?”
His eyebrows, bristly and sticking in all directions, lowered disagreeably, as if hurt that she wasn’t sure she could trust him.
“I don’t want any of the town’s old biddies thinking I’ve taken up with a younger man.”
“Your secret is safe with me, madam,” he said, winking broadly at me.
She followed him out. I hadn’t spoken in a week or more, and saw no reason to speak now.