GoldenEars

by Jane H Wood

  ‘Here we are. Please make yourself comfortable.’

  Her voice brought him back to the present, and he wandered inside the waiting room without comment, grateful at least to discover the room was empty, because the last thing he needed was a lot of probing questions or forced idle conversation with strangers.

  His eyes roamed over the comfortable furniture, arranged as though it was someone’s lounge, but he passed them by, opting instead to sit on one of the hard chairs that lined the walls. A knot was forming in his stomach as he sat there, staring at the carpet.

  ‘Mr Rainer… Can I get you a hot drink, or perhaps something to eat?’ offered the nurse, hesitating on the threshold. ‘It’s the shock; you’ll feel better if you can take something,’ she added sympathetically. She took in his pallid complexion, his body slumped in the chair. ‘Doctor Price is an excellent surgeon, so your son is in the safest hands.’

  Sam looked up, brightened by her words.

  ‘I’ll get you that coffee,’ she said, giving him an understanding smile, and turned to go.

  He’d phoned his wife Doreen, but that seemed like hours ago. Sam sat there, the time suspended while he waited for her. Although his body was exhausted, his mind was refusing to quit, thinking about his son, torturing himself over things he was powerless to change, blaming himself for everything that had happened.

  It was during those fraught minutes of self-reproach that Doreen arrived. She was trying to be strong, but the news had devastated her, and she ran into his arms in floods of tears. Seeing her, and holding her shaking body against his, he couldn’t help dissolving into choking sobs himself.

  A long coffee table stood in front of a sofa, empty before he’d arrived, but now it held a collection of paper cups, each one dry and smelling stale from the numerous coffees they’d both consumed.

  A senior nurse arrived.

  ‘I’m pleased to inform you that the operations went well, Mr and Mrs Rainer,’ she beamed. ‘Edmund has been taken to a recovery room, though he’s not awake at present and we don’t expect him to wake up for a while. Sleep is the best thing for him. I’ll show you to his room, if you’ll follow me, please. The doctor will be along to explain everything to you shortly.’

  They left the waiting room hand in hand, their spirits lifted by the encouraging news, and followed obediently down the corridor, rounded a corner and ascended a flight of stairs.

  ‘Just along here,’ indicated the nurse with a casual wave of her hand. ‘We’ve subdued the lighting for Edmund’s benefit in the hope it will encourage him to remain asleep – the longer the better. He’s very weak, so don’t expect too much,’ she said, opening the door.

  With a nervous glance inside the room, Doreen entered first, taking a slow faltering step. Sam followed, staying close by her side, squeezing her hand encouragingly.

  It was a small bland room, dimly lit, with the blinds lowered. Two machines stood at the head of the bed monitoring his condition, with beeps and flickering lights suggesting all was well. It was an awful sight to take in, seeing Edmund inert on his back, his face as pale as death. Doreen’s hand flew to her mouth, trying to stifle a gasp that was building in her throat. Beside the bed stood two wooden chairs, and silently Sam and Doreen sat down.

  It had been a long stressful night keeping vigil over their son. Sam had refused to leave his son’s side since he’d entered the room on the previous day, and now it was morning he felt emotionally and physically drained. He’d insisted Doreen take a break, and she’d reluctantly left him to watch over their son.

  Bert had collected Sam’s truck from the parking area in the forest, then driven all night to get there. Arriving at last, he entered the hospital and proceeded to the main reception desk, noting the unmistakable odour that seemed to permeate through every hospital he’d ever entered. It wasn’t unpleasant, just a clean fresh clinical smell that lingered on the air. He spoke to the receptionist and, after acquiring directions, hurried up the flight of stairs to Edmund’s room.

  Pausing in the open doorway, he peered into the dimly lit room where Edmund lay motionless in bed. But his friend drew his attention, his expression a study of agonised torment, watching his son. A chill ran down Bert’s spine as the unthinkable entered his mind. When, unexpectedly, a hand touched his arm, the sensation made him jump.

  ‘Are you a relative?’ the nurse asked.

  ‘Oh no, not a relative,’ Bert blustered. ‘Only a friend.’

  Sam turned and jumped to his feet.

  ‘Oh Bert! Am I glad to see you… They think he’s going to be all right! Come and see him.’

  Hearing his friend’s words spoken with such enthusiasm filled Bert with relief and a renewed optimism.

  ‘Wow, Sam, that’s marvellous,’ he beamed, entering the room. ‘I drove here as quickly as I could. I was so worried, wondering what was happening,’ he added wearily, sitting heavily onto the chair beside Edmund’s bed.

  ‘I can’t believe it, Bert!’ Sam continued, shaking his head solemnly. ‘We thought… that is to say, Doreen and I were fearing the worst… Just look at him!’ His gaze returned to his son.

  Bert nodded sympathetically while he observed the boy lying motionless, his face unusually pale. Suddenly, he felt at a loss as to what to say. He hadn’t visualised Edmund like this; he felt shocked, and swallowed, his mind numb. Sam continued speaking rapidly, unaware of Bert’s discomfort.

  ‘Doctor Price has just looked in on Edmund again… They operated on him immediately we arrived yesterday. I was so damn scared, Bert! You should have seen him; when they wheeled him away, I felt devastated…’ Sam swallowed, pausing to brush his finger gently against Edmund’s cheek. ‘But despite everything my boy went through, he’s come through the operations.’

  ‘That’s great, Sam, I’m so pleased!’ interjected Bert, brightening significantly.

  Sam gave him a strained smile. ‘Well, it didn’t go without incident. Doctor Price described the difficulty they had in locating the bullet in Edmund’s chest, there was so much blood. Finally it was found lodged close to a main artery, which miraculously appeared undamaged. So, during those vital minutes of delicate surgery, Edmund was extremely vulnerable. But they managed it, Bert… incredibly, without further problems arising. It’s utterly amazing under the circumstances. They said the next twenty-four hours will be crucial… If he gets through those there’s a good chance he’ll pull through.’

  There was a long silence, as both men contemplated the gravity of those words.

  ‘On a brighter note,’ continued Sam, trying to lift his voice, ‘as regards the gunshot wound in his arm, well, it was quite straightforward and dealt with fairly quickly. So, luckily no surprises there. And the metal trap… We’ve had assurances from the doctors that the cuts should heal okay, although there may be some mild scarring. He’s received an anti-tetanus injection and also been prescribed a course of antibiotics. So, they’re hopeful an infection has been averted…’ He broke off, feeling an overwhelming surge of emotion stir inside him.

  ‘Oh Sam! I’m so sorry your boy is going through all this. But he’s strong, and the doctors here are skilled and dedicated. It sounds as though he’s in the best possible place.’

  His friend nodded mutely.

  ‘Where is Doreen?’ asked Bert, looking towards the open doorway.

  Sam cleared his throat. ‘I sent her down to the canteen for a break. She’s completely overwrought and too emotional right now. It’s not good for Edmund. We must stay calm and, above all, positive. The doctors say it’s possible he can sense or even hear what’s going on around him,’ said Sam, stifling a yawn.

  ‘Look, why don’t you join her? A break will do you good. Take your time. I’ll keep a watchful eye on Edmund.’

  Sam spotted Doreen sitting at a small table in the corner of the canteen, her attention directed at the mug resting on the table in fron
t of her.

  Her head jerked up, startled by a sudden figure standing beside her.

  ‘Oh Sam! You’ve left Edmund… Is something wrong?’ she asked, beginning to leave her chair.

  ‘No, Doreen, he’s all right, don’t worry,’ he assured her, placing a tray in the centre of the table. ‘That is to say, he’s just the same. Bert’s with him; he arrived just a few minutes ago.’

  Doreen sighed deeply and resumed her seat.

  ‘I’ve bought us both another coffee, and I thought some sandwiches would be a good idea too. We need to keep our strength up, Doreen. Try and eat something, you’ll feel better,’ he encouraged, picking up his mug and sipping the black liquid.

  Doreen sighed again and stared at her husband tucking into his breakfast, ostensibly without a care for their son upstairs, battling to recover. The tension increased between them as the minutes ebbed by.

  ‘He is going to be all right, isn’t he, Sam?’ Doreen blurted out, her voice sharp and accusing.

  She fixed her gaze on his face, trying to decide whether he was attempting to conceal something from her. Sam swallowed his mouthful of sandwich, replacing the remaining half back on his plate. He looked up into her face.

  ‘Yes, of course he is. The doctors here are excellent. We must remain positive. We can’t give up on him!’

  Her temper subsided a little, realising her husband was exhausted. She knew he hadn’t slept last night, and his face appeared creased, bearing a guilt that maybe he deserved, she thought.

  ‘What happened out there in the forest? I thought you were looking after him!’ she challenged.

  He bit his lip nervously. He’d been waiting for this. Somehow, he knew she would blame him.

  ‘I never wanted any of this to happen, you know that! I love our son, but he was being awkward. You know how he can act!’ he answered defensively.

  ‘He’s sensitive and kind,’ she threw back at him. ‘I know he didn’t really want to go in the forest with you in the first place, but you wouldn’t take no for an answer!’ Her voice was harsh and her brown eyes piercing and direct.

  Sam looked away – how could he explain? He turned and reached for her hand. Doreen didn’t flinch as he expected but let him hold it tenderly in his own strong hand, and her bottom lip trembled.

  ‘Look,’ began Sam, ‘I genuinely thought the experience would do him good, roughing it in the wilderness, men together, you know. And I confess, to his credit, he tried to fit in to begin with, and we were all getting on really well. Then, when we explained about setting snares, but only for hares, which were our staple diet… Well, we argued, and after that things deteriorated between us, and he began to spend the days by himself. I did everything to encourage him to join us. Then the wolves came into it, and well…’

  ‘Wolves?! What wolves?’ Doreen snapped. ‘This is the first time you’ve mentioned them!’ She pulled her hand away abruptly.

  An hour went by as Sam told her everything. Speaking out loud, relaying the story, somehow made it sound worse. He had neglected Edmund, hadn’t taken enough interest in him. He felt really bad, ashamed even. If his son should die, he would never forgive himself.

  Bert was sitting quietly beside Edmund, with the daily newspaper open on his lap, when a story on the second page drew his attention.

  The headline read: “Should Wolf Hunting Be Banned?”

  A picture accompanied the story. It depicted two huntsmen holding up a dead wolf by its hind legs. The head of the animal lolled grotesquely to one side and blood stained its fur from a gash in its throat. The men were grinning as they held up their trophy, their rifles abandoned on the ground in front of them.

  ‘I wonder what’s happened to those two pups,’ Bert murmured to himself, staring at the awful picture again. He hadn’t given them much thought until now, and he scratched his chin, trying to remember what the chief ranger had said.

  Just then, Edmund stirred and slowly opened his eyes.

  ‘Where… where is GoldenEars?’ he said, his voice muffled under the oxygen mask.

  Bert nearly dropped his newspaper in surprise.

  ‘Edmund, you’re awake! Oh my God, how are you feeling?’ he said, moving closer.

  Through the fog, Edmund tried to focus his sluggish eyes, but Bert’s face wouldn’t stop swaying from side to side. The effect was making him feel nauseous, so he closed his eyes, willing the world to stop revolving.

  ‘Edmund, are you all right?’ Bert asked, staring into his pale face. But Edmund wasn’t making any attempt to answer him, and he began to panic. ‘Look, I’ll get the doctor… Hold on!’

  ‘No, please!’ strained Edmund, his fingers fumbling to lift the mask off his face. Bert wasn’t sure what to do, and hesitated. ‘I’m all right… really. But please tell me how GoldenEars is,’ Edmund insisted, managing to tuck the mask under his chin.

  Bert returned to Edmund’s side, alarmed by his drained complexion, or maybe it was his brown eyes emphasising his sickly pallor. He dithered, unsure what to do. He didn’t want to upset Edmund and make him worse, so he relented.

  ‘All right. Then I’ll call the doctor; agreed?’

  Edmund nodded slightly. ‘Okay,’ he whispered.

  Bert recalled what he could remember concerning the pups and assured him that they were being well cared for at the wildlife reserve.

  A glimmer of light shone in Edmund’s eyes and he smiled, imagining the pup’s happy face. The news made him feel a little better and he struggled to sit up before Bert realised what he was doing. In that moment, Edmund cried out in pain and fell onto his pillows, his breathing laboured.

  ‘No, Edmund, you shouldn’t move yet!’ called Bert in panic, standing over him.

  ‘I’m okay,’ croaked Edmund, staring into Bert’s startled eyes.

  The pain had brought him out in a sweat, and his face glistened. He could feel the ache penetrate deep in to his chest and he sank further into the pillows as his body tensed, while his hands automatically grasped his chest. He gagged, trying to breathe.

  ‘Oh Edmund! No…! Hang on, I’ll get someone!’ called Bert, and fled from the room, yelling for help.

  The response was immediate. Two nurses left their desks and darted round their monitor stations, setting off briskly down the corridor towards him.

  ‘Stay here!’ one nurse called as she passed.

  Bert stood rooted to the spot, gawping after them, scared for the boy. With a clatter of footsteps, two more nurses entered Edmund’s room, quickly followed by a doctor wheeling a trolley carrying some kind of hospital equipment.

  Tears stung Bert’s eyes; had he caused this? No, surely not. He shook his head, not wanting to imagine what was going on in that room.

  Rounding the staircase were Sam and Doreen, arm in arm, a smile playing on their lips. The pair stopped in mid-stride at the sight of Bert, pale-faced and on the verge of tears.

  ‘What’s happened?’ demanded Sam, approaching him.

  Doreen hesitated, feeling her stomach turn over. She gripped the handrail for support, reluctant to move, while she watched Sam and Bert talking. She tensed, noting their urgent whispers, their faces distorted with shock… Bert was crying!

  Doreen’s world exploded in that moment and, unable to restrain herself, a piercing scream tore from her throat.

  ‘No, Edmund!’ she wailed, and ran down the corridor, charging straight into his room. ‘Edmund! My Edmund!’ she continued hysterically.

  Stunned, she came to a stop, confronted by four nurses and a doctor, each one working frantically around her son. Before she could utter a sound, a gentle hand was on her arm, guiding her out of the room. As the door opened, Sam was there, pulling her close, holding her tightly. She felt stiff, rigid like a doll, but he held onto her even more tightly, feeling the sobs welling up in her throat as her whole body began to shake.

&nb
sp; Disbelieving what had just occurred, the three of them were led into a waiting room. Each sat in stunned silence. Minutes passed, or perhaps hours; they didn’t know or care anymore.

  Then Doctor Price entered the waiting room. He paused and smiled at them kindly.

  ‘I’m relieved to tell you that we have managed to stabilise your son’s condition, and he’s out of danger and comfortable. But we are concerned that someone so young should be suffering from a heart condition.’

  On hearing those dreadful words, Doreen dissolved into tears, sobbing unashamedly into her handkerchief, whereas Sam had silently got to his feet, appalled to hear that his son was so ill.

  ‘What?’ he exclaimed, outraged. ‘Do you mean Edmund has suffered a heart attack? How…? Why?’

  ‘Well,’ began Doctor Price, holding up a hand in a gesture of calm, ‘thankfully it wasn’t an actual heart attack, although your son was displaying all the symptoms of someone having one. Why it happened…? Well, we just don’t know, but in truth the pain he was experiencing was very real to him and alarmingly acute from what we’ve seen,’ replied the doctor, rubbing his chin, perplexed.

  He cleared his throat and continued. ‘As we don’t know precisely what’s going on internally, and given your son’s young age, I would like to run some tests; an ECG should enlighten us and further X-rays too, with your permission.’

  ‘Yes… yes, of course. Please help him,’ Sam replied, too stunned to say any more. The doctor nodded and turned to leave… then hesitated in the doorway.

  ‘Please try to rest. I understand how difficult and extremely worrying this is for you both. But please be assured, as soon as we have the results I’ll let you know what we’re dealing with.’ He gave them a sympathetic smile and left.

  The news had devastated Sam, and he let his legs crumple, landing heavily on the sofa next to Doreen, her hands clasped to her face in despair.