Genius

by Clare Nonhebel

CHAPTER 19

  Keith knew that all the family loved him. They told him so regularly and showed it by being protective and loyal and taking care of him. But they loved him as a child who was disabled, and inside he felt like neither of those things.

  Watching his grandfather coming into the ward now, his heart ached with love for him. His mother's father was the one who had spent a lot of time with him when he was young, when Andrew was born and their mother, still distraught over giving birth to a child as handicapped as Keith, now had another baby to care for.

  Their grandfather had always tried to treat them equally. Sometimes he would take them both to the park while their mother had a sleep or went out to have her hair done - the only luxury she allowed herself. At other times he would look after Andrew, while their mother took Keith for a hospital appointment. He would offer to babysit in the evenings so that both parents could go out but Keith's mother never wanted to go out and leave him. She was afraid he might die if she left him and if she wasn't with him at the time she would never forgive herself.

  But the times Grandad most enjoyed, as both Andrew and Keith recognized, were the times he spent alone with Keith.

  When Andrew was older, he and Grandad started to go on fishing trips - originally with Keith as well, then, after Keith had pneumonia, on their own. Andrew said that Grandad always enjoyed their day out and cheered loudly whenever either of them caught a fish, excited as a young boy with his first catch. But the moment when his eyes would really light up and his face would shine was the moment when they walked back into the house and Grandad saw Keith. ‘You are the light of his life,’ Andrew told Keith solemnly.

  He wasn't jealous; it was a fact of life that Andrew accepted. Keith was Grandad's favourite relative, as Uncle Dan had been Andrew's. Even after Uncle Dan went off, Andrew didn't mind about Grandad preferring Keith. ‘I know he loves me as well,’ he explained. 'It's just that you have more understanding of him. Like I understand Uncle Dan more than anyone else does.’

  ‘Do you understand why he went away without telling anyone?’ Keith asked him but Andrew shrugged and heaved a deep sigh.

  ‘I wish I could ask him,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps he'll just turn up again one day, or phone you,’ Keith suggested.

  ‘I don't think so,’ Andrew said sadly, though when Keith asked him he couldn't say why.

  Uncle Dan had looked a bit like Grandad, though father and son were very different in character. According to Keith's mother, her brother Daniel was a live wire, and according to his father, a bit off the rails. Neither description could ever be applied to Daniel's father. Grandad was a man of routine and unshakeable beliefs, prone to odd fits of exuberance but generally calm, safe as houses, and with the same slow, sleepy smile and clear­eyed gaze as Keith.

  ‘Hi, Grandad,’ Keith greeted him.

  Grandad dropped a kiss on top of Keith's head and rubbed his arm affectionately. ‘How goes it?’

  ‘Not bad.’

  ‘Andrew gone home?’

  ‘Yes, half an hour ago.’

  ‘Read any new books recently?’ Grandad asked, and Keith laughed obediently. It was another family joke. Keith had read avidly till the age of eleven, any title he could get hold of, on any subject, till the day when, having run out of reading material, he resorted to the old Bible gathering dust on a shelf in his father's study. Since then, he had been reading little else.

  ‘What are you on now?’ Grandad asked him. ‘Still a big fan of Elijah?’

  ‘Daniel,’ Keith said reluctantly. He didn't like their names to be used in a joking tone, since they had become friends of his - sometimes the only ones, he felt, who could really understand him.

  ‘Daniel in the lion's den, eh?’ said Grandad rousingly. ‘What do you see in all those old stories? Isn't the New Testament more use to people nowadays?’

  ‘It's the same,’ said Keith. ‘None of it goes out of date, does it? People don't really change,’

  ‘You may have a point,’ Grandad conceded. ‘Though I wonder what Moses and Elijah, or Matthew, Mark, Luke and John for that matter, would make of all this technology. Look at you - electric wheelchair, fancy computer, special bed. They'd think you were an alien from outer space. No, they wouldn't: they wouldn't know about life on other planets either, would they? They'd think you were ... I don't know.’

  ‘An angel,’ said Keith and chuckled.

  ‘You are an angel,’ said Grandad seriously. Tears came into his eyes and he turned his head aside and coughed discreetly into a large linen handkerchief. His ideal of manliness was traditional and did not allow for crying. He sometimes felt that when Keith died he would have to die too; his heart would not accommodate any more grief. He always tried, though, to let Keith express his feelings. He was aware that the boy put on a brave face for his brother and his parents. ‘How are you feeling,’ he asked now, ‘about this operation tomorrow?’

  Sharp-eyed, he saw Keith's face cloud over. ‘It's all right to be afraid,’ he added.

  ‘I know,’ Keith said. ‘Jacob was afraid when he wrestled with the angel. He didn't know what he was fighting or why.’

  ‘Are you fighting it?’ asked Grandad gently. ‘Can't face going through with it all over again? Your fifteenth, isn't it?’

  ‘Yes. If I decide to go ahead with it.’

  Grandad pursed his lips sympathetically. ‘Don't have much choice, old son, do you? If the doctors advise ...’

  ‘The last doctor thought I'd had enough operations now,’ Keith pointed out. ‘He said there comes a point when even extensive surgery can only effect a minor improvement, and it's not worth the risk of the anaesthetic and the deterioration in health.’

  ‘But this new doctor's more optimistic,’ Grandad said. ‘He thinks if they straighten the leg bones there'll be less strain on the hip joint.’

  ‘The kneebone's connected to the thigh bone, the thigh bone's connected to the hipbone!’ Keith sang out suddenly, in a high wavery voice.

  Grandad sat and watched him. His eyes were grave.

  ‘So hear the word of the Lord,’ sang Keith. He stopped singing. ‘But what is the word of the Lord, in my case? Have any of the doctors asked him?’

  ‘What's the problem, son?’ asked Grandad. ‘You can tell me, you know.’

  Keith, like his grandfather had, turned his head aside. Grandad handed him a tissue from the box on the bedside locker, beside the Lucozade and the oranges Keith's mother had brought in earlier.

  ‘I don't want to sound horrible,’ Keith said.

  ‘Won't sound horrible to me,’ said Grandad staunchly.

  ‘Well ... what if whatever is done to the body affects your soul? I mean, the thigh bone's connected to the hip bone, and so on. I know the anatomy. But where do all these bones connect with me? I mean, who knows what it does to the person's soul, having all these adjustments made to the joints and bones?’

  ‘I'm not sure I follow you,’ said Grandad. His forehead was furrowed with the effort to understand.

  ‘The last doctor that was here, the one who left, seemed like a good man to me,’ Keith said. ‘When he wasn't sure about something he said so, and he asked me. Like last time, he said it wasn't certain the operation on my knee would make that much difference to me. A bit more mobility, he expected. But then, the anaesthetic always affects my breathing and sometimes it doesn't go back to being easy.’

  ‘I know,’ said Grandad. He had noticed his grandson becoming shorter of breath after each operation.

  ‘And he said any surgery is weakening and whereas a relatively healthy body will recover from the weakness, mine might not. My arms never got back their strength, did they, after that operation on my neck?’

  ‘No, but that might have happened anyway, Keith.’

  ‘Bit of a coincidence, though,’ Keith said. ‘Anyway, Mr Gannet said it was up to me whether I had the operation or not. I told you that.’

  ‘Yes, you told me at the time. And you de
cided to go ahead with it.’

  ‘Only because Mum got upset, Grandad, really.’

  His grandfather bowed his head. ‘She wants to do what's best. She doesn't like you having all these operations, believe me.’

  ‘But she keeps insisting on them,’ Keith said. His voice was becoming strained and he cleared his throat. ‘Everybody does.’

  ‘I suppose she believes the doctor knows best,’ said Grandad simply. ‘If a person's not going to take the experts’ advice, what's the point of going to them?’

  ‘But Mr Gannet didn't advise it,’ Keith said. ‘He said it was up to me.’

  ‘Yes, but obviously he must have thought it worth trying,’ said Grandad, ‘or it would never have been suggested in the first place. It was kind of him to leave it to you to decide whether you felt you could go ahead with it, but in the end, these surgeons wouldn't operate unless they believed it was necessary.’

  Keith's face reddened. ‘He wasn't saying that it was necessary but I could say no if I couldn't face it. He was saying that things aren't that cut and dried, Grandad. There might be advantages, but there are also drawbacks. He let me decide because it was something that couldn't be decided by him, because he wasn't the one who had to live with the results. And he was right.’

  ‘I'm sure he was,’ said Grandad soothingly, but Keith saw that he was becoming agitated, twisting his handkerchief around his hand and straightening it out again, like someone bandaging and unwrapping an invisible wound.

  ‘But this man,’ said Keith, ‘is talking about the benefits to the family in making it easier to lift me, and about the contribution I'm making to medical research. And I don't think he's putting me first. He's thinking about his career. He's not being a man with me, Grandad, like Mr Gannet was; he's treating me like a successful specialist with a young patient who doesn't. have the wisdom to understand his own case.’

  Grandad looked bewildered. ‘But he is the specialist, Keith, and you are a young lad who hasn't studied medicine like he has ...’

  ‘I don't trust him as a person,’ said Keith flatly. ‘I don't feel I want to put my soul into his hands. I did with Mr Gannet, not because he was perfect or knew everything about medicine, but because he had a good spirit. Even if he got it wrong and I came out of the operation with more disabilities than I had when I went in, I knew he wouldn't do my soul any harm.’

  ‘How can a doctor affect your soul, Keith?’ said Grandad, concerned. ‘Your soul's in the hands of God. You just have to trust him.’

  ‘I do trust him,’ said Keith. ‘And he trusts me to make up my own mind. He gave me free will. And as long as I'm a good person, I could make decisions that might not be God's first choice but I won't come to any harm.’

  ‘Of course you won't,’ Grandad said, feeling more sure of his ground. ‘Of course God won't let you come to any harm.’

  ‘Unless,’ said Keith sombrely, ‘I go against my God-given instincts and go along with what someone else wants - someone I believe is not really listening to God or to me and just wants to tinker about with the body as though it was a machine; someone who wants to justify his authority and do something to every patient, even if it's not for the patient's lasting benefit.’

  Grandad put his hand on Keith's arm. ‘Don't be bitter, son,’ he said. ‘You won't come to any harm if you trust God and do what the doctor says.’

  Keith moved his arm. ‘What if trusting God, in this case, means not doing what the doctor wants or what Mum wants or what anyone wants but what I feel is for my benefit, even if everyone thinks I'm stubborn and selfish?’

  ‘No one thinks that,’ said Grandad. He looked suddenly old. Keith had never shaken his hand off like that before. ‘I don't know what to say,’ he said.

  A round lady in a pink overall appeared with a trolley. ‘Steak and kidney pie for my favourite boy!’ she announced. ‘And caramel custard for afters. Are you going to feed him, Grandpa?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ said Keith. ‘You'll be late for your tea at home,’ he told his grandfather. ‘You go, and I'll wait for the auxiliary to come and help me eat.’

  Grandad was about to protest but thought better of it. ‘See you soon, then,’ he said.

  Keith didn't like to see him looking sad. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said. ‘I really appreciate your visits, Grandad.’

  Polite with him now, Grandad thought; that was another first. He went to kiss Keith on the top of his head, then took his hand and shook it instead. Perhaps what the boy had been trying to say was that it was time they stopped treating him like a child. And Keith hadn't meant any offence; it would be over-sensitive to take it personally. It was natural for the child to be depressed. Once the ordeal of this operation was over, Keith would be back to his normal self - sunny-tempered with a smile for everyone.

  ‘You're a brave lad,’ he said.

  Keith watched him walk away.

  ‘That's right,’ said the lady in the pink overall, fitting the detachable tray across the arms of the wheelchair ready for his meal. ‘You certainly are the bravest boy of all time.’

  Keith shook his head. ‘Sometimes it's braver to stand up for what you think's right,’ he said. ‘And I'm not brave enough.’

  The anaesthetist came to see him before the nurses settled him down for the night. ‘All right about tomorrow?’ he said. ‘Any questions you want to ask me?’

  ‘No,’ said Keith. ‘Everything's fine.’

  He dreamt that night about Daniel in the lions’ den, only Daniel, instead of standing proudly among the ravenous animals, armed with faith in the God who kept his chosen ones safe from being harmed, was clinging to the bars, pleading with the lions to stay away from him. Keith woke up sweating, with pain in his arms.