There was a silence, then she said abruptly, “Did you come today hoping I would ask your forgiveness for what I did?”
I shook my head. “No, that’s not it at all. If it’s what you want, you have it. No, I wanted to say something about Joseph.”
She frowned. “Joseph who?”
“Joseph son of Jacob. It’s been on my mind, that story. You must know it well. It’s the bit where he reassures his brothers. He says, ‘You plotted evil against me, but God turned it into good.’” I paused, considering the verse. “I think God may have done the same with you and me.”
She leaned forward, and I saw her hands clench into fists, as if she was trying to hold something in. “What do you know about God?”
“Maybe not much. But more than I did.”
She relaxed, perhaps with an effort of will, and a small smile twitched her lips. “Well, that’s good, I suppose. So tell me what good has come out of my wickedness.”
I took a deep breath. “When I look back, I see I was living half a life. I lived for work. My work was, is, important: saving lives, making lives more bearable. That bit hasn’t changed. But it was obsessive. I did little else. On my free days I read whatever I could lay my hands on to advance my career, to further my knowledge, to be better than any of the competition. I guess I was arrogant, but I didn’t see it that way. But also I didn’t really see patients as people. I didn’t dare to wonder what they must be feeling, because it would have made me vulnerable. Empathy is painful, as I’ve found out.” I paused, trying to gather my swirling thoughts; she sat very still, her eyes on my face. “A lot has happened, in my life and in my head, and I think I am a better, kinder person now. And happier. If you feel like beating yourself up at any time about what you did, don’t, not on my account. I can still work – maybe I am not as quick as I used to be, but I am still a heart surgeon, which is all I ever wanted – until recently.”
She looked at me wide-eyed for a while, saying nothing. Then she said, almost in a whisper, “Are you actually thanking me for what I did?”
I smiled. “Not exactly. It was a very bad time, and I wouldn’t want ever to go through it again. But perhaps it had to happen. You were an agent of necessary change. I can’t complain, and I don’t. You made a terrible mistake, and you’re paying for it. I suffered a black time, but I survived and I’m learning how to live. I wanted you to know.”
She nodded slowly. “Father Vincent told me you have a son now.”
“Yes.”
“He is a blessing to you.”
“Yes, indeed.”
She was silent for a long moment, then abruptly she got up. “Thank you for coming to see me,” she said formally. “You’ve come a long way. It was good of you.” She took a step back.
I stood up too, scraping the legs of my chair on the dull blue vinyl floor. “Ms Rawlins – Eve – may I call you Eve?” She stopped, nodded warily. “Please, there’s something I want to ask you.”
She seemed poised to leave. “What is it?”
I hesitated, then spoke in a jumbled rush. “I hope you won’t be offended… My husband is a consultant plastic surgeon – one of the best in the country, so they say. When you get out of here, he could look at your birthmark. There may be something he can do, if not to get rid of it, to reduce it. If you would like that.”
I had no idea how she would react. Would she be angry that I’d had the presumption even to mention it? She bit her lip, and for a moment I saw, beneath the proud veneer of control, a woman who daily endured an unbearable hurt.
“Thank you,” she said at last, her voice low. “I’ll think about it.” She began to walk away, to the door where a heavy-set female prison officer stood impassively, and then half-turned back to me. “Goodbye, Rachel.”
As I drove away from the prison that afternoon, Father Vincent sitting beside me tactfully silent, it came back to me: the thing I had tried to remember at St Luke’s, when the preacher was talking about Jesus being the “Yes” to God’s promises. I laughed aloud. How could I have forgotten? It was one of the things my father had liked to quote, one of Leonard Bernstein’s reputed sayings: “I’m no longer sure what the question is, but I do know that the answer is Yes.”
Book club questions
1. How far did you feel empathy for Rachel at the beginning of the story? Did your attitude change as things developed?
2. What effect did the act of revenge – at the time and later – have on Eve? To what extent do you think this story is about women other than Rachel, such as Eve and Rachel’s mother, Frances?
3. In general, did you find it easy to empathize with the characters? Was there anyone in particular you did or didn’t like?
4. How did you feel about the faith element in the story? Did it enhance the plot, detract from it, or make no difference?
5. Were there any minor characters you would like the author to have developed more fully?
6. We’re not told exactly how Eve tracked Rachel down as she planned her revenge. Would this knowledge have added anything to the story? In general, do omissions like this matter?
7. What is your favourite scene?
8. How did the time in France contribute to Rachel’s development?
9. If you could ask the author a question or make a comment, what would it be? You could tweet @SueLRussell, or leave a comment on her website: www.slrussell.net
10. Have you taken away anything of value from this story? If so, what?
The Healing Knife Page 34