I wonder what else I didn’t read? No wonder the dream seemed to go on so long. And I’m gathering the strength to ask again, but he sticks a hand mirror in front of my face, a cheap import thing with a plastic rim and handle, like you might see in any dollar store in the neighborhood, and I look.
I know it’s not done, but disappointment still stabs me right in the gut. But I make myself look. It’s a lot better. I’ve got ears now, sort of. And a nose. My face looks like … well, a face anyway. Not very pretty, but you won’t scream and faint if I run into you in a dark alley. No hair anywhere and the skin is real pink, like I’ve got sunburn or something. I let my breath out in a long sigh, trying to breathe all that disappointment out with it, because if he quit now, I’d still be a whole lot better off.
I don’t want him to quit.
“I want to give you a week to recover.” Doc is looking at me thoughtfully. “You should be able to be released by tomorrow morning.” He hesitates and he’s frowning a little. “Do you have somebody staying with you? Somebody who can look after you while you get your strength back?”
I shake my head and I could swear that he relaxes a bit.
“Tell you what.” He smiles. “Why don’t you be my guest? I’ve got plenty of room in my condo. That way I can keep a first-hand eye on my handiwork. And the building is secure, so we can keep the media from bothering you.”
I start to say no, and it’s so automatic that it stops me and I swallow it. Why am I so quick? I study him for a minute, but I can’t put my finger on anything. He’s no Domino. I’m pretty sure of that. Maybe it’s just that … nobody does that. Just offers. No strings. He’s waiting, and I can see that he’s getting a little impatient, maybe offended because I didn’t jump at his offer. What the hell?
“I’m … sorry.” I don’t have to pretend to be confused because I am. “That’s really … that’s nice of you.” I’m groping for the words I’m supposed to say, but hey, I’ve never really been in this situation before. “Thank you,” I finally say, feeling like a boob. But he smiles, his eyes happy.
“That’s fine then. You rest, and I’ll come by to get you when I get ready to leave. I shouldn’t be here too late.” He looks at the nurse now, and I watch all the warmth vanish from his face. He gives her some instructions and I guess I’m supposed to go walk around later, but not too much, and there’s some med codes, too.
He goes off and she goes off, but comes back in a little bit to bring me a cup full of pills and a lunch tray with hospital blah on it, Jell-O that looks like green plastic, some of that fake chicken soup, custard. It hasn’t changed since I was here the first time, and that was twenty years ago, when I was four. The first taste of custard brings it all back and I lay the spoon back on the tray and lean back, hoping that one of those pills is going to make me sleep. Without dreams.
But it doesn’t. So I pull the bedside screen over and get online, and as soon as I get there, I get a screen full of bright flowers, like someone dropped about six bunches from a downtown flower stall on the floor. Bright red script written in a pointed slanty hand spells out the words, how u doin—sweet so far. It’s daturk’s online handwriting. I recognize it, wonder if she’s good enough that she’s really been hacking my med records or if she’s just guessing. I trace the words Doing sweet. Not done yet on the screen, watch the words take shape in black shaky script. It’s an effort to write that much and I want to let my hand fall. But I make the effort, and trace a few more letters: Doc invited me to stay with him. I said yes. And I’m not sure why I told her that, but all of a sudden it seems real important to know what she thinks about it. And it’s pointless to stare at the screen, because she may not get back to me for days. But right away, a crimson line starts to curve to life on the screen. I wait expectantly, but there are no words, just a fiery question mark glowing among all the spilled flowers and scattered petals.
I shrug, and I don’t know why it bothers me. But I write “it’s okay” on the screen and then I really do have to lie flat for a minute or two. And when the ceiling stops moving and I look back up at the screen, all the writing is gone. There are just the flowers, scattered all over.
I kind of feel comforted and I’m not sure why. I guess because daturk seems to be able to get in anywhere, so I guess sometimes I’ve sort of pretended that she’s always there. Just checking in, you know? So I don’t worry about it anymore, I’ll see what happens when I go home with the doc. I can always catch a cab back to the walk-up if I have to.
So I pull down a new book, some guy who walked across Canada, and it’s okay, but the author’s trying too hard, and the nurse is happy when I sit up, and even happier when I wobble down the hall and back without her nagging me too much. Hey, I know the drill. I spent a lot of time here, learned that if you do what they ask and don’t bug them, they’re nice to you, and if you’re a pain, they get even, sooner or later.
And about the time they bring in another meal tray that’s loaded with food that carries way too much baggage from the past, the doc shows up again. This time, he’s not wearing the white doctor suit, just a classic jacket and shirt, no tie, no virus mask, every bit the doc, but smiling and relaxed, like we’re old friends meeting for a golf game or something. And the nurse brings me a release to sign and retina and a wheelchair, because they never let you walk out of the building, guess they’re afraid you’ll sue if you fall down and break a leg. And it’s not too bad walking to the car that the attendant brings up. A car. Well, I guess if you’re a doc, you can afford the registration fees and maybe he has to hurry into the hospital for emergencies.
I think it’s the first time I’ve ridden in a car that wasn’t a taxi since that day. And it’s still real bright out, because it’s summer, and the streets are full of after-work crowds out shopping and eating and making eyes, squatting with wireless access screens on the pedestals of statues, on curbs, leaning against storefronts. No reason to be inside except to sleep. We pass them and they don’t even look.
The condo is in one of the new towers, with a garage underneath with a gate and a guard with hard eyes. It’s fluorescent bright, and the elevator that whisks us upstairs is covered with really clean green carpet, walls, floor, everywhere. No mirrors. I get a little dizzy from the rush … I’m still feeling pretty rocky.
We get off into this little space that’s supposed to look like a courtyard, I guess, with a brick path and gravel and a pool, and even the light feels like sunlight, and as the elevator doors close, something plops into the pool. A frog? A real one? I want to look, but the doc has his hand on my elbow now and he isn’t going to let me stop, I can feel it.
Uh oh. Domino after all?
The door that the brick path leads to opens all by itself, and I only see one other door on the other side of the courtyard space, so this is a pretty fancy place. I’m really shaky now, and I don’t much care if the doc is a Domino or not, I just want to sit down somewhere before I pass out, and everything sort of has this too bright, too clear look, like you get just before the black closes in. The room inside is huge, so big I can’t really sort it out, it’s all windows and light, and I can see blue sky, so we have to be way high, and green leaves and flowers and the sound of water, and the doc is pushing me and I sort of fall down into this chair.
It takes a little bit for the room to come into focus again, and when it does, the doc is holding out a glass, and he’s looking a little worried, but not enough to scare me.
“I’m sorry.” He pushes the glass a centimeter in my direction. “Take a drink of water.”
And I do, and it helps, and I can look around. It’s one big room, with a marble-topped kitchen island at one end and a fireplace with fake logs at the other, and chairs and small sofas covered in leather-looking stuff, grouped together, all tasteful soft browns and grays with a few real bright splashes of color. The glass is a greenhouse wall with plants and bright splashy flowers and a little waterfall and rocks. It looks like one of those upscale ads you get hit wit
h online.
“You should get your strength back in a day or two.” Doc bustles in the kitchen area. “Juice?” he asks. “I’ve got just about anything you might want.”
“Thanks. Anything is fine.”
He brings me a tall glass, like the glass that had the water in it. It’s too heavy to be glass, cut into sharp geometric designs. Crystal? The juice is pink and I don’t recognize the flavor, maybe something tropical. It helps. I didn’t really eat the hospital stuff and all of a sudden I’m hungry. Doc has shed his jacket and poured a glass of dark red wine, and he’s bustling around in the kitchen, not chattering, which I like, but getting out pans and mushrooms and a thick slab of salmon, cooking quickly and efficiently enough that Antonio would only curl his lip and not really sneer. And in a pretty short time, he serves up salmon sautéed in olive oil with some tiny perfect vegetables and fresh pasta and we eat at the small wooden table at the edge of the kitchen space. There’s a single flower in a vase on the table and the food is good … really good, I mean, as good as what Antonio feeds the family at the restaurant. And I’m starving.
Doc pours me a glass of wine to go with the salmon, a lighter red then he was drinking before, and it’s nice, light with a hint of fruit. A merlot? Domino has been teaching me wine, saving the stuff that the customers don’t finish, making me pay attention. He may be handsy, but he’s an okay guy and he really knows his wine.
“I’ll be gone early in the morning.” Doc swirls his wine in his glass, his eyes on the darkening city beyond the glass. “Make yourself at home here. Do you mind staying in the condo?” He raises his eyebrows. “I haven’t reprogrammed my security, and once you go outside, you can’t get back in.”
“That’s fine.” I shrug. “I don’t really have any place to go.” Then I frown at my own glass, the wine tugging at me. “How come you picked me?” I blurt the words out, and there’s this twinge of fear, like he might suddenly realize that he made a mistake. “I mean … why me?”
He smiles at me then, just a little. Folds his napkin up and lays it beside his plate. “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask.” He leans his elbows on the table. “I looked at a lot of applicants.” He’s speaking slowly, thoughtfully. “You weren’t the only one with this kind of extensive damage.” His lips tighten briefly. “I’m not sure exactly what made me choose you in particular. Maybe because the cause was so … trivial. Not war, not an act of terrorism … just an accident.”
He’s lying. I feel a small thin sliver of ice in my gut. Oh, yeah, I can always tell. I don’t know why. Maybe because I watch people a lot and they most of the time try not to notice me. So they act like I’m not there. But I’m just about never wrong.
And he’s lying.
“Look, you really got rushed into this.” He picks up his glass of wine. “I don’t know who leaked the project to the media, but they really went for the story.” He makes a face. “I wanted to get you safely into the hospital before someone interfered. Someone always has a reason. I’m not surprised that you feel a bit overwhelmed.”
I run my thumb across the grain of the table, remembering that old man again. “How did you get … my picture.” My voice is a little shaky in spite of myself.
“I contacted Children’s Services.” He clears his throat. “I assume they got permission to collect personal effects after your mother … after the accident. There was no other family. I’m letting you get too tired. Why don’t you come sit?” He nods toward the living room area. “The city is lovely after dark. Or would you rather go straight to bed?”
I don’t want to go to bed. If I don’t sleep, I’m going to start thinking about this and … I don’t want to think about this. So I get up and go over to one of the big leather chairs and I don’t wobble too much. The view from here really is lovely. It’s not quite full dark, but the sky is a deep royal blue and the lights spangle the towers and streets with gold and green and red, and the new aerial trams slide like glowing beads across invisible wires, and I’ve never been this high up in my life. And the doc talks for awhile, real easy, as if we’ve been friends for a long time. He tells me about medical school and wanting to do this twenty years ago, back when it was just an experimental concept and stem cell research was getting outlawed everywhere, and it looked like this kind of thing— regrowing tissues – would never happen. And his eyes glow when he talks about it, and I think of the old guy with the gaunt face who preaches about his angry god down at the little square near my walk-up, and that’s how his eyes shine.
I finally start nodding off and I lose track of what he’s saying. So he shows me to bed, and it’s a room about the size of my walk-up with its own bathroom and a spa tub and a separate shower and windows that look out at a bridge. And from this angle and height, I’m not even sure which bridge it is. And there are two twin beds and a chest, and there’s a robe and a new set of pajamas on one of the beds.
“You didn’t bring a lot with you,” Doc says with a smile. “There are some clothes in the chest and basic stuff in the bathroom. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will,” I say, and he says good night and closes the door.
I sit on the edge of the bed, my feet bare, the carpet thick as a mattress under my bare feet. I’m kind of dizzy from the wine and the day and probably all the time I was out while my face was growing back. I finally get up and I go into the bathroom, and I make myself look in the mirror. Yeah. Better. Closer to human. Not there yet, but closer. And there is toothpaste and that kind of stuff, but I just go straight to bed. And it’s weird. As I pull the cover up over me, already half asleep, it comes to me that this is somebody’s room. Not a guest room. Somebody sleeps here. And I’m not sure why I think that, because there’s no other clothes or stuff lying around. But I’m sure of it.
I wake up late, and for a minute, I can’t remember where I am, and then it all comes back to me. And I can’t help it. I go into the bathroom, first thing, and I look at my face. And the doc is gone and I prowl around. I don’t know why I thought this was somebody’s room. There’s nothing to show. Clothes in the drawers all new, all my size. Expensive stuff, like I was a doc, too. It kind of creeps me out that they’re there, but I put them on because my crummy pants seem wrong in this fancy place, like they might rub off somehow, stain the furniture. And I really feel … different now. Like I’m changing and not just my face. I jumped off that cliff, that’s for sure. There’s a screen in the bedroom and I try it, but a polite woman’s voice tells me that I don’t have the password to get online, but there’s a separate library link and I can download books without a password. And I want to talk to daturk, but I settle for that book I started in the hospital, and by the time the doc arrives, I’ve finished it.
The evening is strange, nice and somehow creepy at the same time. Doc fixes another really fine dinner, and there’s wine, and he asks me about what I’ve read and we talk—and you know, I’ve never talked about what I read to anybody but daturk. He’s smart. Well, I guess you got to be, to be a doc, huh? And he asks me about school and gets all thoughtful when I tell him about doing all the online courses I could get from the state. Then he starts talking about the benefit of in the flesh classes, and how maybe I want to do that when I’m done with the medical stuff and that would be fine.
But he forgets how I live.
That takes real money.
And when I ask him about online, he sort of waves the question away, saying something about security and changing it is a pain. And just as I’m getting ready to go to bed, I remember and I ask him who used to sleep in the bedroom. He gets quiet, and I know right then I said the wrong thing. Then he says nobody.
He’s lying again.
It goes on like this, and it’s nice. Like the support group … only he really talks. Most of them don’t, except for Kitten. I go back to the hospital, and this time the session is short, and I’m not so whacked when I wake up. I come back to the condo after the second treatment. Doc doesn’t even ask me
. He just shows up, and I’m not so shaky this time. I guess this session didn’t take as long. I didn’t dream as much, but I saw the old man again, and this time he held my hand around the blade of his knife and I felt such pride as the first pale sliver of wood curled back over my knuckles. There are no scars on those hands. They’re all smooth. So it’s from before, but I knew that. I wonder who the old guy is. My grandfather? I stretch for some kind of memory, but all I get is a picture of those small smooth hands and that pride and the curl of blonde wood.
“I brought this home.” Doc pulls a mini CD out of his pocket after dinner one night. “I thought you might want to see what I’m doing.”
It’s creepy, watching it. I sit in one of the chairs with my knees up under my chin and watch the cold arch of the machine crawl back and forth across my face. That’s all you can see—my face—the rest is all green sheets and hot light. Tubes and wires connect the silver arch of the machine to something I can’t see, and it runs on a kind of track, like a train, you know? And I guess he edited it some, because this is days and days, right? Weeks. But the machine zips back and forth and it maybe takes a half hour to watch … my face grow. On one pass, the machine squirts out this pale stuff … the scaffold, Doc calls it. Then it goes back again and sprays pinker stuff over … the cells. And they grow and then the machine sprays on more scaffold … .
It keeps crawling back and forth and my face … grows. There’s a little hump where most people have a nose and then it’s more of a hump and it gets bigger and arches and I’ve got cheeks and lips and …
“After you were anaesthetized this time, we used an enzyme to dissolve the temporary dermal layer that was in place.” Doc is leaning forward, staring at the screen. “So that the new layers of tissue could bond seamlessly.”
I think about lying there on that table unconscious, my skin melting away. I’ve never dreamed about the fire, but now I shiver, and for a moment I think I’m going to be sick.
The Year's Best SF 22 # 2004 Page 50