Chapter XXXVI pgs. 233-235
“Yes, Doctor.” Maria started the saline and glucose drip, shaken and embarrassed, but grateful that the error had been discovered in time.
“Maria,”
“Yes, Doctor?”
“Don’t bother coming in tomorrow.”
After Maria had gone, Dr. Heckleweit removed a syringe from his jacket pocket and injected its contents into Johanna’s IV line. Several minutes later, he checked Johanna’s pulse. Thirty-eight beats per minute. He checked it again five minutes later. Thirty-five. Then thirty-two. Then twenty-eight. He dropped Johanna’s arm wishing he’d used a stronger dose and settled into a chair to wait.
Johanna had only the faintest sensation of her arm being dropped, but she missed the warmth of his hand on her wrist. She felt so cold - as if her body were packed in ice. Johanna would have shivered, but she lacked the strength.
She tried moving an arm, a foot, a finger. Nothing worked. Have I died, she wondered. When she found the strength to squint open her eyes, Johanna had the sense of peering out unfocused from inside her body, so she was probably still mortal, her soul still attached to her body. And such a heavy body it was! She tried to move her arm again, but she might as well have tried to move a boulder. Johanna remembered once, as a child, trying to pull her Daddy out of bed. Try as she might, she had not been able to budge him. That’s what her body felt like.
How about now, she wondered. Am I dying now? Will I be dead by tomorrow? It seems sort of pathetic that my life is almost over, and I accomplished so little. But I did try to walk with you. And, in the big picture, God, I wonder how I rate. I know that life’s not supposed to be a contest – to see who dies with the fewest sins and the most good deeds. But I still wonder… I did the best I could, or at least I did what I did and some of it was good, and some was shameful and in the end I’ll come to you with my bag of sins and my bag of virtues, and we’ll sit down and talk. And her mind floated off to sleep.
She saw herself in a field of feathery greens and the wind seemed to chant the words, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
The image of Alex came back into her mind. He was five years old. She remembered the set of his jaw, his lower teeth protruding like a bulldog’s. And she remembered the fight in the play yard. The gagging sense of dirt in the back of her throat came back as vividly as if it had just happened. Her arms and legs stung as they had when she’d been pushed down into the carrot patch all those years ago, and, along with it came the stifling sense of shame, violation, and betrayal as when Alex had told his story, and the teacher had believed him. More than the physical pain, the humiliation stung with fire. And just as it had all those years ago, fury in her heart burned strong. “Please, God, don’t ask me to forgive him, because I can’t. I want to…but I just can’t”
In her mind, she saw the five-year-old: she saw the freckles peppered over his face and his eyes, squinting tightly with anger. He towered over her as massive as a giant. She bit down on his fingers as she had all those years ago, and when she released it, his shape seemed to shift from boy to bear, and then it shrank to that of a scorpion.
Johanna snarled and stamped her foot, and the scorpion ran from her across a patch of hot white sand, his stinger curled safely under his tail. Seeking shade and moisture, he scuttled under a dried-up branch. Johanna picked up the branch. A twig broke off and with it she poked at the scorpion, prodding its claws, and watching it fend off her thrusts like a miniature boxer, whipping its tail forward into empty air all the while.
Just a bully, thought Johanna, while jabbing his middle with the stick, just a pathetic, impotent bully! And the twig glanced off of his hard shell with a “thunk”. Another poke and another prod. Now Johanna was herding the scorpion away from the dead branch’s cooling shade and back towards the hot sand. He veered away. And his legs, skittering along the sand, made chuck-chuck sounds with each step as the sand grains tumbled against each other.
“Yes, Doctor.” Maria started the saline and glucose drip, shaken and embarrassed, but grateful that the error had been discovered in time.
“Maria,”
“Yes, Doctor?”
“Don’t bother coming in tomorrow.”
After Maria had gone, Dr. Heckleweit removed a syringe from his jacket pocket and injected its contents into Johanna’s IV line. Several minutes later, he checked Johanna’s pulse. Thirty-eight beats per minute. He checked it again five minutes later. Thirty-five. Then thirty-two. Then twenty-eight. He dropped Johanna’s arm wishing he’d used a stronger dose and settled into a chair to wait.
Johanna had only the faintest sensation of her arm being dropped, but she missed the warmth of his hand on her wrist. She felt so cold - as if her body were packed in ice. Johanna would have shivered, but she lacked the strength.
She tried moving an arm, a foot, a finger. Nothing worked. Have I died, she wondered. When she found the strength to squint open her eyes, Johanna had the sense of peering out unfocused from inside her body, so she was probably still mortal, her soul still attached to her body. And such a heavy body it was! She tried to move her arm again, but she might as well have tried to move a boulder. Johanna remembered once, as a child, trying to pull her Daddy out of bed. Try as she might, she had not been able to budge him. That’s what her body felt like.
How about now, she wondered. Am I dying now? Will I be dead by tomorrow? It seems sort of pathetic that my life is almost over, and I accomplished so little. But I did try to walk with you. And, in the big picture, God, I wonder how I rate. I know that life’s not supposed to be a contest – to see who dies with the fewest sins and the most good deeds. But I still wonder… I did the best I could, or at least I did what I did and some of it was good, and some was shameful and in the end I’ll come to you with my bag of sins and my bag of virtues, and we’ll sit down and talk. And her mind floated off to sleep.
She saw herself in a field of feathery greens and the wind seemed to chant the words, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
The image of Alex came back into her mind. He was five years old. She remembered the set of his jaw, his lower teeth protruding like a bulldog’s. And she remembered the fight in the play yard. The gagging sense of dirt in the back of her throat came back as vividly as if it had just happened. Her arms and legs stung as they had when she’d been pushed down into the carrot patch all those years ago, and, along with it came the stifling sense of shame, violation, and betrayal as when Alex had told his story, and the teacher had believed him. More than the physical pain, the humiliation stung with fire. And just as it had all those years ago, fury in her heart burned strong. “Please, God, don’t ask me to forgive him, because I can’t. I want to…but I just can’t”
In her mind, she saw the five-year-old: she saw the freckles peppered over his face and his eyes, squinting tightly with anger. He towered over her as massive as a giant. She bit down on his fingers as she had all those years ago, and when she released it, his shape seemed to shift from boy to bear, and then it shrank to that of a scorpion.
Johanna snarled and stamped her foot, and the scorpion ran from her across a patch of hot white sand, his stinger curled safely under his tail. Seeking shade and moisture, he scuttled under a dried-up branch. Johanna picked up the branch. A twig broke off and with it she poked at the scorpion, prodding its claws, and watching it fend off her thrusts like a miniature boxer, whipping its tail forward into empty air all the while.
Just a bully, thought Johanna, while jabbing his middle with the stick, just a pathetic, impotent bully! And the twig glanced off of his hard shell with a “thunk”. Another poke and another prod. Now Johanna was herding the scorpion away from the dead branch’s cooling shade and back towards the hot sand. He veered away. And his legs, skittering along the sand, made chuck-chuck sounds with each step as the sand grains tumbled against each other.
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