The next morning he woke stiff and bruised, with a large livid weal on his left thigh and a left shoulder that clicked audibly, and ached, whenever he raised his hand above chest level. He endured the next few days in a somnabulist's stupor, doggedly and diligently following the routines of his work and home life, concentrating intensely on the matter in hand however insignificant and banal. On the morning of 20 May he rose early and went to the San Jeronimo as usual. He returned home in the afternoon, knowing he would find Annaliese absent, and wrote her a note saying that a long and complicated operation looked like it would necessitate his staying late that night at the hospital and she should not wait up for him. At the end of the afternoon, before leaving, he glanced around his silent house wondering if there were any small object or precious possession he wanted to take with him, but could think of nothing in particular. He remembered Delphine's comments, how nothing was owned, how possessions were merely borrowed from the world's supply for a short period of time, and decided to leave empty-handed. He would stride away from his house with only the clothes he stood up in. He was going to make as fresh a start as the woman he loved.
The evening routine at the hospital passed in its usual fashion. He tried to keep himself busy, to avoid looking at his watch or any of the clocks positioned at the intersections of passageways. Other members of staff, knowing he was taking two weeks' leave, wished him a pleasant stay in San Teodoro, some even commented he was looking tired and was clearly in need of a rest. News of Pantaleon's death had depressed everyone, and the mood was sombre.
At around 9 in the evening he was suddenly overcome with fatigue, after the mental and physical stresses of the past few days, and fell asleep in the armchair in his consulting room.
He dreamed about Pantaleon. A Pantaleon impeccably dressed, accepting a soup-plate-sized medal from a tiny potentate; Pantaleon, flying like a bird, his arms gracefully flapping, as he circled the belvedere at Sampaloc cawing raucously like a rook; Pantaleon making a speech outside the nipa barn extolling the beauties of someone who sounded suspiciously like Delphine. Then a jumble of images from the flight itself: the freshly lopped trunks of the guava trees slipping beneath the wing; Sieverance in his uniform shaking hands with the other adjudicators; the stark shock on Pantaleon's face as he registered the blood-soaked clothing of his co-flyer. Then he saw the twisted upside-down stare of Pantaleon dead, his lips moving as he delivered a version of his usual pre-operation injunction: 'Spring has come, Salvador,' he said softly. 'It's time to plant rice.'
He woke abruptly, immediately awake, and checked his watch. He walked through the dark wards, past the sleeping patients, quietly greeting the nuns at their stations, feeling alert and poised. There was a minimum of staff on duty. In the main reception hall at the front gate a few messengers lounged and snoozed. No other doctors were in the hospital, only a duty sister sat behind her wooden desk, patiently embroidering a muslin camisa. The San Jeronimo did not encourage emergencies out of normal working hours.
He returned to his office via his operating theatre, just to make sure once again that everything was prepared and ready. As he stood there he felt a shiver of expectation run through him, a thin filament of excitement energising his body. It could not be long now: he was ready.
In his office he completed his paperwork and tidied his desk. In the desk drawer of Senora Diaz was another sealed letter – with instructions for it to be delivered to Annaliese a week hence – saying that he had left her, for ever, and had gone in search of a new life. He wondered now if this was the right note to strike? If Annaliese thought he had gone to his mother's and heard nothing after two weeks she would become alarmed. By the time she discovered he had never been there it would be too late. Searches would be initiated, the police would be informed, but there would be no sign, perhaps he might have been spotted down by the docks? Had he been killed? If not that, why would he run away? There would never be any answers to these questions and perhaps that silence would be kinder to Annaliese. She could then in her grief and bafflement construct whatever explanation was the most consoling. He went to Senora Diaz's desk and tore the letter up.
He was impressed and not a little amazed at how coolly he could deliberate about his leaving of Annaliese. He felt no guilt: she was well provided for, she would have a large proportion of his money and property. Their marriage had been a sham for many months and he felt no love for her. Surely it was kinder to leave her with a mystery rather than the knowledge of brutal rejection? Surely – He heard the running feet of the messenger cross the courtyard to his office. It was 1.35 in the morning. It had begun.
He opened the door.
'A man and a woman, Doctor. Americanos. She's very sick.'
Carriscant ran with the messenger to the reception hall.
He clattered into the hall. Sieverance stood there, half dressed, his shirt open at the neck. In his arms he held Delphine, pale and moaning, bundled up in a blanket.
'Thank God you're here, Doctor,' Sieverance said. 'A ghastly accident, ghastly.'
Delphine was laid on a wooden gurney and Carriscant went through the motions of peering into her eyes, feeling her brow, checking her pulse. She was pale and feverish from the cordite he had given her to swallow. In a low, faltering voice Sieverance explained how she had risen from her bed in the night and then, minutes later, he had heard her calling for him from the bathroom, where he found her lying on the floor.
'In a pool of blood. Blood everywhere. From inside her.'
'Take her to the theatre,' Carriscant ordered the porters. The trolley was wheeled away and the two men followed behind as she was propelled rapidly down dim corridors towards Carriscant's operating theatre.
'She kept saying, 'Get me to Dr Carriscant. Dr Carriscant',' Sieverance said. 'But of course neither of us knew where you lived. So I called in here to get your address. I couldn't believe it when the nurse said you were working late.'
'I was just about to leave. Did your wife say anything more?' Carriscant looked grim, as if he suspected the worse. Everything was proceeding very satisfactorily.
'Terrible pains in her stomach, she said. With the child-'
'I'm sure that's – We'll have to see, Colonel. We'll do our best.'
They arrived at the theatre and Delphine, moaning faintly, moving in discomfort, was lifted out on to the operating table. The two porters stepped back waiting for instructions. Carriscant gave Delphine an injection of a weak saline solution. Miraculously, it seemed to ease the pain. He told the porters to wait with her and led Sieverance back to his consulting rooms where he sat the distraught man down and poured him a glass of rum, into which he covertly tipped a few drops of syrup of chloral hydrate. Sieverance gulped it down.
'I'll be back as soon as we know what's wrong,' he said.
Sieverance looked at him, terrified, trusting. It's so easy to inspire that trust, Carriscant though. How they want to trust us! And he knew it was because of that trust that he was going to succeed this night. Carriscant handed him the rum bottle and told him to drink his fill.
Back in the theatre Carriscant dismissed the porters.
He waited a few seconds after they had gone before talking. He touched her arm and she opened her eyes.
'Perfect,' he said. 'Perfect.'
Carriscant shook Sieverance awake. His eyes were heavy, his lips were slack. He could barely concentrate from the chloral. Carriscant crouched by his chair, his face set, serious. He was wearing his operating gown.
'We cannot save the child,' he said. 'But we must operate for the sake of the mother.'
'Oh God…' Sieverance wiped drool from his chin as his dull brain tried to take this in. 'I can't, I can't… ' He shook his head, and tears began to roll from his eyes.
'Stay here,' Carriscant said. 'Sleep. It's going to be a long night. I'll call you as soon as we know.'
He clutched Delphine's hand in his, squeezing it, looking into her eyes.
'An hour or two, that's all.'
'You will look after me.'
'When the sun comes up we'll be putting out to sea.'
She smiled at him. 'Let's go.'
Gently, he put the gauze mask over her face and let the chloroform drip from the bottle.
Carriscant threw open the lid of the coffer and scooped a long hollow in the ice. He lifted Delphine's unconscious body off the gurney and laid her down in the shallow depression, then pushed and packed the ice chips back over her body until she was almost covered. He pushed up the sleeve of her nightgown and slipped a thermometer into her armpit. This was one area of the whole operation where he had some real concern: he wanted her numbed with cold, literally chilled back to the bone, but not so cold as it could do damage to her bodily
