Cecile sat in a chair in front of my desk and crossed her splendid legs. She was wearing high-heeled leather boots, which would be almost as good as bare feet in a snowfall. I offered coffee. She accepted. I got it for her and some for myself. Who cares about sleeping. Then I sat behind my desk and admired her knees.
'Are you looking at my legs?' Cecile said.
'I am,' I said. 'I'm a firm believer in racial equality.'
'And sexism,' Cecile said.
'In its place,' I said.
Cecile smiled.
'Hawk and I are seeing one another again,' she said.
'Good,' I said.
'How do you think he is?'
'Fine,' I said.
'He seems just the same to me,' she said.
'Yes,' I said.
'But he shouldn't be,' Cecile said.
'Because?'
'Because he was badly hurt, almost killed, and, what to call it, professionally compromised, I guess.'
'Stuff happens,' I said.
'But there's no sign that it affected him.'
'It affected him,' I said.
'And how would you know that?'
'It would affect me,' I said.
'And you're just like him?'
'No one's just like Hawk,' I said. 'But I'm less unlike him than many.'
'And you wouldn't have a moment or two of- why me?'
'You can't do what I do, let alone what Hawk does, and go around saying why me? You're a surgeon. You must know about dying.'
Cecile nodded.
'What was it like for you?' she said.
'Well, the thing about almost dying,' I said, 'is that a lot of the time, you don't know that you almost died until a long time after you didn't. When Hawk came into the hospital, he was unconscious. He was in surgery for something like twelve hours. And in intensive care something like ten days. Most of that time he was unaware.'
'Intensive care can be a very brutal experience,' Cecile said.
'It is,' I said. 'But most of the time you don't know it. You wake up for a moment and something awful is going on that you'd rather not remember and then you're gone again. And even after you start being awake, you're so whacko that it's aimless to evaluate anything you might be thinking. I thought there were dioramas in the overhead lights.'
'The nurses call it ICU syndrome,' Cecile said. 'Trauma, extended anesthesia, painkillers, sleep deprivation…' She waved her hand.
'I was paranoid delusional,' I said, 'even after I got out of ICU. I pulled all the hookups out one night, because I thought I was escaping something. Paul Giacomon was in from Chicago, and after that, he and Hawk and Susan took turns spending the night with me. They were the only ones I trusted not to be in on the conspiracy.'
'Did you know you were crazy?'
'I did, I knew I was in the hospital. And I knew I was in a freezing cold railroad station in New Bedford, being stalked by somebody.'
'Both realities equally,' Cecile said.
'And simultaneously.'
'So by the time you are awake and rational,' she said, 'you are pretty much out of danger. In effect, though you've had a miserable time, you did not experience almost dying. You only heard about it afterwards.'
'That's exactly right,' I said.
'Do you think that's Hawk's experience?'
'Yes.'
'Have you talked about it with him?'
'No.'
'And the weakness?' she said. 'The dependence?'
'Don't they teach you this stuff in med school?' I said.
