young man, but able. He will bring three gifts: The first gift she must not accept. The second gift she should give away to the first person who speaks to her kindly. The third gift is for her alone.
Her mother, her beauty known through five kingdoms, had three royal suitors. On Good Friday one brought her a rabbit, the symbol of fertility and renewal. Not to be outdone, on All Souls’ Eve the second suitor gave her a black cat, emblematic of the witches’ Sabbath. On the night before Christmas a donkey was found tied to a tree in the front yard. A donkey in Germantown! Let that be a lesson to you, her parents said. But she accepted none of these suitors because she was waiting. And then He came.
The laying of hands upon her, roughly.
But when all is done, when the end is near, what is left? What is one left with? Physical sensation. The pleasure that comes from relieving one’s bowels under hygienic conditions. From laying one’s head on a soft pillow. The release of the straps after a long hard night of pulling and pushing. To awaken from nightmares and find that they were, comparatively, the sweetest of dreams. Now that it is over, now that it’s near the end, she can think. She can allow herself to drift to places that before she would not go.
It’s the visions that make the waiting possible. And what visions! In glorious color, all senses activated. Fields of blooming, perfumed flowers, gleaming sterile operating rooms ready for cutting, beloved faces that she can reach out and caress, and soft hands that caress back. Heavenly music.
She does not know this person. Is it male or female? She cannot tell anymore. Whoever it is, they are speaking.
She doesn’t answer. She thinks something has happened, something important, but she can’t remember what.
No, not really, she says. But your voice is comforting. I believe that you are dear to me in some way.
She’s still not sure who this young person is, but she cannot stay here too long. There are a rabbit and a cat to feed and a donkey to ride.
Yes, she knows how insane work can be. One patient after another, bones bursting out of skin, how fragile the human body is, how easily penetrated and broken, how difficult to put together again. But the work doesn’t need to be so sloppy. Who made this mess? She cannot believe it. She cannot believe her eyes. Who would do such a careless job.
You didn’t clean up the OR, she says.
Mark is dead.
She can’t forget the OR. It is on her mind. Her vision of the day. A burning image.
You didn’t adequately prep for your procedure, she says. It was a mess from start to finish! Wherever did you do your training?
Sloppy. Sloppy and inexact. Have I taught you nothing? Skull base surgeries are delicate. Under the best of conditions you must be careful. But this is unsanitary, even brutal.
That accounts for all the blood, of course.
Then, louder, the man-woman person addresses the blue-suited woman sitting in the corner of the room.
The woman leaves the room. There is a rattling, then a click as the door is locked from the outside.
She’s not sure what this person wants. She? He? has got both hands on her arms at this point, is squeezing too hard. It hurts.
