PART TWO
23
I didn’t recognise the police guards at the door of the intensive care unit. The two youngsters looked wet behind the ears. Phatudi’s clods must be on day shift, but these boys didn’t look any better. They sat staring at me with their pistols safely clipped in their holsters until I reached them. One stood up then.
‘No entry.’ His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep.
‘My name is on the list.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Lemmer.’
He took a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket and opened it out.
‘Martin Fitzroy?’
Fucking Phatudi. ‘Yes.’
‘Wait here.’
The balaclavas could have eliminated them in about four seconds.
I waited. At a quarter past seven Dr Eleanor Taljaard came out of Emma’s ward. She looked tired. I wondered when she had last slept. She said there were ‘positive signs’. ‘She’s still in the coma, but is responding more strongly to external stimuli. Her Glasgow index is eight now.’
‘How much will that improve her chances?’
‘Ask me again after we’ve done the CAT scan tonight.’
‘More or less?’
‘Lemmer, it’s guesswork.’
‘I know that.’
‘Well, I’d say more than fifty per cent.’
‘That’s an improvement on yesterday’s thirty-four per cent.’
‘It is. Let’s not get too excited about it. There’s a still a lot of work to do. You can be of help.’
‘Really?’
‘She needs stimulation, Lemmer. Your voice is the only one she knows. I want you to talk to her.’
‘Me? Talk to her?’
‘Yes.’ With great patience. ‘I want you to sit in the chair beside her bed and talk to her.’
‘For how long?’
‘As long as possible. You have all day.’
‘All day!’
‘Of course, you can eat and drink when you need to, but the more time you spend talking to her, the better.’
‘What do I say?’
‘Whatever you like. Keep your voice level and speak only loud enough for her to hear you. Talk to her.’
Life is not fair.
Eleanor saw exactly how keen I was.
‘Come on, Lemmer, she won’t know what you’re saying. Get a book and read to her. Or tell her the story of a film you’ve seen. Anything. She needs you.’
She seemed lifeless and fragile, pale and forlorn. They had shaved off her hair. There were bandages around her head and chest, wires connected to her, a drip in her arm, monitors and machines making soft electronic noises. Her left hand lay on top of the bedlinen, very still. I wanted to reach out and touch it.
I sat beside her on the bed. I didn’t want to look at her. I looked through the glass on the other side of her. Eleanor Taljaard stood out there watching me. She nodded at me. I nodded back. I looked at Emma.
‘I’m sorry,’ but it was too quiet, she wouldn’t be able to hear me. I cleared my throat. ‘Emma, I’m so sorry.’
Only the electronics of her life functions answered me.
What should I say to her?
‘I, urn, the doctor said you can hear me.’
The whole day? Impossible. Where could I get a book? A magazine? A woman’s magazine might be the solution.
‘They say you are a little better this morning. They say there’s a good chance you will recover. You must
‘Emma, they said I must talk to you because you know my voice.’
Tell her what you need to say.
‘It was my fault, Emma. I should have believed you. That was the mistake I made. I’m so sorry. I thought I was smart. Thought I knew people, thought I knew you. I was wrong.’
She just lay there.
‘I’ll fix it. I promise I’ll fix it.’
How? How was I going to fix it?
‘I don’t know how yet, but I will.’
Then I sat back and was quiet.
I looked up at the glass window. Dr Taljaard was gone. Emma and I were alone. I could see the slow movement of her chest, breathing in and out.
I gathered my thoughts slowly and carefully and said, ‘I have to keep talking. You know I’m not good at this. The thing is, I don’t know what else to say to you. They didn’t give me any time to think. I hope you understand. I’ll go and buy a magazine in a while. What do you read? I wonder. There’s such a choice nowadays … It rained again this morning. Not thunderstorms like the other night, only soft rain. I was outside just now. The first time since we … It’s not so hot now.’
Could I go out to buy a magazine?
‘Dr Eleanor Taljaard seems to know what she’s doing. She’s about fifty. Her husband also works here. His name is Koos. They are an interesting couple. He’s shorter than she is. They seem to get along very well.’
Say something.
‘I will tell Jeanette Louw to refund you your money.’
Don’t talk about the injury.
What do women like?
‘Remember when I said I was a builder? There at Wolhuter’s place? I was trying to be clever, but it wasn’t a complete lie. I’m busy doing up my own house. At Loxton.’
This was the right topic.
‘It’s an old house. No one is really sure when it was built. I think it must be between ninety and a hundred years old. It’s the last house on the left as you drive out to the town dam. The previous owner was a Muslim. He was the electrician in town for a year or two. The people nicknamed it the AI Qaeda house. You know, tongue in cheek. But there wasn’t enough work there and he left. Maybe he didn’t feel at home without his own people. Now they talk about Lemmer’s house. It’s kind of ironic because it is my first house. I had a flat in Seapoint before. Before that I always rented, because we were six months in Pretoria and six months in Cape Town when I worked for the minister.
‘In any case, I’m busy renovating my house. It wasn’t in a bad state. There were a few cracks in the walls
