The Cold Smell Of Sacred Stone

of his finger. 'A regular visitor's pass is green, with a broad yellow stripe across it. It will get you as far as the Day Room downstairs-or into a patient's room only if the patient is absolutely immobile. You'd have an escort from the time you entered the building until you left. That badge you're wearing is a Z-13; God knows why it's designated that, but it is. We call it a brown bomber. It gives you unlimited access to this facility, and also gives you the authority to ask questions of anyone, and get answers. Except for clinical matters, that badge gives you equal authority with the doctors here. That badge makes me, and the other nurses and attendants, your subordinates.'

'I didn't know.'

'I've only seen a brown bomber three other times in the five years I've been here, and those were worn by an official from D.I.A. headquarters in Washington and two congressmen from a select oversight committee. As far as I know, you're the first relative of a patient ever to be issued one of those. It means you have either a very high security clearance or very powerful friends in very high places. Don't be surprised if it raises a few eyebrows.'

So Mr. Lippitt had really taken care of me; perhaps too much so, unwittingly creating enmity and suspicion toward me among the clinic's staff. It could explain Dr. Slycke's attitude.

Tommy Carling was obviously curious as to how I'd secured my brown bomber-but I didn't feel any great urge to tell him, and he didn't press. Quickly and efficiently, Carling stripped off the top sheet and then removed Garth's pajamas, leaving my brother lying naked on another sheet stretched over a rubber mat. He detached Garth's colostomy bag, dumped it into the toilet, and attached a fresh one to the rubber tube extending out from the gash in Garth's side. He did the same with the urine bag, then proceeded to wash Garth. I smoothed down Garth's thinning, wheat-colored hair, then joined in with the washup, using a second washcloth from the cart, and starting with Garth's feet. There was one striking change in my brother's condition: he had been absolutely rigid when he had collapsed in the Washington hearing room, but his muscles were now completely slack, and his limbs flopped wherever they were placed. Now that the sheet was off, I could see that his head was propped in a face-forward position by two foam rubber supports which had been placed on either side of his jaw. I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of sadness, futility, and loss; I blinked back tears.

'I don't want any authority over anybody,' I said quietly as I worked my way with the soapy washcloth up Garth's legs. 'I'd appreciate being kept informed of my brother's treatment and progress, but most of all I just want to be able to be with him.'

'You've got it. But, as I said, don't be surprised if you get some strange reactions. It's not only your brown bomber, but the fact that your brother is here in the first place; neither of you works for the D.I.A.-unless we've been lied to, which is what some people around here whose names I won't mention may think.'

'Wasn't Dr. Slycke briefed?'

'Of course; all of us were briefed. The fact that Garth was poisoned with NPPD makes him a very special case. Remember, I said some people may be suspicious, but there are always people whose noses get out of joint over changes in routine. Let me tell you, just about everyone is watching Garth with a hell of a lot of curiosity about what happens when-' Carling abruptly stopped speaking and glanced down at me with genuine alarm in his eyes. 'I'm sorry, Mongo. I didn't mean to sound insensitive.'

'It's all right. I know all about the curiosity, and it's why Garth is here-obviously. Why should anyone think differently?'

'What I'm saying is that not even psychiatrists-maybe especially not psychiatrists-are immune to a touch of paranoia from time to time, so don't be too surprised if you run into it around here.'

'I still don't understand. If everyone's been briefed, why should anyone be paranoid about Garth and me?'

'Not so much Garth as you and your brown bomber. The question is how and why you rate such a high security clearance in order to be with him.'

For the first time it occurred to me that Mr. Lippitt not only might be open to charges of nepotism, but might actually get into serious difficulties because of his understanding and kindness toward me. I decided it was time to change the subject. 'Exactly what are they doing with Garth now, Tommy?'

Carling cleared his throat. 'Officially, you're supposed to direct all of your medical questions to Dr. Slycke,' he said in a low voice. 'Unofficially, I'll tell you that Slycke hasn't designed a therapy program yet.'

'Garth isn't getting any medication?'

'Not yet. For now, all they're doing is conducting blood and chemical tests, and observing.'

'I understand that I signed a blanket consent form for any and all treatment, including experimental drugs, but I'd like to be kept informed of what's happening; and I'd like to know what they're going to do before they do it.'

'You'll have to take that up with Dr. Slycke.'

'What about the other psychiatrists on the staff?'

'Slycke has taken personal charge of Garth, so the other doctors will refer you to him.'

'Fair enough. Thanks for the information.' I strongly suspected that if Tommy Carling hadn't told me about the privileges I enjoyed with my brown bomber, nobody else would have.

We finished washing Garth, and toweled him off. I combed his hair, then stepped back while the male nurse applied rubbing lotion to my brother's body and massaged him, kneading the muscles and flexing the joints. He dressed him in clean pajamas, made the bed around and under him, then rolled him over on his right side and pulled the clean sheet up to his chin. The whole operation had taken less than a half hour.

'We'll leave him with a little music,' Carling said, turning on a small table radio and tuning it to a classical station.

'Why? He can't hear it.'

'Why not? Who knows what he can or can't hear?'

'You're right,' I replied, and touched the bandage on my forehead. My wound had begun to throb. 'Tommy, you wouldn't have a couple of aspirin around this place, would you?'

'Of course,' Carling said, and frowned sympathetically. 'Obviously, you've been hurt. You're in pain?'

'I've got a headache.'

'May I ask what happened?'

'It was just a stupid accident; I bumped into something sharp.'

'I'll be right back,' Carling said, and walked quickly from the room.

He was back in less than a minute, carrying a bottle of aspirin, a glass of water, and a small medical kit.

'Tommy,' I said, 'I don't want a fuss; just a couple of aspirin.'

'You look a little pale. When did you hurt yourself?'

'Yesterday.'

'Did you get a tetanus shot?'

'Yes,' I lied.

'Well, it won't hurt to have a look at it to make sure it isn't oozing, and put on a fresh bandage. Just sit down in the chair there.'

Tommy Carling was a persistent healer who obviously didn't like to take no for an answer. I sighed, sat down in the chair next to Garth's bed. Carling loosened the strips of adhesive tape over the thick gauze Veil had applied, then carefully peeled back the bandage.

'Man,' Carling said, and grimaced. 'That is a nasty cut. You did that by bumping your head?'

'Yeah.'

'It looks like someone slashed you with a razor.'

'I bumped it hard.'

Carling shrugged. 'It looks clean,' he said, and opened the medical kit. He took out a bottle of peroxide and a gauze pad. 'I'll just touch it up a little and put on a fresh bandage.'

Carling handed me the bottle of aspirin. I shook out three tablets into my palm, washed them down with the water he had brought. Then I sat still while Carling expertly and gently daubed the wound with peroxide.

'That's an interesting stitching job.'

'Mmm.'

'Whoever did it did a good job. I don't think you'll have much of a scar. It's an unusual style.'