“Cath!” Alina protested weakly
“I think we should definitely plan on it,” Jodi replied, smiling at her daughter. Alina rolled her eyes and sighed. The elevator door slid open as Cath playfully wrapped an arm around Alina’s shoulder. “That’s so sweet!” she whispered.
The elevator chimed softly as it glided to a stop on the third floor. Both Roose women and Catherine exited the lift, Jodi in front. As they walked by the main family lounge Alina and Catherine got their first taste of life on the edge for visitors, the detritus of others nightmares: stained coffee cups, some half-full and some completely empty, some with cellophane wrappers crammed inside; empty soda cans on end tables; a pillow left against the armrest of a sofa. A handful of people milled about, some retreating to restrooms in the hall, some looking for the cafeteria. Others appeared to be collecting their thoughts or processing emotions. An older couple sauntered past the main nurses station, their faces etched with worry. In the corner of the small foyer just outside the intensive care unit sat a young mother fighting to stay awake, a small boy cradled upon her lap slept with his mouth open.
Jodi paused before opening the doors to the ICU. “Cath, you don’t have to come in if you’d rather not. I know my husband isn’t one of your favorite people.” Cath straightened her blouse then slung her purse over her shoulder. “I’m here for Alina, Mrs. Roose.”
Jodi smiled at Catherine, then at her daughter before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “That’s good enough for me,” she said, then pushed the large plate to open the doors.
The trio reached the ICU nurses station before the doors whispered shut behind them. Jodi waved at the sole nurse who seemed rather frustrated with a small label printer at the opposite end of the desk. She looked up and immediately quit fussing with the device. “Good morning, Jodi,” she said in a far too cheerful tone for such an early hour.
“Mornin’ Becky. Thank you so much for the call. I was dead . . . umm, fast asleep when you called. I would have been here sooner otherwise. What’s new?” Alina and Catherine leaned on the counter top and listened. Becky suddenly took notice of the pair.
“Oh my goodness! This must be your daughter,” she exclaimed reaching out her hand.
“Yes, this is my baby girl Alina,” Jodi confirmed, then motioned next to her, “and this is Catherine.” Becky shook both their hands. “Nice to meet you! Of course we’d all rather the circumstances were different.”
“Of course,” Alina nodded. “So . . .” Jodi prompted.
“Oh, well, go on in. I’ll be there in a couple minutes. He’s got us all baffled.” Jodi shot the girls a quizzical look then started around the corner toward Room G.
St. Anne’s ICU ward had nine rooms, just over double Nita’s smaller hospital on the other side of town. Six of those rooms were along the exterior walls and, accordingly, had windows. Five of those six were unoccupied and their window blinds were open allowing early morning light to filter in and brighten the otherwise somber spaces—only Room G was dark. The soft, staccato beep of a heart monitor drifted outside the room. Jodi peeked her head in, then turned and waved the girls inside. Catherine stepped past Jodi and slowly eased into the well-worn lounge chair in the far corner by the window and tried to stay out of the way. From where she sat Alina’s silhouette filled the doorway; she’d hesitated at the very brink of witnessing the reality of what until now had been merely words, words that had carved monstrous images in her head. Jodi reached forward and gently took her hand.
As her eyes adjusted to the darker confines of the room she began to make out details: the vitals monitor on the opposite side of the bed, the small night stand next to the single bedside chair with her mother’s sweater draped over it, the lifeless wall-mounted television. Most unavoidable of all was the bed itself—it looked more like a glorified bier than a proper bed. Alina stared at her father lying practically motionless in front of her. She’d imagined feeling shock or a surge of overwhelming emotion, pre-suppositions which couldn’t find their way to the surface, betrayed by unblemished numbness. Long minutes of loud silence passed before Becky arrived to take readings and chat with Jodi.
Becky attended to her notes and readings with practiced efficiency. She punched a couple buttons on the vitals machine then did a quick inventory of supplies in the nightstand drawer. Once finished she turned to speak quietly to Jodi and Alina. “When I called you last night his vitals looked like they were degrading, and quickly.”
Jodi instinctively looked at the monitor. “And now?”
“Indications are that he’s improving. We can’t upgrade him to ‘stable’ yet but the next few hours will tell us a lot more.” Alina watched the discussion like a tennis match, her eyes darting back and forth.
“You said he has you “baffled.” I don’t understand. At one point the doctor indicated I should consider getting our affairs in order. He said head injuries are some of the scariest cases to get because you don’t know exactly what the brain is doing. The next day he told me things seemed to be looking up. I don’t get it,” Jodi stated flatly.
“He’s got it right,” Becky confirmed. “All the scans and test results I’ve seen and discussed with the doctor initially told us exactly what you were told. I’ve been here close to twenty years and I’ve never seen an injury of this nature behave so counter-intuitively.” Becky shook her head. “It seems one hour he’s edging toward arrest and the next he’s getting our hopes up.” A rapping noise at the window broke their focus. Catherine’s attention snapped toward the window. Biting her lip, she turned to look at the others. Becky smiled and nodded. “You’re not going to wake him.”
The tapping became increasingly insistent. Catherine tucked her finger between the blind and window frame then carefully pushed the slats aside. Alina thought she saw Catherine frown. “What is it?” Becky asked.
“It’s a robin pecking at the corner of the window.” Cath reported. “And,” she paused, craning her neck to get a better angle, “there’s an egg on the sill.” She kept the slats aside as she turned and looked at Becky, who had an uncharacteristic tight grimace on her face. Their mutual scowls didn’t escape Jodi’s attention.
“It’s a bird pecking at the window,” she started, “what’s the big deal?” Cath and Becky were utter strangers yet they exchanged a look between them that seemed to speak of a secret shared between childhood friends. Becky sighed. “It’s an old hospital superstition,” she said, waving the words away with her hand as if they were cigarette smoke. Catherine picked up where Becky’s dismissive wave left off. “We once thought that a solar eclipse meant the gods were angry, too, but I think that’s been thoroughly debunked.”
Alina became suddenly animated. “Yeah, okay, so what does a bird pecking at a window mean?” Catherine raised her eyebrows and nodded slightly in Becky’s direction. This was her turf and therefore her news to deliver. The nurse took the cue.
“A robin pecking at the window is supposed to be bad luck,” Becky said.
“You mean, like, death?” Jodi asked. Alina shot her mother a stern look of disapproval; Becky nodded.
“But remember, there’s an egg there, too,” Cath chirped. “So I’m guessing it’s an existential wash.” Three sets of eyes gave her the same incredulous stare. “The egg is a symbol of birth and creation, right? I’m saying it’s a kind of symbolic algebra—one nullifies the other.”
Alina leaned against the door frame. “Then why don’t I feel all warm and fuzzy about it?” Cath shrugged then pointed at the blinds. “Does anybody mind if I open these just a bit? I could use the light for my crosswords.”
“You go right ahead, dear,” Becky affirmed sweetly, then turned back to Jodi. “Your husband hasn’t had any seizures, which is not typical with severe head trauma. Most of the time there are eventually—at least—minor ones. He hasn’t had a single one.” She leaned in closer to Jodi to whisper. “We love our science around here, but if you ask me there might just be a little something el
se goin’ on,” she added with a wink. Jodi took small comfort from vaporous hopes when physical reality seemed to point in the opposite direction, but thanked the nurse for her bedside manner anyway.
Catherine plucked the puzzle book from her purse and maneuvered herself to make the most of the morning light streaming through the blinds. The tapping at the window had ceased but she could see the egg remained on the sill. Mother and daughter were engaged in a hushed discussion, so the time seemed right for some other preoccupation besides contemplating the mysteries of being comatose, like the wreck in the bed. She opened the book to the spot where the pen rested snugly against the gutter and once again stared at the empty spaces of her unresolved seven letter word, a------c. “Purifies, transforms, or refines” she muttered. She stared at the bold letters at the top of the page, serving as both title and clue for the entire crossword: Clavis Aurea (Golden Key). No help there, either.
With the back pages removed her quickest path to easing her mounting frustration was no longer an option—the solution pages had been stashed at home, in a place of limited access, the better to push her mind and learn; her father loved to remind her that little of true value comes easy.
While Jodi and Alina continued their vigil Catherine solved a few more clues then moved on to the next puzzle. The elusive word would come to her—eventually.
ON THE BORDER of the conscious mind, in the ephemeral state where the brain and psyche begin their foggy separation, darkness and light become one—a place of a different time which itself is timeless. Within its unmarked boundaries of silence are hidden secrets, unspoken folly, and avoided disputes. Only in this most perfect condition can one clearly hear the whispers of better angels. Nature holds the only knowledge of such serene complexity and for the most immeasurable of moments shares its bounty with the soul.
The soul, as immortal guest, has a compass of its own with eyes of internal sight, and but one virtue—the heart. The act of liminal transition requires a new accord between nature and spirit; there are no concessions or pleadings, there is no favor to curry. In this, its most temporary state of mortal release, it bends in subservience only to nature while the human vessel still lay unconscious.
The soul, an atomic stipple against the majestic expanse of the universe will, in accordance with creation, choose the most proper of conduits: to rise again like the sun, its light and energy once more liberated from the threat of diffusion, or to never again walk erect and look at the stars—to forever return to the place of eternal night.
Moments of timeless measure slip by; sadness and joy hang in the balance.
WITHIN A TWENTY-FOOT radius three digital clocks all displayed 4:44: the vitals monitor, the clock on the nightstand, and the large clock directly across from the nursing station, a face so large even a patient with moderate cataracts could read it from the opposite side of the ICU.
For the women in Room G time had taken on a grim elasticity. The intervening hours had been an endless cortege of vigilance, catnaps, bathroom breaks, and uneasy eggshell walks down memory lane. No new visitors came to break the monotony—the ICU’s dubious guest-of-honor had largely assured that by his numerous successes at alienating everyone around him, save for the three currently in the small room. And Catherine was really only there for his daughter.
The vending machine just outside the ICU doors had provided their meager sustenance, a poor follow up to their pastries and coffee earlier in the morning. Jodi knew the nurses would be in soon to undertake exercises and gentle massages upon the patient so she made the executive decision that would send all three women to the cafeteria for something far better than cheese crackers and chocolate chip cookies.
“You girls must be at least a little hungry, aren’t you?” she asked, hoisting her purse upon her shoulder. “I think we all could stand something decent in our stomachs. Let’s get some dinner in the cafeteria.” Hunger achieved a swift consensus as Alina and Catherine wasted no time collecting their purses and following Jodi out of the ICU and through the hospital’s internal labyrinth toward the cafeteria.
The scents of wrapper-less food met them before they turned the final corner and strode into the eatery: fresh stir fry and fried rice beckoned, spaghetti with what smelled like garlic and basil sauce, baked potatoes topped with chives. Gradients of green salad with bursts of red from cherry tomatoes, and hunter-green stuffed bell peppers stood out against the food-grade stainless steel and Plexiglas sneeze guards. Jodi knew the layout well and took the lead, tray and silverware sliding purposefully along the rails. Around them milled staff in scrubs, some wearing shoe covers, and most whisking about one side to the next then congregating in a corner of the dining area.
The cashier gave Jodi a smile of recognition and a friendly “How are ya?” as she totaled their choices: spaghetti for Jodi, a generous shrimp salad for Alina, and a stuffed bell pepper for Catherine, who thrust her debit card at the cashier before Jodi could grasp her wallet. Cath’s insistent stare made moot the slightest whine of protest. The trio picked a table against one of several large picture windows where, outside, dusk was gently stretching its blanket over Nita’s sky.
They ate without talking for a time, the only sound between them that of silverware against plate or ice shifting against a glass of tea. Focused hunger outweighed the hazy, grey depths of silence. Cath was first to empty her plate and then, almost reflexively, brought her puzzle book to the tabletop.
“Thank you very much for dinner, Cath,” Jodi suddenly said. “That was very sweet of you.” Alina leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Yes it was.”
Catherine smiled. “You opened up your house to us, Mrs. Roose, so the thanks is mine to give.” Jodi waved the notion off. “Please. You took time off work to accompany Ally up here. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t,” she added. The inference to Hagren wasn’t lost on either of the girls, all the more emphatic given their current surroundings.
Alina sipped at her iced tea as she watched Catherine bounce the tip of her pen around the page. “Have you figured out that word you need yet?” she asked. Cath shook her head. “Not yet. It’ll come to me, though.”
“Always seems to,” Alina added with a smile. From across the table Jodi motioned at the book with her fork. “What’s that at the bottom, with all the circles and letters?” Cath pointed at it with the tip of the pen. “This?” Jodi nodded, finishing off the last forkful of her pasta.
“These are individual letters from certain locations in the puzzle,” she replied, poking at each small circle. “If a box has a circle in it then the letter it contains gets written down here, too. When they’re all filled the word becomes the solution to the puzzle.” Jodi stared at the series of circles for a few moments, her head nodding slightly as she counted them. “That must be some word,” she remarked. “Twelve letters. Do you get a clue for the solution?”
“Only the title. I mean, the title of the puzzle is the clue.” Alina leaned over again in an effort to read the top of the page. “I can’t make out the title,” she said. “What’s this one?”
“Clavis Aurea. It’s latin. Means ‘golden key’— a way to uncover hidden or mysterious meanings in texts.” Catherine gave the page a minute of intense consideration before continuing. “This particular puzzle is loaded with latin phrases or words whose origins are linked in some way to latin.”
Jodi smiled broadly and shook her head. “Better you than me,” she confessed. “You and Ally are much better at those than I could ever be.” Alina turned and smiled at Catherine. “We usually do them together,” she said. Jodi looked at the window and was able to see their reflection in the glass. “Two peas in a pod,” she said only half aloud. Dusk’s rutilant glory had faded to the thinnest of slivers on the horizon, an indigo night sky nipped at its fringe.
The elder Roose began stacking empty plates and silverware on her tray. A burst of memory flooded her thoughts and spilled over into her emotions—the window reflected her efforts as
she cleared the three settings; a somber reflection of a comparatively more gilded past.
“Time to go, ladies,” she announced, more an effort to flush the memory than create urgency. As she picked up the loaded tray she turned to Catherine. “I think we should swing by the birth ward on our way back.” Cath looked barely able to conceal her glee. “Oh yes! We definitely should!”
Alina rolled her eyes and moaned. “Mom!”
CLEAN, STENCILED LETTERS spelled out Apollo Clayton on his name badge, but as much as he moved around and followed the nurses any casual observer would be hard pressed to read it. Apollo didn’t work as much with efficiency as he did with flourish, and his personality took on the same sheen. His shift was his stage, and the nurses his audience. When doctors were around he made himself scarce in one of the many stock rooms at his disposal.
The beginning of his shift entailed a quick but routine walk of his assigned areas, all of which were on the third floor. Inside an hour he would know what supplies were needed where and could prioritize their replacement accordingly. Most of this information came from the nursing staff whom he plied with almost flawless charm and coffee.
Apollo strolled into the ICU and, seeing no nurses at the station, set to checking on all the standard housekeeping matters. Once finished he looked to chat up Linda, the swaggering, omnipresent night supervisor in the ward. But Linda wasn’t there, at least not at the station. With only one room occupied he considered she might be checking on the patient, so he rolled his sweeper around for a few minutes and straightened linen stacks to kill time, but still no sign of the nurse.