Chapter 2 Chapter two

At forty-five past one, the morphine wore off. He had just had an injection before ten o'clock, in other words, the pain-relieving effect of the morphine lasted less than four hours. The pain came back sporadically. First, the left diaphragm started to hurt, and after a few minutes, the right side also started to hurt, and then spread to the back and spread throughout the body in bursts. The pain came on sharply and piercingly, like a greedy vulture gnawing at his internal organs. Lying on his high narrow bed, he stared at the night lights and the shadows cast on the white concrete ceiling, strangely shaped shadows as cold and boring as the ward.

The ceiling is not flat, but curved into two shallow arches, which makes people feel very far away from it.The ceiling was indeed high, over twelve feet, and as dated as everything else in the building.His hospital bed was in the middle of the stone floor, and other than that there were only two pieces of furniture in the room: a bedside table and a straight-backed wooden chair. The curtains in the room were not fully drawn, and the windows were slightly open. The night wind at the turn of winter blew into the room through a two-inch gap. The air in the room was cool and fresh, but he still felt that the rotten flowers on the bedside table And the smell of his sick body made him suffocate and nauseous.

He didn't fall asleep, but was soberly thinking about one thing silently—the effect of the painkiller was about to pass. An hour had passed since the nurse on the night shift thumped out in her clogs and walked down the corridor, and he had heard nothing but his own breathing since then.Maybe he also heard his pulse fluctuating, these sounds were actually unidentifiable, but just from his imagination, just in line with his fear of pain and death. He had always been a tough guy, unable to stand the mistakes or weaknesses of others, and never willing to admit that he, too, would ever be old or stupid.

Now he was afraid and hurt, feeling betrayed but helpless.During his weeks in the hospital, his senses became so hypersensitive, his sensitivity to all forms of pain became almost paradoxical, that he could not bear the thought of getting an injection and the nurse sticking it into his arm each day when he drew blood. I couldn't help trembling.And he was afraid of the dark and couldn't stand being alone.He began to hear voices he hadn't noticed before. The various tests in the hospital - ironically, the doctor called them "research" - exhausted him and made his health go from bad to worse.The worse his health became, the more intense his fear of death became, and at last the fear took over his whole mind, making him feel naked and so nervous that he could only care for himself.

There was a small sound outside the window, maybe an animal was walking through the withered rose garden, was it a field mouse?Hedgehog?or a cat?But hedgehogs seem to hibernate? He felt that the animal must be making the noise, and at the same time involuntarily raised his left hand to find the calling bell that was wrapped around the bedpost for his use. But when his fingers brushed across the cold bed frame, he was trembling with a spasm of pain, and the calling bell slipped away and fell to the ground with a "boom". The voice calmed him down a little. If he gets the pager and presses the white button, the red light on the door of his ward will light up, and soon the night shift nurse will come running from the duty room dragging clogs.

Although he was scared, his self-esteem was also very strong, and he was very glad that he didn't ring the bell. Otherwise, the night shift nurse would definitely enter the room and turn on the light, looking at him pitifully lying on the hospital bed in puzzlement. He lay still for a while longer, feeling the pain recede and then come back suddenly, like a crazy driver driving a train scurrying through him. He suddenly felt anxious and needed to relieve himself. He actually had a urine bottle next to his bed, stuffed under the yellow plastic trash can behind the bedside table, but he didn't want to use it.The doctor said he could get up whenever he wanted.One doctor even thought a little walking would do him good.

He thought it would be better to get up and open the door to the toilet across the corridor.It would distract him and force him to think about something else for a while. He pushed the blanket and sheet aside and sat up on the edge of the bed for a few seconds, his feet dangling in midair.As he adjusted his white nightgown, he heard the rustle of the plastic bed cover under him. He crawled out of bed softly, until his sweaty soles touched the cold stone floor.He tried to stand up straight despite the large bandages around his groin and thighs.It worked.He was still wearing the plastic compression garment from yesterday's angiogram.

He put the glove in the slippers by the table, and walked carefully to the door step by step. He pulled the first floor door in, pushed the second floor out, and walked down the dark hallway into the bathroom. After using the bathroom, he washed his hands in cold water, turned back, and stopped in the hallway to listen.There was a faint murmur from the night nurse's radio, and the pain arose in him again, and the pain aroused his fear again.He thought to himself, maybe he could go over and ask the nurse to give him some painkillers, although there is no special effect, but she still has to open the medicine cabinet and pour him juice from a bottle.After taking the painkiller, he can be quiet for a while, and no one will bother him.

The office was about sixty feet away, and he walked slowly, his nightgown flapping against his calves. The lights were on in the duty room, but there was no one there except for the serenade from the transistor radio sandwiched between two half-full coffee mugs. The nurse and orderly on duty must be busy elsewhere. The room began to shake, so he had no choice but to lean against the door and stand firm. After a minute or two, when he felt better, he walked slowly back to his room through the dark corridor. The door was slightly open as when he left. He closed the door carefully, walked a few steps to the bed, took off his slippers, returned to the bed with cold hands and feet and pulled the blanket around his neck.He lay still with his eyes wide open, feeling pain rushing through his body again.

There seemed to be something different in the room, and the shadows on the ceiling changed a little. He noticed it almost immediately. But what could be the cause? He moved his gaze to the empty wall, then turned to the right to look at the window. He was pretty sure the window was open when he left the room. But now it is closed. He panicked, and quickly raised his hand to get the beeper, but the beeper was not where it was. He forgot to pick the wires and buttons off the ground. His fingers were clasped tightly on the iron pipe that used to wrap the pager, and his eyes were fixed on the window.

The gap between the two long curtains was still two inches wide, but they didn't hang the same way as before, and the windows were closed. Could it be that someone from the hospital came in? That seems unlikely. He was sweating profusely, and his pajamas were clammy against his sensitive skin. Trembling with fright, he kept his eyes on the window for a moment, and sat up on the bed. The curtain hung motionless, but he was sure there was someone standing behind it. who is it?he thought. Who will it be? Then he had a flash of thought: this must be his hallucination. He staggered to the edge of the bed, stepping on the stone floor with his bare feet.He staggered two steps towards the window, then stopped, slightly bent his body, his lips twitched suddenly. The man hiding behind the window waved his right hand, opened the curtain, and simultaneously drew out the bayonet with his left hand. There was a cold light on the long blade. The man in the jacket and plaid hat rushed forward, then stood still, his legs spread, his body stretched long and straight, and the knife raised over his shoulder. The sick man immediately recognized each other, and he opened his mouth to scream. Immediately the heavy handle of the bayonet hit his mouth, splitting his lips and snapping his front teeth. That was the last thing he felt. What happened next happened extremely quickly, everything in an instant. The opponent punched him on the right diaphragm under the ribs, and then the bayonet pierced the whole way, until the handle was missing. The patient was still standing with his head thrown back when the man in the jacket raised the knife for the third time and slashed his throat from his left ear to his right ear. Bubbles popped out of the severed trachea. There were no other voices after that.