Chapter 7 part two

Summer 1978 Chapter Twelve Soft sunlight came in from the window, caressing my face.I slowly regained consciousness.I gradually realized that I was lying on a hospital bed, my head was hurting, and my arm was receiving a needle.Standing high and looking down at me with a tired and anxious face was my mother.Why is she here?Where am I? Seeing me open my eyes, my mother let out a sigh of relief. "Matthew, can you understand what I'm saying?" she asked worriedly. Although I just woke up, my immediate reaction was: "Where is Sylvia?" I tried desperately to speak, gasping for air, but no sound came out.

I felt a hand caressing mine lovingly.I heard my brother's voice: "Don't worry, Matthew," he said, "you've been through a lot. I mean, you can really brag to your grandkids that you got shot in the head and live to tell it yourself .” I finally said what I had to say. "Zetz, is she all right? Did she get out?" He didn't seem to understand me, so he just comforted me and said, "Relax, the most important thing is that you're okay." "No, it's not," I protested, growing agitated. A stocky, gray-haired man in a white coat walked into my line of sight and took the conversation away.His English accent is weird.

"Doctor Shearer, do you know where you are?" At this moment, I can't even tell who I am. The gentleman went on to explain very politely in this strange accent: "You are now in the University Hospital in Zurich." Switzerland!The news didn't make me understand anything.why am i here? "I'm Professor Tammuz. We admitted you 5 days ago. A bullet was lodged in your sphenoid bone very close to your brain. It was very serious and I operated on you right away. Glad to see You are out of danger." The mother explained further: "Malcolm flew over with us last week and he was with Professor Tammuz throughout the operation. He said the operation was fantastic. Too bad he had an emergency himself and had to rush back Dearborn go."

My head was clouded, and what I heard in my ears did nothing to help me make things clearer. "How on earth did I get here?" "Apparently you were brought in by a private ambulance plane," Zeitz said. I looked eagerly at the professor. "Who's with me?" "A young neurologist and a nurse." "Isn't there an Italian girl?" I looked at him imploringly. "I mean, there's no way it wasn't. Sylvia was with me, I knew that. She was beautiful, dark-haired, and about 5ft 10in tall." "I'm afraid there is no one else on the plane." Tammuz asserted.

I must still be under the powerful effects of the drug because I can't convince my family how urgent this is.At the moment I don't even know if Sylvia is still alive.Just thinking about it pains my soul. "Zetz," I said, looking up at my brother, "how do you know where I am?" "We got a call from a doctor in Milan who didn't go into details, just told us you were injured and were flying to Zurich to be operated on by the best neurosurgeon in the world. From what I've seen He's telling the truth." That's when the professor stepped in again.

"Do you remember what happened before you got shot?" he asked. I struggled to remember.However, it is indescribably difficult to remember recent events.Still, I attack the citadel of memory, to make a breach in this stone wall. "There were these two guys—three, with rifles. They were trying to capture us. They shot. I shot. I think I shot one." Even at that moment, I couldn't face I literally killed the possibility of a person.I cared more about the women I loved, so I yelled at them: "Sylvia D'Alessandro was with me when we were attacked. Could one of you tell me what happened to her?"

Mother spoke, showing concern. "Matthew, we only know what the doctor told you. When we were in the United States, we saw a short report in the news that an American volunteer was shot and injured in Eritrea, and did not mention any other victims." The brother added: "If something happened to such a famous person, there would be a big headline, heiress kidnapped or something, wouldn't it?" There is nothing I can do. "It's absolutely impossible," I said furiously, "it's impossible for her to disappear like this." My desperation affected everyone.My family became increasingly concerned about my health.Everyone was trying to find a way to calm me down.

"Perhaps Dr. Peltier will know something," suggested Zeitz. "He actually just called yesterday, and we promised him to let him know as soon as you woke up." "Good idea," I said eagerly, "let's give him a call right away." It took nearly two hours to get through to Eritrea, but I finally heard François' voice, as if through a thick layer of static. "Welcome to your senses, Matthew. Glad you're back. I admire your bravery, but what exactly is it that makes you indulge yourself in such cheap heroism?" "Stop talking nonsense, okay? Is Sylvia dead or alive?"

After a moment of hesitation, he said flatly: "Of course I'm alive, I have to thank you. She brought you back." "Then where is she now?" "I really don't know. That's the way it is, Matthew." Thank God, I thought to myself, the woman I'm going to marry is alive and safe.But why is she not here with me? "Who arranged to fly me here?" I asked. "Oh, it's me," he replied.Even in my half-awake state I could feel that he was hiding something. "Then where did Sylvia go?" "I thought she was with you in Zurich. The last thing I saw was her holding your hand as they lifted you into the helicopter."

"What helicopter?" "An italian helicopter on the Red Sea oil platform that helped us get the medicine from the airport. Do you remember? You got on the plane and she went with you. I mean, man, you saved her Life!" "Francois, do you have her phone number in Milan?" "Yes, but I doubt it will be of any use to you." He knew something, but didn't tell me. "Give it to me anyway." I handed the phone to Zeitz, and he jotted down a string of numbers that Francois had told him.Then, after a quick goodbye, I ordered my brother to call me in Milan immediately.

A man with a deep voice answered the phone. "Speak to Silvia D'Alessandro," I said politely in Italian. "I'm sorry, sir," he said curtly. Hell, I couldn't even make him tell if Sylvia was there.As a last resort, I decided to put all my eggs in one basket. "May I speak to Mr. D'Alessandro?" "Please speak." "Listen, don't play dumb, put your boss on the phone. It's about his daughter—the daughter whose life I saved." Somehow, this worked.He told me to wait.It wasn't long before a gentleman who spoke English like a BBC announcer answered the phone. "Good evening, Dr. Shearer. I'm D'Alessandro. I can't thank you enough for everything you've done. It's great to hear that you're doing much better. I've been missing you until I got an update on your recovery. " God.That is to say, this guy has actually been keeping an eye on my condition, but it never occurred to him to call me and say thank you?My intuition told me that I was short on time, so I decided to go straight to the point. "Where's Sylvia?" His response—it can only be called a response, because it's not an answer—was as smooth as silk: "She's in a bad mood right now, Matthew. I think you can understand." "Can I talk to her?" "I don't think now is the time." What a pretentious bastard. "So when exactly do you think it's 'time'?" "I think we'd better not continue this conversation," he said politely but firmly. "Good-bye, Doctor." I had a strong feeling that this would be my last contact with the D'Alessandro family, and I resolved to tell all I had to say. "Damn it, Mr. D'Alessandro, don't you realize that I might have killed a man for her?" Even this outpouring of emotion failed to move him, and he said calmly—and apparently sincerely—"Matthew, you saved my daughter's life, and I will always be grateful to you." After speaking, he hung up the phone. I collapsed on the pillow in excruciating pain. And hopefully, the bullet that went through my skull killed me right then and there. Chapter Thirteen Italy, the 'royal wedding' that united two dynasties Milan, August 4, 1978 - The closest thing to a royal wedding that contemporary Italy has seen The ceremony was held today in Milan.It casts the country's most desirable bachelor, 41-year-old Nicolo Rinaldi, 25-year-old Dr. Silvia D'Alessandro, the son and heir of the President of Metro Transnational Corporation, The daughter of the president of the much larger Fama Consolidated Company was united. Observers are already predicting that this event will lead to the largest company in the history of Italian industry merge. The ceremony was held in private and only family members attended. The bride is from this city. She was educated at St. Bartholomew Catholic College in Wiltshire, England. Medical degree from Cambridge University.The newlyweds will reside in Milan. Mom and Zeitz naively tried to keep the news from me at first.What they don't realize is that the whole world loves such mythical events.Every TV channel in the hospital was on, so I watched the broadcast countless times in God knows how many languages. In the weeks that followed, my emotions oscillated between disbelief and paranoia.Sometimes, I pray that it's all just a nightmare from which I'll eventually wake up, relieved to find that it's just the same. At the height of my fantasies, I imagined that the thugs were actually hired by Sylvia's father to kill me and smuggle her back. But most of the time, I feel at a loss.I didn't know what to believe in Sylvia, in the world, in myself. The misery continued, for not a newspaper, not a magazine, for weeks to come, did not contain a picture of their honeymoon. "Matthew," Zeitz said as softly as possible, "she's gone. You have to face the fact that you may never know what happened. You should take comfort in the fact that you're alive and Will be back to full health." This is no consolation, I thought, this is punishment. Three days before my discharge from the hospital, I was sitting by the open balcony door in the evening, trying to read and get some air.The nurse came in suddenly and said I had an unexpected visitor, a young woman who called herself "Sarah Conrad, a friend of a friend." She was undeniably beautiful, with short, lustrous chestnut hair, soft eyes, and a sweet voice.Her cultivated British accent made me know who she was right away.Realizing the purpose of her visit, I asked to see her alone.She looked at me—I thought she was slightly disturbed—and finally asked: "How are you?" "That depends on who is asking," I replied suspiciously. "Did she send you here?" Sarah nodded. "Did you attend the wedding?" "participated." "Why would she do that?" Sarah shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think she knows either. It's always possible, I guess." She seemed very careful in her words, choosing her words carefully. "But that was before Paris—before Africa." At first she didn't answer.She sat on the edge of her chair like a prim middle-school student, clenching her fists.She couldn't meet my eyes, but finally pulled out a letter.She got up, handed me the letter, and started walking out. "Don't go, wait," I said aloud, and then added apologetically, "Excuse me." She sat down uneasily, and I tore open the envelope. my dearest friend, You saved my life, I should explain it to you.To be able to spend time with a wonderful person like you Even for a brief moment, I will be grateful for a lifetime.My only hope is that the end is not what it is In this look. That being the case, all I can say is that I did what I thought was right.for the two of us All are right.Please forget about me.I believe you will find the happiness you deserve.my life will be Always cherish the joy when we get along. love you sylvia Now that I understand, I hadn't completely given up hope until that moment.But Sylvia's handwritten letter shattered the last of my illusions.Frustrated, I asked Sarah: "Tell me, how did they get her to marry him?" "There's no gun to her head," she replied almost in a whisper.She flushed suddenly, obviously regretting she had chosen such a metaphor. I had very unrealistic hopes that if I questioned her long enough, I'd be able to get the secret out. Sarah sensed this, but despite my constant inquiries, she remained unwavering and utterly loyal to Sylvia.Finally, she stood up. "Nice to meet you," she said, a little awkwardly. "I mean, I'm glad to know you're going to be back to full health. If there's anything you need…" She didn't finish what she thought.Apparently, she was just about to break away from what had been agreed in advance to let her speak. "Can't I give you an answer and bring it back to her?" She made a powerless gesture. "So, it's over?" I asked to myself, and to her, "We met, we fell in love, and she just disappeared from the face of the earth without saying goodbye?" "I'm sorry, Matthew," Sarah whispered, "but you're not the only one feeling pain." She started to walk away slowly.I asked aloud behind her, "What do you mean by that? What do you mean by that?" She stopped and turned around again.I was surprised to see that she was on the verge of tears at this point. "She was right, Matthew, and you did exactly what she said." After she finished speaking, she disappeared, leaving me alone with Sylvia's last message. When they finally announced that I could be discharged from the hospital, Professor Tammuz himself strictly ordered me to rest well and avoid all stressful situations.He commented with his usual erudition that the ancients were right, and that two thousand years had not been able to create a better prescription than Hippocrates' idea that "time is the best cure for all." ① Hippocrates (460-360 BC?), a famous doctor in ancient Greece, known as the father of medicine. "Matthew is still weak," the doctor told my family. "He tires easily and needs to recover physically and mentally." My brother and I took my mother to the airport.She hugged me goodbye and got on the plane, obviously very worried.We convinced her that Malcolm needed her.Now that Ellen was in her second term, living safely with her parents, Zez was my natural companion. Two hours later, we were already on the speeding train. "Where is this place you took me to?" I asked unhappily.My brother is a saint and can put up with my bad temper, but I can't help being critical of everything. "Switzerland has a surplus of two things: cuckoo chiming clocks and mountains. Why do we have to travel all this way just to see another mountain?" "First of all, it's a very beautiful road," he said patiently. "Second, we're going almost to the roof of the world, where you can see the Matterhorn all the way. Snow, there's nothing else to do." ① Matterhorn, the main peak of the Alps on the border between Switzerland and Italy. "It's early morning," I muttered. "There won't be any snow." "There's always snow on the glacier," he said triumphantly. "I bet you'll start to sleep well and grow back some flesh. Most importantly, you might even find the person you're looking for." "Really? Who?" "You yourself, idiot." We got off the train at Sion and walked the two blocks to the funicular.The train went straight up the mountain, and it took us only 20 minutes to pull us to the small town of Crans Montana, which was a mile higher. Whether it is a coincidence or a deliberate arrangement, the Garden Hotel was once a tuberculosis sanatorium in the early part of this century.Somehow the hall always had an air of recuperation.The view over the Matterhorn from here is awe-inspiring. Despite what people say the thin air at high altitude keeps you up for the first few nights, once we got to the room I fell asleep on the bed with my clothes on.I just remember Zeitz taking my shoes off. "That's right, brother, rest. Now we're at the Mountain. You'll be fine, I know you will." The pessimism of even the most hopelessly misanthropic can be shaken by the sight of gigantic snow-covered peaks that shine in all their splendor in the bright summer sun.This is the view from our deck at breakfast.The bread was freshly baked in a bakery across the road, the butter was made with milk from nearby cows, and the cheese was imported from a neighboring village. Like two middle schoolers, we "used up" the extra rolls in our basket for a midday picnic.We planned to go up a mile up the glacier for lunch. As we descended from the cable car at an altitude of 3,000 meters, the air was thin and I was short of breath.A huge, snow-covered concave plain stretched before me. Zeitz, always a conscientious tour guide, pointed out beautiful bikini-clad skiers. "So what?" I said perversely. "You're married and I'm not interested. Let's eat." Zeitz laughed. "What's the matter?" I demanded. "Do you know it's only ten o'clock? But it's good to see you're hungry." We wandered through peaceful forests and past pristine lakes that tower above even the tiniest towns and villages.After living like this for a week, my physical strength began to recover, and the pain in my heart seemed to ease a little. I suggested to my brother to rent skis. "But Professor Tammuz said you can't be tired." "Come on, the glacier is flat as a pancake. If there's any place I can still ski, it's here." Although my legs were a little weak at first, I was able to stand still, and by noon they were able to slide quite decently.I am very excited.It could be seen that Zeitz was also secretly happy. A few days later, as we were walking across the main square looking for a place to have lunch, I saw a poster outside the church that the famous Vladimir Horowitz was about to give a piano recital.Crans has the advantage of being located between Geneva and Milan, which attracts people from all over the world. That afternoon, on the platform in the center of the nave of the white-walled church, a beautifully polished ebony grand piano made the surroundings suddenly bright. As the time for the concert drew nearer, I started to get excited.It’s been so long since I’ve heard music played live (in fact, all the music I’ve “heard” over the past few months has been played in my head while practicing on that silent keyboard). At 4 o'clock, the small church was full of people.A scrawny, slightly hunched Horowitz stepped onto the stage.He has a bird-like face and looks a little nervous. It's just that it was when he wasn't sitting at the piano.As soon as he sat down, before he even started to play the first note, he showed extreme confidence. It was an unforgettable experience.I have never heard anyone play it so beautifully and at the same time with such strong emotion.In an instant, I almost regretted the choice I made about my career back then. He played a wide variety of pieces, showing that he wasn't afraid to work in any style.His performances are astounding, his speed - always full of emotion - exhilarating.You can feel that part of his artistry is about showing how fast one can play and still be an artist rather than just a speedster. The allegro in Mozart's Piano Concerto is fast enough, and Chopin's Schieder is even faster.But the main piece in his program was Meritz Mershkowski, a little-known Prussian composer. Hold your breath. I was both surprised and excited by the piece he performed at the repeated request of the audience.This is Horowitz's adaptation of John Philip Suzer's "The Star-Spangled Banner."He played with such speed and exaggeration that when he imitated the piccolo accompaniment in the finale, you felt as if he had three hands playing.I was the first to stand up and applaud desperately, out of patriotism and out of admiration for his genius. ① Su Ze (185-1932), the conductor of the American military band and the composer of the military march.Not anymore. The atmosphere of the church makes the audience somewhat like a parish congregation.Many felt compelled to come up and shake the Master's hand - an experience that was not used to him, as could be seen on his face.As I stood there waiting for my turn, I looked at the magnificent Steinway piano with the longing in my eyes like a man on a desert island seeing a seductive woman for the first time. Zeitz couldn't help noticing my staring eyes, and he whispered, "Stay here and don't go, play for a while after he's gone." Horowitz finally broke away from the crowd of well-wishers, and within moments the hall was empty, save for me, Zeitz, and the piano. "Don't they lock the piano?" "This is the countryside," he answered, "and no one locks things up. Go and enjoy yourself. I must go and buy some postcards. I'll meet you at the hotel later." The allure of the piano is too great.I sat on the piano bench for a long time, not daring to touch the keys.At first, I didn't know what to play. Later, I didn't know what I would play. Slowly, with growing dread, I realized the answer: no, what Only then did I understand that maybe I would survive the loss of Sylvia, but the music was irretrievably gone. from my hands.out of my head.from my heart. Chapter Fourteen I felt almost invisible as I walked among the crowds of sightseers who were jovial and gleeful about the dinners they were about to have. About my own deaf psyche, I decided not to tell anyone.I don't want to be a burden to others. Back at the hotel for dinner, I did my best to laugh lightly, knowing that sooner or later Zeitz would ask that painful question.Later, as we sat quietly on the porch, he asked, "How was it?" "How about what?" "Your reunion with the keyboard." I waved my right hand left and right, saying "it's okay". He said calmly: "Give yourself some time, it will recover." He doesn't understand.How could he possibly understand? After a few days of silent thinking, I made a decision.I should stop being sad.I don't want to cause pain to my family.If it weren't for them, I might have jumped off some beautiful cliff.But now Ellen is going to make me an uncle.It's time to stop hiding in this fantasy world, where the scenery is too beautiful to be true. Zeitz has succeeded in convincing me of the truth of Fitzgerald's motto (borrowed from George Herbert): the best revenge is to live well. ① Fitzgerald (1896-1940), an American novelist, one of the most representative writers in the United States in the 1920s, is his masterpiece. ②George Herbert (1593-1633), an important metaphysical poet in England, was skilled in metric and fully mastered rhyme skills. "In your case," added the younger brother, with new-found maturity in the midst of the ordeal, "I would start off with an easy life." I want to laugh.I still have to try to master this very necessary facial reflection in normal social interactions. Later that day, I started acting on my decisions.I threw the clothes into the box, and my brother stood aside in a daze. "You don't mean it, do you?" he demanded. "You're not going back to Africa, are you?" "Ah, it looks like you're not old enough to learn from your brother, Zeitz. It's called keeping a promise. I signed a three-year contract, and God knows, they need me badly. I'm going back to where I can Where to make some contribution." He could see that I was determined, and he had to help me prepare to return to the wild land.Since all medical expenses were paid by the international medical team and my salary was paid during my hospitalization, we had money to spend.So I bought presents for everyone, including a bottle of Dutch schnapps (regular size) for Maurice. It was only when we sat in the departure lounge that my flight called to board for the last time did Zeitz get excited.In fact, it must have been an extremely brutal mental test for him, and he has been very strong.After my near-death ordeal, we grew closer, something he hadn't revealed until now. I pat him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Zetz, I'll come back whole, I promise you." "That's what you said last time." He said with a wry smile. "Aren't I back whole? Give Ellen a special kiss for me." We hug each other.Then, I went straight to the plane and didn't look back. As soon as the plane was in the air, I realized I had forgotten to bring a present for François.Luckily I had the opportunity to rectify this oversight during a connecting flight in Cairo, and I bought him a plaster cast of the Sphinx for $25.The only downside is that he can't smoke or drink it, but at least it shows I'm thinking of him. He was very happy when he heard me say on the phone that I had booked a flight back home, and said he would pick me up.As he had promised, he was waiting for me on the runway at Asmara airport. I could hardly breathe as I walked down the first few steps of the gangway.This time is not like the past, not a trip into an unknown world, but this time returning to an all-too-familiar world. Francois hugged me. Although I protested repeatedly that I was healthy and energetic, he still insisted on carrying my bag to the car for me.But his most generous act is to respect my pure lungs from Switzerland at the moment, and to not smoke. Along the way he told me about everything: the changes in personnel, not even the smallest incident that happened while I was gone.He didn't mention Sylvia's name once, and it was an excellent show that did everything he could. As the rest of that night proved, she had disappeared completely and without a trace, erased from everyone's vocabulary. "We miss you," said François, surprisingly, without his usual sardonic humor. "I only realized your worth when you were not here." "Anyway," he said, patting my thigh, "we'll be full when you get back. I managed to get the Australian on standby." "how is he?" "As a doctor he was first-rate, but as a person he was zero. Apparently, it is a fact that legends are rare in Oceania. Denise was emotionally vulnerable by then, and she believed her prayers were answered in him. If he hadn't, his ego would have died of malnutrition. In fact, we all had one thing in common to hate, which was very bad for morale. favorable." As usual, François's social observations hit the spot. Everyone was waiting for me to come back, and none of them slept.They had local St. George's beer ready, and someone generous donated the last quarter of a bottle of duty-free whiskey. One by one they all came up to me for a hug, except for one big, muscular guy.He just held out an ape-like hand and introduced himself with a full Australian accent. "Doug Maitland Jr.," he declared. (As if I might have known old Doug Maitland) "Too bad I wasn't around when you got hurt, man," he said "modestly," "otherwise I could have healed you on the spot." "Ah," I asked, "are you a brain surgeon?" "No, it's orthopedics. I'm familiar with the head, though, and from what I've heard, your injury isn't serious. Anyway, you're welcome to join in, dude." Wait, I thought to myself, I should say this.Is it because he now feels like he came here before me?François must have scoured the waiting list to find the role. Nice to see everyone.Even the taciturn Marta gave me a big kiss, as did Ida.I bought her perfume and she was very touched. Yet I managed to travel thousands of miles from Zurich without thinking about what really awaited me at the end. During my absence, François did not change the dormitory arrangements.They gave me a torch and Gilles helped me get my stuff to shed 11.He walked me to the door and left, and I went into the house alone.There is a musty smell in the room, but it may have been there before.When I used to live here, I never noticed this climatic nuance. I shone a light on the bed with a flashlight. There was a light-colored sheet on the bed, and the folded blanket was placed at the foot, which was neatly spread.We were here having sex together only 3 months ago and now I'm all alone as if she never existed.Involuntarily, I went to the hastily made wardrobe for us and opened the drawer on the right.My clothes were in there just as they were before I left.I opened the left drawer and her clothes were in there.All that was gone was her heartbeat, her voice, her very being. How am I going to sleep here tonight? The answer is - very difficult. During my absence, there was a new development in the interpersonal relationship in the group.It appears that our Australian colleague joined us with a stronger sense of entitlement than his complacency.Almost immediately he began lobbying for Shack 11 for himself and Denise. ("Damn it," he argued, "that place is empty, and neither of them will ever come back.") François replied: "I'll think about reassignment after I'm sure they won't come back." Young Doug Maitland was assigned to live with poor Gilles when he first arrived.At least this created a culture clash.He and Denise seemed to pick the most inconvenient moment for Gilles to go away, or, in Doug's words, "to find your precious dodo" when he and Denise were in high spirits. I immediately offered to move back to my old place, but François was adamant. "That's not going to teach the Australian anything. But if you really want to help Gilles, it would be nice if you'd let him come and live with you on the eleventh." "No problem," I said, "I don't want to flatter that Oceanian guy." As a result, both sides thought they had won.François told me privately that this is one of the secrets of being a good leader. Naturally, the closet had to be cleared out for Gilles.This gave François the right to distribute Sylvia's stuff where it would be most useful. It didn't take long for me to get used to that routine again.The patient is different, but the disease has not changed, there is still so much unnecessary suffering. Many of our patients are still dying when under normal circumstances we could have treated them on the spot and they would have gone back alive for a long time. One night, before we sat down to dinner, François pushed me aside and said, "By the way, Matt, tomorrow is Tuesday." "Great to hear that - especially since it's a Monday. If it's not Tuesday tomorrow, I'm going to be worried." "Come on, Matthew, you know what Maurice and I do every Tuesday afternoon." "Ah, yes." I suddenly remembered. "It's cataract surgery day, right?" "Yes, I want you to help us." "You may have performed this kind of operation a thousand times. Since when did you need help?" "From now on." He stretched out his hand in front of me, and I could clearly see that the knuckles were swollen.If it wasn't swollen recently, it was something I hadn't noticed before.It doesn't look good. "What could be the problem?" I asked, politely giving him the possibility to withhold details he didn't want to go into. "Come on, Matthew, get a diagnosis. It looks like rheumatoid arthritis, and it is." "Ah, that's terrible." “没关系。我已经有了时间去习惯这一点。幸运的是，我喜欢教书，坦白地说，我已经在盼望看到巴黎明亮的灯光了。同时，在这里也有现成的解决办法。” "any solution?" 他看着我的眼睛，笑着说：“你，我的先生。从明天起你开始接受训练，好接替我做白内障手术。” “杜格不会喜欢的。”我说。 “哦，我也不喜欢杜格，所以我们两清了。这是一个直截了当的手术，我们的组织向来训练非外科医生专门做这一项眼科手术。别担心，不会让你做角膜移植之类的事的。” 我不知道应做出什么反应。除了其他因素之外，我知道对于像弗朗索瓦这样的人，做出这个决定肯定是十分困难的。 “马修，你为什么一副难过的样子？”他责备道。 “呃，我知道这可能使你吃惊，可是我实际上很喜欢你。” “谢谢，不过看在上帝的分上别告诉别人。我不愿失去我的形象。” “见鬼，没有你我们怎么办？”我说。 “会办得很好，我想。你会成为第一流的领导的。” 那晚，我脑子里带着完全不同的思绪回到棚屋里。前一天我还在为自己难过，今晚我有更有意义的事要想： 为弗朗索瓦难过。 白内障可能是世界上致盲的最大原因，也是造成最大工作量的疾病……此病在不发达世界的盛行可能与高日照水平有关…… 我无法入睡，便溜达到那空空的饭厅，热了一杯头晚剩下的带咸味的咖啡，开始为我即将从事的手术阅读材料。 在厄立特里亚这类地方，白内障的发病率至少是欧美的20倍。这也就是为什么没有哪一支称职的到未开化地区去的医疗队会没有一名有能力的（哪怕没有获得执照）外科医生的原因。 次日，弗朗索瓦又是那副粗暴尖刻的老样子了，没有一丝自怜。我敢说，他意识到我正用新的眼光在观察他，不仅把他作为一个医生，而且作为一个领导在研究。正是在力图想像这工作意味着什么的时候，我才明白他的任务是多么令人难以相信地困难和复杂。 就手术本身而言他没有说错。整个过程用了也就30分钟，在局部麻醉下进行。切口并不复杂，但要求很精确。尽管如此，在我协助他的过程中我开始明白，弗朗索瓦为什么自己决定退下来，这使我更加尊敬他。 下一个星期二，我用自己的双手使5位盲人复明。这是我一生中最激动的经历。一位老人第一次看见了自己的孙辈们。一个妇女看到了她长大成人的儿子，她最后一次看见他时他还是个小孩子。想想看，弗朗索瓦做手术时，每一个星期都能有这种经历。我无法压下这个想法：他不能再继续从事这一工作，会感到多么难过啊。 一等他正式把手术完全交给我做，马上就流言四起了。从社会地位上说，我两头搭不着：既不是“卒子之一”，又还不是个司令。 唯一一个和我在一起似乎感到自在的人是吉勒斯。他又成了我的同屋，快乐得像只百灵鸟（这只是个比方）一样。 眼看我就要成为重要人物了，这时我得到了一盏煤油灯，以便我能在晚上工作，这使得人们羡慕不已。（我毫不怀疑杜格明天上午就会要求也有一盏。）自然，灯光使得吉勒斯也有可能继续他的乌类学方面的研读。 一天晚上，我正在翻阅一些病历，吉勒斯正埋头于鸟类研究时，我在摇曳的灯光下看着他的脸，突然觉得他好像有点不一样了。渐渐地，我惊奇地意识到，他——不像所有其他在这片荒漠中心漏水的救生艇上的人——比过去快活了。 “告诉我，是不是仅仅因为不再有那个愚蠢的澳大利亚人纠缠你的缘故？” “你在说什么呀，马修？” “我不在的时候是不是发生了什么事？” “呃，”他哼哼哈哈地支吾道，“我短期休了一次假，飞到肯尼亚去了。” “啊，你在那里有朋友吗？” “实际上是有的，曾经和我父母一起工作过的一些人。” “他们做什么工作？” “我的父母是传教医生，很久以前我还小的时候他们就死了。不过在他们去世前我也大都是和叔叔婶婶一起在法国生活，只有他们体探亲假时我才能见到父母。我无法理解他A］为什么把我丢下。然而，当我终于去拜访他们的朋友时，他们告诉我母亲离开我有多么难过。在所有那些年里，我甚至从来没有想到她会想念我。” 他放下书，摘下了眼镜。 “他们是在50年代的茅茅运动①中死去的，从那以后我一直怀恨在心。那是在我来到这里之前。现在我正在做着他们所做过的工作，我明白了他们为什么献出自己的生命。” ①茅茅运动，肯尼亚吉库尤人兴起的民族主义运动，主张以暴力推翻英国在肯尼亚的统治。其领袖乔莫·肯雅塔后成为独立肯尼亚的总理。 “我去参观了以他们的名字命名的学校，在他们的墓上放了鲜花。”他停了片刻，深深吸了一口气，然后平静地说：“实际上，我打算等我在这里期满后到肯尼亚去，继续他们的工作。” 他向我吐露了内心的秘密，我十分感动。这时，他大起胆子提出了一个问题。 “马修，我可以问你一个问题吗？我常常在想这件事。” "what is the problem?" “是关于你那小小的钢琴键盘的。” 这个问题早晚会被提起的。 "What's wrong?" “我再也没看见过你弹它了。你是不是为了什么原因放弃了——如果不嫌我冒昧的话！”他胆怯地补充道。 “不，没关系，”我谎称道，“我就是没有时间而已。” 看得出来，他并不相信。 “大家说你弹得非常好。非常非常好。” “我想是的——从前是这样。” 他意识到我不愿进一步打开心灵之门，但当他上床后翻过身去时，他抑制不住地说了声：“太遗憾了。” “太遗憾什么？”我感到有点不自在，问道。 他转身看着我，没戴眼镜，显出一副近视的样子。 “我曾经在一个伟大的钢琴家演奏时在同一间屋子里，可是却连一个音符也没有听见。” 从几个月前弗朗索瓦告诉我让我负责一切以后，我时不时会产生阵阵怀疑，不知没有弗朗索瓦这个活百科全书在旁边，我是否能够胜任。但渐渐地，我发现自己几乎有点盼着他离开，我好实施一些我的新想法，特别是我已经考虑了很久的公共卫生项目。 在正式接手前一周，我特意和每一个医生都谈了一次心。我对他们保证，除非他们自己要求，他们的工作不会有任何变动。（和往常一样，梅特兰是个例外。他要求做白内障手术，我没有同意。）知道队员们很喜欢我被选中做领导，我心里挺高兴。他们都以自己的方式，保证帮助我度过最初的困难日子。他们是一群了不起的人，实地经历更加提高了他们的献身精神。弗朗索瓦当初挑对了。 乘机离开的那天，头儿不愿意大事张扬，坚持要诊所和往常一样开门看病。只有我和一个司机可以离开，送他去机场。头天晚上，我们不理医生的命令，喝了许多劣质威士忌。他可以把我们第二天因饮酒过度引起的头疼解释成对他离去感到悲伤的表现。 以后的18个月是建设时期。从某种意义上来说，有弗朗索瓦作为我们在巴黎的代表，证明是大有好处的。他离财源近了。他以熟练的外交手腕设法给我们搞到资助，购置了——早就该安的——门诊室的空调。 他在我那有着堂皇的名称的公共卫生运动的资金筹集上做出了奇迹。我决意要为这些长期生活在痛苦中的人民留下一点永久的东西，一种基准尺度，不论是多么微不足道。我决定在我剩下的时间里，给所及之处的每一个儿童做天花和小儿麻痹的预防接种。 根据我的记录，到我离开时为止，我们给将近4万名儿童做了预防接种，还培训了24名护士，建立了两个流动医疗站，进行基本卫生教育。 渐渐地，我们变得越来越像一家人，尽管我内心没有准备，仍不得不充作家长。那年，我们按东正教的日期，作为艾达村子的客人在1月7日庆祝了圣诞节。我们吃了一碗又一碗各种作料齐全的“齐吉尼”。 有趣的是，在所有这段时间里，我们只有一个人脱逃。杜格·梅特兰，这个人猿泰山般的澳大利亚人受不了啦。他履历表上的墨迹刚于，气候就奇怪地影响了他打橄榄球落下的老伤。很快，老伤就变得和他这个人一样不可忍受。尽管会给我们的工作日程带来很大混乱，而且他只提前了半个月通知我们，我还是让他走了。 他以特有的狡黠提醒我他所做出的重要贡献。 “听着，伙计，我已经在这个鬼地方服过役了，我指望着你好好给我写上一封推荐信呢。” 我希望他一直永远指望下去。 而他的骤然离去意味着我得像牧师般做丹妮斯的工作。我强调那个夸夸其谈的脓包根本配不上她，以此来安慰她。 “我们的关系没有结束，”她勇敢地抗议道，“我会去墨尔本看他。” “当然。”我说，尽量使自己的话听起来可信一些。 吉勒斯高兴得死了都情愿。他已经把他的好消息告诉了头两个来吃早餐的人，他一看见我就开始拼命招手。他脸上那胜利的狂喜只可能意味着一件事。 “我看见它了，北方秃朱鹭，今天早上我看见它了！你能想像出我的感觉吗，马修？” “不能，”我老老实实地说道，“但你是最应该看见它的人。祝贺你。” 在厄立特里亚，似乎任何事物都不会终结。旱灾是1968年开始的——已经10年了——看来好像会永远继续下去。同样，内战势头毫无减弱之意。厄立特里亚人民解放阵线已从1978年俄国的袭击中恢复过来，但没有迹象表明任何一方丧失了斗志，或者冲突会在可见的将来得到解决。饥荒仍旧是生活中不可改变的事实。 这种没个头的局面终究影响了我的队员，在他们看来，早上病人的队伍永远是那么长；也影响了外伤队的队员，他们仍在日日夜夜地从受伤的战士身上取出子弹。 到了又一个圣诞节时，我看得出来，人人都在梦想着回家了，就连我也越来越厌倦于又得给别人打气、又得给自己鼓劲的局面了。 合同快到期时，没有一个人来续签（如果不算吉勒斯的话。他反正要到肯尼亚去继续这种工作）。 从我们在瑞士一起生活时起，我的弟弟就学会了如何显得并没有争论而在和我的争论中获胜。他看出我的心理钟摆这时正摆向利他主义，便一次也没有借助家庭——包括我的小侄女杰西卡在内——作为可能把我吸引回家的理由。 他的做法是，指出新的基因科学和我正在进行的预防医学项目间的微妙联系。 “想像一下吧，”他在信中写道，“有朝一日，我们用不着再考虑治疗像糖尿病之类的疾病了，因为它们根本就不存在了。我们用不着去为缺乏胰岛素的人生产人工合成胰岛素了，新技术可以修补人体内的基因，使它们自然产生胰岛素。难道你不愿参与到其中去吗？” 我又上钩了。 我猜，当我让蔡兹给我寄更多的材料来的时候，他也知道我上了钩。 合同期满前的6个月中，我向许多大学提出读微生物学博士的申请。我特有的野外工作经历显然给了我申请的这些学校一个好印象，因为他们全都接受了我。 我决定去哈佛，纯粹是为了省得当了医生后老得向人解释我为什么没有上哈佛。在那里，我有幸师从迈克斯·鲁道尔夫和他的接班人亚当·库珀史密斯。 我离开的前一晚，我们举行了传统的纵酒狂欢，大家发表些嘲弄性的讲话，进行伤感的告别。我已经感到了留恋之情，但尽量不表现出来。 第二天的航班非常早，我不会有时间和那里最重要的人——病人——好好告个别。因此，我收拾好行李捆好书以后，就漫步走到等着第二天看病的人的各个营火堆前去。 这时我的埃塞俄比亚语已说得差不多和英语一样好了，可以和他们互相说俏皮话。我认出了我给她看过病的一个孕妇，她的第一个孩子死于痢疾。 我祝她在这个孩子身上有所有的好运气。她感谢我的好意。我和她吻别后走回了棚屋。 吉勒斯正焦急地等待我回来。 “喂，马修，你看，你差点忘了这个。”他举着我那无声的键盘说。 “没关系，”我说，“我不需要它了。” “可是我们拿它怎么办？就这么把它扔掉多可惜。” 这一点我同意，于是建议，请他把它作为我的礼物送给坐在附近火堆旁的那个孕妇。看得出来，他也困惑于她拿它能有什么用，但他看到乐观的一面，说：“也许这会给她的孩子以灵感，使他成为艺术大师。” “真说不定呢。”我微笑着走进屋里。 我至今仍想念这些人，想念病人，甚至想念那片苦难的地方。当我和我的厄立特里亚朋友告别时，我因为离开他们回到一个我可以跷起双脚、喝着啤酒观看体育世界节目的地方而感到很难过，很羞愧。 在我离开前两个月多一点时，我们破土动工，建造一所有24个病床和一间设备良好的手术室的医院。我知道，在事物的伟大发展中这可能没有什么了不起，但它毕竟是一个开始。 如果我从在厄立特里亚的全部经历中学到了一样东西的话，那就是，我可以改变事物。