Chapter 18 18

Everyone had a great meal that night. The doctor prescribed Vera Smith a blood pressure medicine.Instead of lowering her blood pressure, it made her feel sick and weak.After vacuuming the floor, she had to sit and rest.After climbing a flight of steps you have to stop, panting like a dog on a sweltering August afternoon.If Johnny hadn't told her it was good for her, she would have thrown the pills out the window. The doctor gave her another drug, which made her heart pound so hard that she actually stopped taking it. "It was a trial and error process," the doctor said. "We'll fix you eventually, Vera. Take it easy."

"I'm in no hurry," Vera said. "I trust in God." "Yes, of course it should be." At the end of June, the doctor decided to give her a combination of two medicines, the yellow pills were very bitter.When she took the two medicines together, she had to urinate every fifteen minutes.She has a headache and a racing heart.The doctor said her blood pressure had dropped to the normal range, but she didn't believe him.After all, what is a doctor for?Look what they did to her Johnny, cut him up like a butcher, three surgeries already, he's got stitches all over his arms, thighs and neck like a monster, but he doesn't rely on those The shelf still can't walk.If her blood pressure has dropped, why does she always feel sick?

"You have to give your body time to adjust to the medication," Johnny says.It was the first Saturday in July; his parents came to see him on Sunday.Johnny just got out of the spa and looked pale and haggard.He held a small shot put in each hand, and as they talked he kept raising them and then lowering them to his knees, flexing his elbows and building biceps and triceps.Healing scars stretched and retracted across the elbow and forearm. "Trust God, Johnny," Vera said. "No need to do stupid things. Trust God, He will heal you." "Vera..." Herb began.

"Don't call me. That's stupid! Doesn't the Bible say that prayers will be answered, knock on the door and it will open? I don't need to take that nasty drug, my son doesn't need to be tortured by those doctors He. It's wrong, it's useless, it's sinful. Johnny put the shot put on the bed.The muscles in his arms were trembling.He felt sick and tired, and was suddenly very angry with his mother. "God help those who help themselves," he said. "You don't want a Christian God at all, Mom. You want a devil out of a bottle, giving you three hopes."

"Johnny! "Yes, it's true." "Those doctors put that idea in your head! All these crazy ideas!" Her lips were quivering, and her eyes were wide, but there were no tears. "God brought you out of that stupor, John. The others they just..." "Just trying to get me back on my feet so I don't have to spend the rest of my life doing God's will in a wheelchair." "Stop arguing," said Herb. "Families shouldn't argue." Typhoons shouldn't blow, but they blow every year, and nothing he says can stop the argument.It has already started.

"If you believe in God, Johnny..." Vera began, ignoring Herb at all. "I don't believe in anything anymore." "I'm sorry to hear you say that," she said.Her voice was stiff and indifferent. "Satan's agents are everywhere. They'll try to change your fate. Looks like they're doing a good job." "You've got to find something... eternity out of it, don't you? I'll tell you what it was, it was a stupid accident where a couple of kids were driving side by side and I happened to be caught in the middle of it. You know I What do you want, Mom? I want to get out of here. That's all I want. I want you to keep taking your meds...and try to keep your feet on the ground. That's all I want."

"I'm leaving," she stood up.Her face was pale and stiff. "I'm going to pray for you, Johnny." He looked at him, feeling isolated.Frustration and misfortune.His anger is gone.He took it out on her. "Keep taking your meds!" he said. "I pray you see the light." She left the ward with a stern face as cold as a stone.Johnny looked at his father helplessly. "John, I wish you hadn't done that," Herb said. "I'm tired. When I'm tired, I lose my judgment or my temper." "Yes," said Herb.He seemed about to say something more, but held back.

"Is she still planning to go to California for the UFO seminar?" "Yes. But she might change her mind. You don't know what's going to change from day to day. There's still a month to go." "You should stop her." "Really? How to stop? Send her to a madhouse? Lock her up?" Johnny shook his head: "I don't know. But maybe it's time for you to really think about it now, she's sick. You have to see that." Herb said loudly: "She was normal before you..." Johnny flinched back as if he'd been slapped. "Look, I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean that."

"It's all right. Dad." "No, I really didn't mean that," Herb said with a pained look on his face. "Look, I'm supposed to watch her. She's probably handing out pamphlets in the hallway right now." "Ok." "Johnny, forget about it and focus on getting healthy, she loves you very much, and so do I. Don't be too hard on us." "No. It's all right, Dad." Herb kissed Johnny on the cheek: "I have to take care of her." "Ok." Herb left.After they were gone, Johnny got up and took three undulating steps between his chair and the bed, which was nothing special.But it was the beginning, and his father didn't know it, and he really hoped he hadn't lost his temper with his mother.He hoped so because he was sure his mother wouldn't live long.

Vera stopped taking her medicine.Herb persuaded her, coaxed her, and finally begged her, but it was no use.She showed him letters from her correspondents, most of them scribbled and full of cursing words, all of whom supported her attitude and promised to pray for her.There was a letter from a Rhode Island lady who had also lived on a Vermont farm, waiting for the end of the world (with her pet dog). "God is the best medicine," the woman wrote, "ask God and you'll be healed. Doctors are useless. Doctors are the ones who cause cancer in this wicked world. People who have had surgery and even moved. It's a proven fact that people who do something as minor as a tonsillectomy will die of cancer sooner or later, so ask God, pray to God, make your will one with His and you'll be healed of!"

Herb called to tell Johnny, and Johnny called his mother the next day to apologize for being angry with her.He begged him to take medicine—for him.Villa accepted his apology but refused to take any more medicine.If God wants her to walk the earth, then he sees her keep walking the earth.If God wants her to die, it's useless for her to take a bucket of medicine every day.This claim is irrefutable, and Johnny's only possible counterargument is what Catholics and Protestants alike have rejected for seventeen hundred years: that God works His will through the human brain and human spirit. "Mother," he said, "have you ever considered that it is God's will that the doctors invented that medicine so that you could live long? Haven't you even considered that?" A theological argument couldn't be had at a distance, and she hung up. The next day, Maria Michard went into Johnny's room, laid her head on his bed, and began to cry. "Hey, hey," Johnny said, startled. "What's the matter? What happened?" "My son," she said, still crying, "my Mark. They operated on him, and as you said, he's fine, his bad eye is back to normal. Thank God." She hugged Johnny, and he hugged her as hard as he could.Her warm tears wet his cheeks, making him feel that everything that happened to him wasn't all bad.Some things should perhaps be said.See and rediscover.It is not absurd even to say that God works through him, although his conception of God is vague.He hugged Maria and told her how happy he was.He wanted her to remember that he hadn't been the one who had done Mark's surgery, and he barely remembered what he'd said to her.She left shortly after this, wiping away tears as she walked, leaving Johnny to think. In early August, David Pearson came to see Johnny.The assistant principal at Clives Mills Middle School was a short, trim man with thick glasses and a bright tracksuit. Of those who came to see Johnny in the summer of 1975, David was the least changed.He has some white hair on his head, that's all. "How's your health?" David asked after they exchanged pleasantries. "Very nice," Johnny said. "Now I can walk on my own. I can swim three laps. Sometimes my head hurts, but the doctor says it will last for a while, maybe for the rest of my life." "Is it okay to ask a personal question?" "If you're asking me if I can keep going," Johnny grinned, "then the answer is yes." "I'm glad to know that, but what I want to know is about the money. Can you afford the medical bills?" Johnny shook his head: "I spent five years in the hospital, and only Rockefeller could afford the medical bills. My parents applied for relief from the state government." David nodded. "That relief is called the Critical Illness Assistance Program. But why didn't you end up in a state hospital, Johnny? It was hell." "Arranged by Dr. Weizaker and Dr. Brown. They were in charge of my treatment. Dr. Weizaker said I was a... a test subject. How long would this coma last before it became a complete vegetable? The last two years of my coma, Been treating me and giving me tons of vitamins...my ass looks like I'm having smallpox. Not that they expected me to wake up, they just assumed I couldn't wake up when I came in. Weizaker said What he and Brown are doing is 'active life support'. He sees it as a rebuttal to many who argue that life should not be on life support when there is no hope of recovery. Anyway, if you turn me to State hospital, they can't use me, so they keep me here. When I'm not useful, they will eventually transfer me to the state hospital." "The best care you can get there is to turn you every six hours to avoid bedsores," David said. .” "I think I'm going to be a severed man no matter what happens," Johnny said, shaking his head slowly. "I figured if someone offered to do another operation on me, I'd be a cripple. I'd still be a little sloppy, and it wouldn't be possible to turn my head to the left anymore." "When will they release you from the hospital?" "Within three weeks." "What are you going to do next?" Johnny shrugged. "I think I'll go home, to Bonnaire. My mother is going to California for a while... for religious things. Father and I can use that time to get used to it. I got a letter Letter, from a big New York book agent... No, he said it wasn't him, but his assistant. They thought they could write a book about me. I think I'll try A chapter or two and a synopsis, and maybe this guy or his assistant can sell it. The money is easy to come by." "Have other media expressed interest?" "Ah, the man who wrote the first report in the Bangor Daily News..." "Brett? He's great." "After I got back to Bonaire, he wanted to go there and do an in-depth report. I liked that guy a lot, but now I won't let him write it. Because I wouldn't make any money that way, and frankly, what I need most right now," he said. It's money. If I can make two hundred bucks, I'd like to be on 'tell the truth'. My parents' savings are gone. They sold the car, and my father put a second mortgage on the house, and he wanted to retire sold it and lived off the money." "Have you thought about going back to teaching?" Johnny looked up: "Is this a suggestion?" "certainly" "I'm grateful," Johnny said, "but I'm sure I won't be in class in September, David." "I didn't say September. You remember Sarah's friend Anne Strafford?" Johnny nodded. "She's Anne Betty now, and she's having a baby in December. So we need an English teacher for the second term. Classes are light. Four classes, one senior seminar, two free lessons." "Do you really want me to go, David?" "real." "You're welcome," Johnny said hoarsely. "You're welcome," said David lightly, "you're a very good teacher." "Can you give me two weeks to think it over?" "You can think about October 1st," David said. "I think you can still write your book. If it's possible to publish it." Johnny nodded. "You probably don't want to be in Bonaire for too long," David said. "You'll find it... uncomfortable." Words came to Johnny's lips, and he had to swallow them back. It won't be long, David.You see, my mother was already killing herself, only without a gun.She will have a stroke.She's going to be dead before Christmas unless my dad and I can convince her to go back on meds, which I don't think we can do.I was part of the cause of death—how much I don't know.I don't want to know either. Instead he replied: "The word spread, huh?" David shrugged. "I heard from Sarah that your mother won't be able to adjust. She'll recover, Johnny. Now, think about teaching." "I will. In fact, I can basically say yes now."It’s been great to be teaching again and everything is back to normal. " "I like you very much," David said. After he was gone, Johnny lay on the bed and looked out the window.He is very tired.Back to normal.Somehow he thought it impossible. He felt the headache start again. The fact that Johnny Smith awoke from a coma with psychic powers finally hit the papers, with David Bright's byline on the front page.It happened less than a week before Johnny left the hospital. He was recuperating on his back on a mat with a twelve-pound medicine ball on his stomach.His therapist, Erin Magoon, was standing and counting.He was supposed to do ten sit-ups, and he's done eighth now.Sweat trickled down his face, and the healing scar on his neck was flushed red. Erin is a short.A kindly woman, very thin, with curly red hair and dark green eyes tinged with gray.Johnny sometimes jokingly referred to her as the world's smallest navy gymnastics instructor.She played hard and soft, from a patient who couldn't even hold a glass of water, trained to walk without a cane, do three pull-ups at a time, and swim in the hospital. Olympic record, but already pretty good.She was unmarried, lived in a big house in the middle of Old Town Street, and had four cats.She is very strict and never compromises. Johnny fell flat on the mat. "No more," he said, out of breath. "Sniff, I can't do it! Irene." "Get up, lad!" she shouted, kindly sadistic. "Get up! Get up! Make three more and you'll have a Coke!" "Give me ten pound balls and I'll make two more." "If you don't do three more, I'm going to shove that ten pound ball up your anus. Get up!" "Ah!" exclaimed Johnny, snapping the eighth.He fell down with a thud, and then sat up hard again. "Wonderful!" Erin exclaimed. "Do one more, do another!" "Ah—" Johnny cried, sitting up for the tenth time.He collapsed on the mat and let the medicine ball roll off. "I'm straining, please rejoice, my insides are loose, they're floating around inside, I'm going to sue you, you devil." "My God, you bastard," Wenlin said, reaching out to pull him. "Compared to the next workout, this time is nothing at all." "Forget it," Johnny said. "Next time all I want to do is swim..." He looked at her with a look of surprise on his face.He gripped her hand hard until she hurt a little. "Johnny? What's the matter? Is it a muscle cramp?" "Oh, my God!" Johnny said softly. "Johnny?" Still holding her hand, he stared at her face with dreamlike eyes, which made her feel uneasy.She had heard rumors about Johnny Smith, but she laughed them off.He is said to have prophesied about Maria before the doctors decided to operate.Michad's son will recover.Another rumor has to do with Dr. Weizaker, and Johnny is said to have told him his mother wasn't dead, but was living somewhere on the West Coast under another name.Eileen Magoon thought it was nonsense, the same kind of stuff as the silly magazines and erotic novels the nurses read.But now the way he looked at her frightened her.It seemed as if he had seen the depths of her heart. "Johnny, are you all right? It's just the two of them in the recovery room, and the frosted glass door to the swimming pool is closed." "Jesus!" said Johnny, "you better...yes, there's still time. Just in time." "what are you saying?" He woke up suddenly.He let go of her hand... but he had already left a white indentation on the back of her hand. "Call the fire brigade," he said, "you forgot to turn off the stove. The curtains are on fire!" "what?" "The stove set the dishcloth on fire, and the dishcloth set fire to the curtains," Johnny said impatiently. "Call them quickly. Do you want your house burned down?  …" "Johnny, you have no way of knowing..." "Never mind what I can't know," Johnny said, grabbing her arm.He pushed her towards the door.Johnny had a bad limp in his left leg, which he always did when he was tired.They walked across the house where the swimming pool was, their heels thumping on the brick floor, and walked down the first-floor corridor to the nurse's office.In the office, two nurses are drinking coffee while a third is on the phone, telling someone on the other end how she's renovating her apartment. "Did you hit it or did I hit it?" Johnny asked. Erin's mind was in turmoil.Her morning routine is very regular, like most single people.She woke up and boiled an egg, ate a grapefruit and a bowl of oatmeal.After breakfast, she got dressed and drove to the hospital for work.Did she turn off the stove?Of course it's off.She can't remember doing it, but it's a habit, and she should turn it off. "John, I really don't know how you can think that way..." "Okay, I'll call." They were already in the office, a glassed-in room with three armchairs and an electric stove.The cabin is dominated by a call board—an array of small light bulbs that light up when a patient presses the call button.Now there are three light bulbs that are blinking.The two nurses continue to drink their coffee and talk about some doctor getting drunk at a party.A third was apparently talking to her beautician. "I'm sorry, I have to make a call," Johnny said. The nurse covered the receiver with her hand, "There's a pay phone in the corridor..." "Thanks," Johnny said, snatching the phone from her.He pressed an end key, dialed a zero, and he heard a busy tone. "What's wrong with this thing?" "Hi!" shouted the nurse who was talking to the beautician, "what the hell are you doing? Give me the phone!" Remembering that the hospital had its own switchboard, Johnny dialed 9 for an outside line, then 0. The nurse whose phone was taken away was flushed with anger, and reached out to grab the phone.Johnny pushed her away.She turned around, saw Erin, and took a step towards her. "Eileen, what's the matter with the madman?" she asked sharply.The other two nurses put down their coffee cups and stared at Johnny with their mouths open.Erin shrugged uncomfortably, "I don't know, he's just...the operator." "Operator, I want to report a fire in Old Town," Johnny said. "Can you give me the correct phone number?" "Hello," said the two nurses, "whose house is on fire? " Erin staggered uncomfortably, "He said mine." The nurse who had been talking to her beautician about her apartment suddenly woke up. "Oh my God! It's that guy," she said. Johnny pointed to five or six calling boards with flashing lights: "Why don't you go and see what those people need?" The operator connected him to the Old Town Fire Department. "My name is John Smith, and I'm reporting a fire. It's in..." He looked at Eileen. "What's your address?" For a split second Johnny thought she wouldn't tell him.Her mouth moved, but nothing came out.The two nurses drinking coffee put down their cups and retreated to a corner of the office.They whisper together, like the little girl in the middle school bathroom.Their eyes are wide open. "Sir?" asked the other end of the phone. "Come on," Johnny said, "do you want your pussy fried?" "624 Center Street," Erin said reluctantly. "Johnny, you're joking." Johnny repeated the address into the phone and said, "In the kitchen." "Your name, sir?" "John Smith. I'm calling from Eastern Maine Medical Center in Bangor." "May I ask how you know this news?" "Long story, time is running out. My information is correct. Now go put it out." He slammed the phone down. "...he said Sam Weizake's mother also..." She stopped suddenly and looked at Johnny.He felt them all looking at him, their eyes resting on him like hot little hammers, and he knew what the consequences would be, and felt his stomach churning. "Eileen," he said. "what?" "Do you have friends next door?" "There's... Bert and Janice and I are neighbors..." "Are they home?" "I guess Janice might be home." "Why don't you give her a call?" Erin nodded, suddenly understanding what he meant.She took the phone from him and dialed a number.The nurses stood watching greedily, as if they had stumbled into an exciting TV show. "Hi Jay? I'm Erin. Are you in the kitchen? Can you look out your window and tell me if it's ok in there... ah, a friend of mine said... after you go see I'll tell you again, okay?" Erin blushed. "Okay, I'll wait." She looked at Johnny and repeated, "You're kidding, Johnny." The pause seemed very long.Then Erin started listening again.She listened for a long time, then said in a strange voice that was very different from her usual, "No, it's all right, Jay. Already called. No... I can't explain it now, but I'll tell you later." Yours." She looked at Johnny. "Yeah, weird I'd know...but I can explain. At least I think I can. Goodbye." She hangs up.They all looked at her, the nurse very curious, Johnny certain. "Jay said the smoke was coming out of my kitchen window," Erin said, and the three nurses sighed at the same time.Their eyes widened, and their reproaches fell on Johnny again.The judge's eyes, he thought gloomily. "It's time for me to go home," said Eileen, the snappy doctor turned into a little woman for her cat.house and belongings) "I...I can't thank you enough, Johnny...I'm sorry I didn't believe you, but..." She began to cry. A nurse walked up to her, but Johnny got ahead of her.He put one arm around her and led her down the corridor. "Can you really..." Erin whispered, "They said..." "Go ahead," Johnny said. "I'm sure it's going to be all right. The smoke and the water will do a little damage, that's all. The movie poster was burned, but that's all." "Yes, all right. Thank you, Johnny. God bless you." She kissed him on the cheek and trotted down the corridor.She glanced back, the expression on her face was superstitious and fearful again. The nurses stood in a line against the glass of the office, staring at him.Suddenly they reminded him of crows on a telephone wire, those crows looking down at something shiny, ready to peck and tear. "Go and answer the calls," he said angrily, and his voice made them back away in fright.He limped to the elevator, leaving them gossiping.He is tired and his legs hurt.His hip joints seemed to be stuffed with shattered glass.He wanted to go back to bed and sleep. "What are you going to do?" asked Sam Weizake. "Jesus! I don't know," Johnny said. "How many people down there do you think?" "About eight. One was a special correspondent for the Associated Press. And two for TV, with cameras and lights. The hospital manager is mad at you, Johnny. He thinks you're very unruly." "Because a lady's house is going to be burned down?" Johnny said. "All I can say is it's not on the news these days." "Not much, actually. Ford vetoed two proposals. The PLO bombed a restaurant in Tel Aviv. At the airport, a police dog sniffed out four hundred pounds of drugs." "So what are they doing here?" Johnny asked.When Sam came in and told him that the reporters had gathered in the hallway, his first thought was what his mother would think of it.She was in Bonaire with his father, preparing for a pilgrimage to California next week.Neither Johnny nor his father approved of the trip, and if she heard the news that her son was a psychic, she might cancel the trip, but Johnny was terribly afraid that she wouldn't be able to bear the news. On the other hand, it might also convince her to start taking her meds again, a possibility that suddenly dawned on Johnny. "They're here because everything that happens is news," Sam said. "It has all the classic elements." "I didn't do anything, I just..." "You just told Eileen Magoon that her house was on fire, and it was confirmed," said Sam softly. "Come on, Johnny, you should know it's gonna happen sooner or later." "I'm not a showman," Johnny said coldly. "No, I didn't say you were. An earthquake is not a showman (but journalists cover it) and people want to know." "What if I refuse to talk to them? "That's not a good choice," Sam answered. "They'll walk away and publish unbelievable rumors. When you leave the hospital, they'll surround you. They'll stick the microphone in your face like you're a senator or a society boss. Huh?" Johnny thought for a moment. "Is Brett there?" "exist." "What if I call him up? He can get all the information and pass it on to somebody else." "You can do it, but other people will be very unhappy, and an unhappy reporter will be your enemy. Nixon upset them, they tore him to pieces." "I'm not Nixon," Johnny said. Weizak grinned. "Thank God," he said. "What do you say?" Johnny asked. As Johnny walked through the revolving doors into the West Hall, the reporters stood up and rushed forward.He was wearing an open collar white shirt and a pair of too baggy blue jeans.He was pale, but calm.The post-surgery scars are evident on the neck.The strobe blasted hot air at him, making him squint.The reporters rushed to ask questions. "Attention! Attention!" shouted Sam Weizaker. "This is a recovering patient! He's going to make a brief statement and then he'll answer some of your questions, but you must follow order! Now stand back and let him breathe!" The TV lights continued to shine, casting the West Hall in a strange, blinding light.Doctors and nurses gathered at the door to watch.Johnny avoids the lights, suspecting that this is what people call a spotlight.It all seemed to him like a dream. "Who are you?" a reporter yelled at Weizaker. "I'm Sam; Weizaker; the young man's doctor, and that name has changed to so-and-so when reported." There was a burst of laughter, and the atmosphere eased a little. "Johnny, are you okay?" Weizak asked.Now that it was late at night, his foresight of Irene's kitchen fire seemed so remote and insignificant, a memory within a memory. "It's all right," he said. "What's your statement?" a reporter shouted. "Ah," said Johnny, "that's right. I was being rehabilitated by a woman named Irene Magoon. She was a very lovely lady, and she was helping me recover. You know, I There was a car accident, and..." A TV camera zoomed in and looked straight at him, startling him....And I'm very weak.My muscles have no strength.This morning we were in the rehab room, just after the routine, and I had the feeling her house was on fire.Rather..."My God, what are you talking about!" I think she forgot to turn off her stove and the kitchen curtains were going to catch fire.So we went and called the fire brigade and that was the whole thing. " Then there was a moment of silence as the reporters mulled over the words—I had a feeling this was the whole thing—and then began a barrage of questions, so loud that nothing could be heard.Johnny looked around helplessly, bewildered. "Ask questions one at a time!" said Weizaker. "Hands up and ask questions! You didn't go to school?" Arms raised, Johnny pointed to David Bright. "Do you think it was a supernatural experience, Johnny?" "I think it's a feeling," Johnny replied. "I was doing sit-ups and I just finished. I knew when Miss Magoon reached out and pulled me up." He pointed to another person. "I'm Mel Allen, of the Portland Sunday Telegraph. Is that a picture? A picture in your head?" "No, not at all," Johnny said, but he had no memory of what it was like. "Has this ever happened before, Johnny?" asked a young woman in civilian clothes. "Yes, it happened a few times." "Can you tell me about those times?" "No, I don't want to say it." A TV reporter raised his hand, and Johnny nodded at him. "Mr. Smith. Before your accident and coma, was there anything like this?" Johnny hesitated. It was very quiet in the house.The TV light warmed his face like an equatorial sun. "No," he said. Another series of questions.Johnny looked at Weizak helplessly again. "Quiet! Quiet!" he yelled.When the uproar died down, he looked at Johnny. "Are you done, Johnny?" "I'll answer two more questions," Johnny said, "and then...really...so tired today...what's your question, ma'am?" He spoke of a fat woman who was squeezed between two young reporters. "Mr. Smith," her voice was very loud, like a trumpet, "who will be the Democratic nominee for president next year?" "I can't tell you," Johnny said, taken aback by the question. "How would I know?" More hands up.Johnny pointed to a tall man in a black suit.A sullen man.He took a step forward.He looked very serious. "Mr Smith, I'm Roger Dussault from the Livingstone Sun, and I would like to ask, do you know why you have this psychic power? If you do. Why, Mr Smith ?” Johnny cleared his throat. "My understanding of your question is...you're asking me to prove something I don't understand. I can't." "Not a proof. Mr. Smith, but an explanation." He thought I was lying to them.or attempt to deceive them. Weizak walked over to Johnny. "I may be able to answer that question," he said. "I may at least be able to explain why this question cannot be answered." "Do you have supernatural abilities too?" Dussault asked coldly. "Yes, all neurologists should be, that's a requirement," Weizek said.A burst of laughter broke out below, and Dussault blushed. "Ladies and gentlemen, this man was in a coma for four and a half years. Those of us who study the human brain don't know why he woke up again, for the simple reason that we don't understand what a coma really is. Ladies and gentlemen, we don't know Know the brain of a frog or the brain of an ant, and you can quote me on these words... Look, I'm big and fearless, aren't I?" There was another burst of laughter.They love Weizaker.But Dussault did not laugh. "You can also quote me and say that I believe this man now possesses a very novel ability, or a very ancient ability. Why? If my colleagues and I don't understand ant brains, can I tell you why ？我不能。但是，我能告诉你们一些有趣的事，这些可能有关系，也可能没有关系。约翰·史密斯大脑的一部分受到损伤，无法修复——非常小的一部分，但大脑的所有部分都是极为重要的。他称这一部分为他的'死亡区域'，显然，那里储藏着很多记忆，这些被抹去的记忆包括街道和高速公路的名称。它是一个大集合中的小子集。失去这个小子集，造成了一部分语言和视觉能力的丧失。 “与之相应的，约翰·史密斯大脑的另一小部分似乎醒来了。这一小部分在大脑半球的顶叶处，是大脑'传递'或'思考'的部位之一。史密斯大脑这一部分的电波反应跟正常的不符，嗯？这是多出了什么东西。大脑半球的顶叶与触觉有关——具体情况我们还不清楚一而且它离大脑识别形状和结构的那个区域很近。据我自己观察，约翰尼的'瞬间意念'总是在某种触摸之后出现的。” There was silence.记者们在奋笔疾书。电视摄像机刚才一直对着魏泽克，现在又拉回来把约翰尼也包括进去。 “是这样的吗，约翰尼？”魏泽克又问。 “我猜……” 杜骚特突然从记者群中挤出来。有那么一瞬，约翰尼以为他要过来反驳。然后他看到杜骚特正从他脖子上取下什么东西。 “让我们证明一下。”他说。他举着一个带着金链的奖牌。 “我们不允许做这种事，”魏泽克说。他紧紧皱起浓密的眉毛，严厉地盯着杜骚特，就像摩西一样，“这个人不是马戏团杂耍演员，先生！” “你可以欺骗我。”杜骚特说，“他也许能，也许不能，对吗？当你忙于告诉我们有趣的事时，我也在忙于告诉自己。我告诉自己这些家伙从来不能按要求表演，因为他们都是些骗子。” 约翰尼看看其他的记者。除了布莱特显得很难为情外，其他人都在兴致勃勃地观看。突然，他觉得像一个在斗兽场上的基督徒。他想，他们都是赢家。如果我能告诉他某些事，他们会得到一个头版新闻。如果我不能，或拒绝尝试，他们会得到另一种新闻。 “怎么样？”杜骚特问。奖牌在他的拳头下前后摇摆。 约翰尼看看魏泽克，但魏泽克正很厌恶地看着另一边。 “把它给我。”约翰尼说。 杜骚特把它递过来。约翰尼把奖牌放在手掌上。这是一枚圣·克里斯托弗奖牌。他把金链子堆到奖牌上面，握住它。 屋里死一般的寂静。又有几个医生和护士加入到站在门口的医生护士群中，有些人穿着便装，正准备下班回家。一群病人站在通向一楼电视和游戏室的走廊顶端。晚上来探望病人的一些人从大厅走过来。一种紧张的气氛弥漫在空气中。 约翰尼默默地站着，穿着白衬衫和肥大的蓝牛仔裤，显得苍白削瘦。他紧紧握着圣·克里斯托弗奖牌，手腕上的肌肉在电视灯光下清晰地显露出来。在他面前站着杜骚特，一本正经地注视着约翰尼。那一瞬间似乎漫长得没有止境。没有人咳嗽或低语。 “哦，”约翰尼轻声说……接着：“是这样吗？” 他的手指慢慢松开，看着杜骚特。 “怎么样？杜骚特问，但他声音中的自信突然消失了。回答记者提问的那位疲倦。不安的年轻人似乎也消失了。约翰尼嘴唇上挂着一丝微笑，但那是冷笑。他的蓝眼睛变暗了，显得冷淡、遥远。魏泽克看到了，身上直起鸡皮疙瘩。他后来告诉他的妻子，那是一个人通过高倍显微镜看有趣的草履虫标本时的表情。 “这是你姐姐的奖牌，”他对杜骚特说，“她名叫安妮，但大家都叫她特瑞。她是你姐姐，你爱她。你几乎崇拜她走过的土地。” 突然，约翰·史密斯的声音可怕地高上去，变成了一个少年沙哑。不自信的声音。 “当你穿过斯里本大街，特瑞，或当你跟那家伙在汽车里调情时，别忘记，特瑞……别忘记……” 那个问约翰尼谁是明天民主党候选人的胖女人发出一声惊恐的呻吟。一位电视摄像师用沙哑的声音说：“天哪！” “住口！”杜骚特低语道。他的脸变成一种病态的灰色，眼睛突出，唾液在他下嘴唇上闪着光，像镀了铬一样。奖牌的链子缠在约翰尼的手指上，杜骚特伸手去抓，但他的手毫无力气。奖牌前后摇摆，闪着催眠似的光。 “记住我，特瑞，”少年的声音恳求道，“保持清白，侍瑞……求求你，看在上帝的份上，保持清白……” “住口住口你这狗杂种！” 现在约翰尼又用他自己的声音说话了：“速度很快，是吗？她死于一次心脏病发作，当时二十六岁。但她戴了它十年。她记得你。她从没忘记。从没忘记……从没……从没……从没。” 奖牌从他手指上滑落下来，掉在地上，发出悦耳的声音。约翰尼凝视着空中，他的脸镇静而冷漠。一片死寂中，社骚特在他脚下摸索着奖牌，声音沙哑地呜咽着。 灯响了一下，约翰尼的脸又恢复了原样，脸上显出了恐惧的表情，然后又是怜悯。他笨拙地跪到杜骚特身边。 “对不起，”他说，“对不起，我并不是……” “你这个卑鄙的骗子！”杜骚特冲他尖叫道，“这是谎言！全是谎言！全是谎言！”他往约翰尼脖子上打了一拳、约翰尼摔倒了，头重重地撞在地板上，眼冒金星。 一阵骚动。 他隐隐约约地意识到杜骚特猛地挤进人群，向门口冲去。人们挤在杜骚特和约翰尼身边。他透过一大片脚和鞋看到杜骚特。 这时魏泽克来到他身边，扶他坐起来。 “约翰，你没事儿吧？他打伤你了吗？” “没我伤他伤得那么厉害。我没事儿。”他挣扎着站起来。两只手——也许是魏泽克的，也许是别人的——帮了他一下。他感到头晕、恶心，几乎是一种厌恶。这是一个错误，一个可怕的错误。 那个胖女人尖叫起来。约翰尼看到杜骚特跪倒在地，抓着那个胖女人的袖子，接着慢慢向前摔倒在门边的地上，一只手仍握着圣·克里斯托弗奖牌。 “晕倒了，”有人说，“晕倒了，天哪。” “是我的错，”约翰尼对山姆·魏泽克说、羞愧和眼泪堵住了他的嗓子，“全是我的错。” “不，”山姆说，“不，约翰。” 但这是他的错。他挣脱魏泽克的手，走到杜骚特躺的地方。杜骚特现在已经醒来，恍恍忽忽地冲着屋顶眨着眼睛。两个医生走到他躺的地方。 “他没事儿吧？”约翰尼问。他转头看穿着便服的女记者，她从他身边躲开，一丝恐惧掠过她的脸。 约翰尼转向那位提过问题的电视记者。他突然很想向谁解释一下、“我并不想伤害他。”他说，“我向天发誓，我根本不想伤害他。我不知道……” 电视记者退了一步。“不，”他说，“当然你不想。他自己找的,谁都能明白这一点。只是……别碰我，好吗？” 约翰尼哑口无言地看着他，嘴唇发抖。他仍然很震惊，但开始明白了。嗅，是的。他开始明白了。电视记者试图笑笑，但只难看地咧咧嘴。 “别碰我，约翰尼。求求你。” “不是这样的。”约翰尼想说什么，但说不下去。 “别碰我，约翰尼，好吗？ 电视记者退到摄影师正在收拾机器的地方。约翰尼站在那里看着他，开始全身发抖。 “这对你有好处，约翰。”魏泽克说。一个护士站在他身后，像个白色的幽灵，推着一辆装满药品的小车，上面全是镇静剂。 “不，”约翰尼说。他仍在发抖，现在又冒了冷汗，“再不要打针了，我已经受够了。” “那么吃片药。” “药也不吃。” “药能帮助你睡觉。” “他能睡着吗？那个杜骚特？” “他自作自受。”护士低声说。魏泽克转脸看着她，她吓得一缩头。但魏泽克狡黠地微微一笑。 “她说得对，是吗？”他说，“那家伙自作自受。他以为你在骗人，约翰。好好睡一觉，你就能正确看待这件事了。” “我会自己睡的。” “约翰尼，求求你了。” 时间是十一点十五。病房那边的电视刚刚关掉。约翰尼和山姆一起看的新闻报道，那条新闻就放在福特否决议案新闻之后，排在第二。我的新闻更富于戏剧性，约翰尼想，既觉嫌恶又觉得有趣。一个秃顶的共和党人对国家预算说些陈词滥调，这新闻显然不如约翰尼的新闻更有趣。那条新闻结束是杜骚特一只手握着他姐姐的奖牌，向前扑倒在地，另一只手抓着女记者的袖子，就像一个快淹死的人抓一根稻草一样。 当电视主持人接着报道狗和四百磅毒品的新闻时，魏泽克离开了一会儿，回来后告诉约翰尼，在新闻结束之前，医院就全是打给他的电话。几分钟后，护士推着药品车上来了，这使约翰尼相信山姆刚刚不仅仅是去看看有多少电话打进来，还到护士办公室去了。 At this time, the phone rang. 魏泽克低声咒骂着：“我告诉他们一个电话也别转进来。别接电话，约翰，我会……” 但约翰尼已经接了。他听了半刻，点点头。“好，很好。”他一只手捂住话筒，“我爸爸的电话。”，他说。他的手从话筒上挪开，“你好，爸爸，我猜你……”他听着，嘴边的笑容消失了，显示出一种恐惧的表情。他的嘴唇在发抖。 “约翰，怎么了？”魏泽克厉声问道。 “好吧，爸爸，”约翰尼几乎是耳语似他说，“好，坎布兰德总院。我知道它在哪儿。好吧，爸爸……” 他说不下去了，他眼睛没有泪，但很亮。 “我知道，爸爸，我也爱你。我很抱歉。” 倾听。 “是的，是的，”约翰尼说，“我会见到你的，爸爸。是的，再见。”他挂上电话，用手掌边缘捂住眼睛；使劲揉着。 “约翰尼？”山姆探过身，拿过他的一只手，轻轻握着，“是你母亲出事了吗？” “是的，是我母亲。” “心脏病发作？” “中风。”约翰尼说，魏泽克倒吸了一口冷气。“他们在看电视新闻……他们一点也没想到……我出现了……她就中风了。天哪，她在医院。如果我父亲再出事了，我们三人可都完了。”他大笑一声，眼睛在山姆和护士身上转来转去；“这是一个很好的才能，”他说，“每个人都应该拥有它。”又笑起来，笑声像是尖叫。 '她情况有多严重？”山姆问。 “他不知道。”约翰尼两腿从床上伸下来。他穿着医院的长袍，光着脚。 “你想干什么？”山姆厉声问道。 "what do you say?" 约翰尼站起来，山姆似乎想要把他推回床上。但他只是看着约翰尼一跛一跛地走向衣橱。“别瞎闹了。你还不能离开，约翰。” 约翰尼并不在乎护士在场——她们已经无数次地看到过他的光屁股——他让长袍滑到脚上。他的膝盖后面全是歪歪扭扭的伤痕，一直延伸到小腿。他开始在衣橱里找衣服，拿出他在新闻发布会上穿过的白衬衫和牛仔裤。 “约翰，作为你的医生和朋友，我绝不允许你这么做。我告诉你，这是发疯了！” “你不允许就不允许，我还是要去！”约翰尼说。He starts to dress.他脸上的表情就像他陷入恍忽状态时一样。护士张开了嘴。 “护士，你可以回你的办公室了。”山姆说。 她退到门口，在那里站了片刻，然后很勉强地离开了。 “约翰尼，”山姆说。他走过，一只手搭在他的肩膀上，“你不能这么干。” 约翰尼挣脱他的手。“我就是要这么干。”他说，“她是在看电视时中风的。”他开始系扣子。 “你催她吃药，但她不吃。” 约翰尼盯着魏泽克一会儿，然后又继续系扣子。 “如果今晚不中风，它还是会发生的，明天，下星期，下个月……” “或明年，或十年以后。” “不。不可能十年以后，连一年后都是不可能的。你知道这一点。为什么你这么急于把责任推到自己身上呢？因为那个自以为是的记者？这是不是另一种形式的自怜呢？一种相信你受到诅咒的冲动呢？ 约翰尼的脸扭成一团：“她是在看我的时候中风的。你不明白这一点吗？你他妈笨得连这都不懂吗？” “她正准备做一次艰苦的旅行，去加利福尼亚，这是你自己告诉我的。参加某种座谈会。从你所说的看，那是一种非常情绪化的事情。是吗？是的。那时肯定会中风的。中风并不是晴天霹雳，约翰尼。” 约翰尼穿好牛仔裤，然后坐下，好像穿衣服耗尽了他的气力。他的脚仍然光着。“是的，”他说，“是的，你可能是对的。” “明白了！你明白了！感谢上帝！” “但我还是要去，山姆。” 魏泽克摊开双手：“去做什么？她在医生和上帝手里。情况就是这样。你应该比任何人都更明白。” “我爸爸会需要我的，”约翰尼轻声说，“我也明白这一点。” “你怎么去？现在几乎是半夜了。” “坐公共汽车。我叫辆出租到'彼得蜡烛'那里，那里有长途汽车，是吗？” “你不必那么办。”山姆说。 约翰尼在椅子下面摸他的鞋子，没有找到。山姆在床上找到了，递给他。 “我开车送你过去。” 约翰尼抬头看看他：“真的吗？” “如果你吃一点儿镇静剂的话，我真的送你。” “但你的妻子……”在混乱中他意识到，他对魏泽克个人生活的惟一了解就是他母亲住在加利福尼亚。 “我离婚了。”魏泽克说，“一个医生必须在晚上任何时候出去……除非他是一个脚病医生或皮肤病医生，嗯？我妻子总是看到床半空着，所以她用另一个男人填满它。” “对不起。”约翰尼难为情他说。 “你花了大多的时间说对不起了，约翰。”山姆的脸很温柔，但他的眼睛很严厉，“穿上你的鞋。”