Smoke and Mirrors

There were nurses moving around the bed. “It is late, Monsieur. The lights go out in ten minutes.” The other nurse wanted to take my pressure.

Betsy bent down with a smile. “Thank you.”

I patted her cheek indifferently. “Just hope that assistant isn’t as smart as you are.”

She shook her head firmly. “No, I didn’t mean that. I meant your helping with the victims...”

I wasn’t ready for a serious exchange. I could only smile and watch her back toward the door. Just then, I felt the pressure-cuff tighten. I saw the nurse nod and smile.

“C’est bon,” she said, then reached for the light switch. “Bon nuit, Monsieur.”

The darkness had the effect of calming an overactive mind. I was overloaded and ready to put everything aside. It was as if time moved at a snail’s pace while people had too much to do. I thought it hadn’t been any different with Betsy: things to do, places to go, victims to save. Noble, yes, but the pace left me stumbling for balance, gasping for breath. It seemed so necessary before...before the bullet. In an instant, task had lost its race with time. A bullet had numbed life, made every breath a precious vegetable, to be eaten slowly, to be savored not gouged with old intentions. Yet, the pace was on at the first light of consciousness. I couldn’t wait to feed from Duval’s trough, food for thought: why was I shot? two guns? for what? Betsy, God bless her soul, had again brought out the petty thievery, the acts that stole good times and made them painful. I was as usual the victim of my own insufficiency. I was good at it. I could make my best friend a rival in the blink of an eye. I shouldn’t forget the doctors. Doctors came. Doctors pondered without time to think. Nurses made rules of time, too early, too late, time to rest, time to eat, time for medicine, time for shots, time, time, time… time for sergeants not philosophers. I reflected on Tao, the use of uselessness. Thank God, the bullet had done something good. I could contemplate a different life. It was good. I felt my heart beat, understood the relevance and cherished it.

It was either a dream or a wish to be fulfilled. There were no burdens. If I had slept, I had done it peacefully. Slept or not, I was awake and watching someone fiddling with my attachments.

“Doctor?” I found a light switch and the room fluttered to a bright blinding glare. I squinted to see. “Is there something wrong, doctor?” I didn’t recognize him. He pushed my head back then placed a mask over my mouth. I was finding it hard to breathe. I tried to remove the mask but he held it against my face. I felt a sharp stinging pain, saw my intravenous tube, loose, spewing blood. I struggled desperately. It was becoming clearer. My life was in danger. I had to fight for it! I managed a kick and staggered him. I was free, frightened, desperate. I saw he was coming again with something in his hand. It appeared to be a syringe. Instinctively, I tried to escape. A scream seared my throat as I tumbled from the bed to a noisy, painful landing. Lights were coming on in other places, people, voices. Stunned, I lay unprotected.