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… she came to a deserted room she had never been in before, where a woman sat spinning with a spindle...

 

HIS

 

Fish paused on the edge of the cliff for a moment, catching his breath as he clambered up the ropes. He felt a sudden coldness pass over him.

Not knowing what to make of it, he prayed briefly and scrambled over the edge of the cliff onto its solid top. He had finished his other class work early, and, feeling tense, had gone rock climbing for an hour or two. But it was high time for him to get back to his paper.

In the car, he pulled up his laptop and read over his new approach to his paper on Keats.

 

While modern critics have tended to see in the ‘Eve of St. Agnes’ troubling issues in the poet’s soul, the poem can still be read in an attitude of presumed innocence. The difficulty is that Keats tends to be read beside his fellow romantics, such as Byron, who took a more cynical view of human nature and man/woman relationships. (see Jose Mendelez, Byron, p. 453)

 

He had found a new angle on his subject. Sitting in his car with the windows open, feeling the breeze, Fish typed from his note cards for another hour, defending Keats from the charges of bad character. Not that it was going to make much of a difference in the world, but it was good to attempt to bring some justice to this literary question.

Finished, he read over his work as the afternoon dimmed into evening. Despite the heavy footnotes and line-by-line dissection, he had a feeling it was a paper that Rose might enjoy reading, particularly since she had been an inspiration for his new approach. When he went out to Mercy College to see Rose tonight, he would bring it along with him. She would agree with him on the “Eve of St. Agnes” interpretation.

A beep from his cell phone shattered the air as he started driving back to Pittsburgh. He answered the phone. “Hello.”

It was Jean. “Fish, do you know where Rose is?”

He didn’t, and felt a resurgence of that strange coldness. “No. Why?”

“I just got a call from one of her friends at school. She borrowed his car this morning and hasn’t come back with it. She was supposed to be back by three o’clock.”

Fish glanced at the clock in his car. It was almost six o’clock. He flipped on his turn signal and exited the highway. “Where was she going with his car?”

“She was going out to do some interviews for her paper. Do you want to call the student and see if you can help him out? He wanted to start looking for her, but he doesn’t have a car now that she’s gone.”

“Give me the number,” Fish said. “I’ll drive over there now.”

Jean gave it to him, and he memorized it briefly. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?” she asked.

“Of course it’s not.” He didn’t mention his bad feelings to an already-worried mother. “Thanks for calling. I’ll call back when we find her.”

He dialed the number and a somewhat familiar voice answered anxiously, “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Ben Denniston.”

“Hey, it’s me, Paul Fester. Rose had my car today, but she never came back with it. Usually she’s a little late, but she’s never been this late. I had her mom’s number from an interview I did with her for class and so I called her to try to get a hold of you.”

“Where did Rose go?”

“She went to do some interviews with doctors and nurses for her paper down towards Meyerstown. I think she might be out at her family’s old barn, but I have no way to reach her.”

“Do you know where that is?”

“Yes, I drove her there once.”

“All right. Paul, I’m driving towards Mercy College now. I’ll pick you up and you can show me the way to the barn.”

“Sounds good.”

“Good. See you soon.”

Fish hung up the phone and upped the acceleration on his car as fast as he dared without attracting police attention. In a short time he reached Mercy College, found Paul, and they headed out towards the barn.

When Fish pulled in the driveway of the old barn and they saw Paul’s car parked there, they both knew that something was wrong.

It was one of the moments of Fish’s life that impressed itself upon him with the force of a sledge hammer—he and Paul Fester getting out of  the car, going into the barn, opening the door, and seeing Rose lying on the floor, the ladder askew over her leg, her red hair falling over her face, which was unnaturally calm.

 

Hers

 

Rose sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, looking up and seeing herself reaching down for herself, unable to grasp her. It was as if she had split in two, and the body and the soul were no longer completely fused, but disjointed into two separate and competing entities. Her spirit flailed, trying to reach the light. Her body sank down, senseless, motionless, almost dead.

But not quite. Not yet.

 

HIS

 

The ambulance took her to Robert Graves Memorial Hospital, which was closest to the accident. Fish had taken upon himself the task of calling Jean.

 “So she’s alive, but not conscious,” she repeated after he finished telling her what they had found.

“Yes. The doctors say she fell on her head. There’s possibly damage to the spinal cord. The brain just went into shock.”

“Understandably,” Jean said.

“I took the liberty of calling Bear first. He and Blanche are coming over to see you now,” Fish said.

“That’s very kind of you, Fish,” she said, her voice breaking. And she added quietly, “Thanks for going to look for her.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you called me when you did. It was fortunate.”

Paul was still with him, sitting in the waiting room, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, a rosary in his hand. When Fish finished making his phone calls, he thought of telling Paul he didn’t have to stay. But Paul probably realized that.

Paul looked up at him. “You want to pray a rosary together?”

“Sure,” Fish said. He had mainly experienced the rosary as a private prayer, but in this situation, he could see that some kind of prayer with someone else would be helpful.

Paul made the Sign of the Cross in Latin and began. Fish sat next to him, a bit self-conscious, and murmured his halves of the prayers quietly, counting off on his fingers. He tried hard to focus his prayers on the meditation of the mysteries, and not on the girl being examined in the other room.

It had been an accident. A freak, tragic accident. They could easily see how it happened. Rose had been up in the loft, and had started to get down the ladder, and the board at the edge had broken off, split right down the middle, and she had fallen, with the ladder on top of her.

Fish seldom cried, but unexpectedly, he found himself tearing up as he prayed. He was fighting dully with the idea that it had been a callous cruel act on the part of God, or simply a random tragedy in a godless universe. Another kind of fundamental doubt.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he glanced over at Paul. The tall guy seemed to recognize what was going on. He rested his hand on Fish’s shoulder, gave him a reassuring smile, and continued praying. There was something comforting in his manner, and Fish refocused his prayer, grateful.

 

The hospital staff couldn’t do much for Rose except make her comfortable.  She was put on a ventilator, fitted with tubes and IVs, and settled into a hospital bed in the ICU. A tired Paul finally went back to the college only after Fish insisted. Fish sat up in a chair by Rose’s bed, fingering her still hand and waiting. Her family should be here soon. At least within an hour.

Weary, he was too troubled to sleep, and merely sat, staring at the wall and thinking. The serpent had stung after all, and what was odd was that both he and Rose had seen it coming. But for all their uncanny foresight, they had been helpless to do anything about it in the end.  It had only been an accident, after all.

He got up and paced the room restlessly, wishing there was something he could do, and regretting. Both that he hadn’t said more to Rose, and that he had said the little that he had.

The doctors had not been particularly encouraging, and he could foresee it would be a long haul. The mental adjustment to Rose’s injury was difficult, and he didn’t want to make it. He was just praying, for Rose’s sake, for her family’s sake, for everyone’s sake, that she came out of the coma within forty-eight hours, as the doctors had given a slim chance of her doing.

He stood by the hospital window, looking out at the darkness outside, the city streets of Meyerstown. What a bleak little backwater place. Amazing that they have such a well-equipped hospital here. He was thankful.

Then, with a sigh that hid a few tears, he turned and stood with his back to the corner, looking at the prone form of the girl he wondered if he loved. High irony. All these years of carefully avoiding romance with her, and pushing her away whenever she attempted to cross into that territory with him, and just when it seemed his heart was actually beginning to thaw, she becomes frozen in a coma. What poetic justice, he thought.

Someone stepped into the room, a thin tall shadow. With long hair. He started out of his musings and took a step forward. “Hello?”

The figure froze beside the bed, and saw him. Then abruptly she turned and fled from the room. He swiftly ran to intercept her, but she was out the door and sprinting down the hall before he could touch her. Out in the hallway, he called her name angrily, but she turned a corner and was gone.

He had recognized her. It was Donna.

If he hadn’t been expecting Rose’s family at any moment, he would have followed her. The chill coldness had come over him again, and he stepped back into the room and looked at the unconscious girl.

How had Donna known that Rose was here? Was it possible that Paul had spread the word on the campus, and she had heard? He told himself it was possibly a mere coincidence.

But then again, it might not have been an accident after all.

 

Hers

 

Who am I now? Am I still Rose?

Perhaps I’m like Cordelia, after I was hanged. I saw a rope. Did I hang from that rope? There was a rope, and wooden boards beneath my feet, and I fell. Like a prisoner being hanged, I fell, not wanting to fall. Have I broken my neck? Is that why there’s such pain?

She felt her body for a moment, suspended, pain smarting up her skull, and for a moment, she believed she was right. Then her body floated away from her again.

If that’s true, then I must be dead. But no. If I were dead, it wouldn’t feel like a dream. It would feel like waking up. This mustn’t really be what it is like to be dead.

So I must still be alive.

And I mustn’t have been hung. No one survives hanging. Not that I know of...I don’t think I’ll keep thinking about this...rather morbid…

There must be a way out of this…somehow…

 

HIS

 

“You found her right here?” the police investigator asked Fish, squatting on the dirt floor of the barn and pointing at a certain spot on the floor.

Fish nodded. He and Bear stood mutely in the old barn, waiting for the necessary investigation by the police to be completed. There was one police detective looking around in the loft, and another taking notes.

It was almost noon, and he still hadn’t slept yet. Now truly exhausted, Fish kicked at the straw and glared at the rusting machinery around the barn.

“Glad she didn’t fall onto any of that,” Bear remarked, and Fish admitted his brother had a point. It could have been much worse, he supposed.

“Is there any way you could tell if another person was here in the barn with her?” Fish asked the detective.

“Do you have any reason to suspect that? You mean, that someone pushed her or she was assaulted?”

“I don’t have any proof, but I’d like to know if you can tell.”

The detective looked around. “I don’t think so. But we’ll have another look over the place.”

Fish took a step forward and stumbled on something. He picked up a heavy coil of rope that had been lying in his path, unseen. What was that doing on the ground?

He looked around to see if anyone thought it important that he not move it, and seeing no sign, tossed it into a corner of the barn, out of the path of traffic.

 

Hers

 

She was still floating somewhere, in dim, dark water, and she couldn’t see anything. For a long time she sought after her limbs—her hands, legs, shoulders, even her fingertips. Now there was no sign that she ever had a body.

Eventually, she settled down to concentrate on trying to find her mouth. She told herself that she must be still swallowing, moving her tongue, or at least breathing. That is, assuming she was still alive. And Rose knew she was alive, somehow. Yes, alive, but having somehow mislaid her body.

She focused and tried to remember how it was to swallow, the motions involved, and attempted to do so, or at least imagine she was doing so. After her third try, she detected something that resembled a feeling of having a mouth. There seemed to be something in her throat. Heartened, she decided to try her eyes next, but couldn’t properly remember how one went about blinking. Eventually she settled on her ears, keeping a firm hold on her mouth. She tried to imagine hearing, tried to imagine that strange feeling of wax coming out of one’s ears, and managed to grasp onto something that resembled feeling in her ears. But that was too difficult to hold onto, and eventually she went back to her eyes.

At some point, she fell into a sort of paralysis of the imagination, her thoughts slowing down into silence. Then at once she was awake again, and realized that somehow she had slept. So that was what it was like, sleeping without a body. Quite strange!

Feeling mentally invigorated, she attempted to find her eyes once again, and was working towards feeling her lids when she became aware of something. There was no longer silence. There were sounds.

Surprised, she listened (listening without ears! How amazing!) and thought she made out strange voices, talking in Western Pennsylvanian accents. Locals, she thought to herself, standing right near me, but not talking to me. They came and went. Somewhere, she thought, I have a body, still, and it’s lying down, and they’re coming and talking around me, but not to me. She pieced together the scenario: I must be in the hospital.

The effort of listening was a real exertion, and she could only make it for a short time before retreating into the sluggish and non-linear thought of sleep.

“Rose darling, can you hear me?”

It was her mother’s voice. Yes, I can hear you! She wanted to cry out, but then she remembered that in the excitement of hearing, she had forgotten how to keep hold of her mouth. And she hadn’t remembered how to talk yet—that was something completely different. She wondered if her mother were holding her hand and stroking her face. That would have been a lovely sensation, but she could feel nothing.

“How’s she doing?” rumbled a man’s deep voice, and she recognized Bear. I must have had a bad accident, she thought. They all came out to see me.

“Ask her, Bear. You’re supposed to talk to people in comas, as though they can hear you. She just might be able to hear us, and not respond. That’s how it was for me.”

It was her sister’s voice, and Rose was moved to tears, if only she could find her eyes and tear ducts and remember how to cry. You’re right, Blanche, she cried out. But I can’t find my body, so I can’t tell you you’re right. Please, keep talking to me!

“Rose, how are you feeling?” Bear said, a touch of uncertainty in his voice. “You’re looking a little better this morning. That bruise on your head doesn’t look so bad.”

“You had quite a fall, Rose,” her mother said. “The doctor said you fell almost straight on your skull. We’re very grateful you didn’t break your neck.”

“We’re hoping you’ll come out of this soon,” Blanche said softly. “It might be a while before you’re able to do everything you used to do, but it looks as though there’s a good chance you’ll be all right, once you wake up.”

I am—I will! Rose tried to cry. I’ve already found my ears, and if I have some more sleep, I’m sure I’ll remember how to see again. It’s just a matter of time.

Encouraged, Rose listened to her family speak to her, and rested from her own efforts. They were right. She would be well soon. She knew it.

 

HIS

 

Forty-eight hours had passed, and still Rose remained in her coma, still as death, not moving. Fish, Bear, Blanche, and her mom took turns sitting by her bed as often as they could, chatting with her, reading to her, encouraging her.

The surgeon who examined her, Dr. Barnes, was not particularly helpful or hopeful. He seemed (Fish thought) to have a cold, impatient air about him, and, when he found out from Jean’s questions that she was a nurse, became more frosty with her instead of giving more of an explanation for his diagnosis. Fish was glad when he left the room.

After Fish got some sleep at the hotel where the Briers were staying, he returned to the hospital and found Rose alone. He paused, watching her still features behind the breathing tubes, trying to ignore the ventilator which filled and deflated her lungs in slow rhythm.

Then a nurse came up to him and told him the rest of the family was in conference with the director of the hospital. He was escorted to a small sitting room, where Bear and the Briers were seated on chairs, listening to a heavy-set woman with powerful shoulders, curly short brown hair and large eyes, with a brusque but familiar, almost too invasively familiar, manner. He recognized her after a moment as Dr. Prosser, whom he had met at the French restaurant at the beginning of the semester, the one who had had Kateri Kovach investigated as a potential criminal. She looked up as Fish came in and looked away without acknowledgement.

One of Fish’s faults had always been that he took an instant dislike to some people, for no reason at all, other than he didn’t like the way they looked. He knew it was unfair. Father Raymond had prodded him into attempting to be a bit more charitable in his thoughts. So now he stood by the door and tried not to show his feelings of animosity towards the female doctor. He wished it had been any other doctor besides her.

Dr. Prosser was outlining what she saw as the problems in Rose’s case. “We’re keeping her under observation, but I have to tell you that Dr. Barnes isn’t giving us much hope. Now, I’m not saying she’s permanently damaged, but it’s problematic as to whether or not she’ll wake up any time soon. So, what I recommend is that we ask Dr. Murray to come and evaluate her. Dr. Murray is an excellent doctor who specializes in working with comatose patients. She used to work here, but now she is the head of the Graceton Long-Term Care Facility. If I were you, I would ask her to come and give her opinion.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Jean was saying. “Is she nearby?”

“Quite. Graceton is out in the countryside, but only about a half hour from here. I’ll call her today.”  

“We very much appreciate that, Dr. Prosser,” Jean was saying. Fish wondered if Rose had ever told Jean about Dr. Prosser’s strident pro-abortion stance. Not that it mattered now, but he was curious.

 Dr. Prosser rose. “Very good then.” As she turned to go to the door, she encountered Fish, who made to open the door for her, but Dr. Prosser swiftly grasped the door handle herself with a tight smile. Her eyes hovered on Fish, and she paused.

“You look familiar,” she said slowly.

“I had dinner with you and some of the University of Pittsburgh faculty,” Fish said politely. “Back in September.”

“Was that it? Thought I recognized you.”  The big woman was scrutinizing his features with a brazenness that he found embarrassing. He half-wondered if she was matching him up to mug photos.

“Were you in a car accident?” she asked abruptly.

Fish instinctively brushed the scar on his cheek, almost protectively. “No.”

The doctor’s look seemed to say, “You sure look like it.” She turned away, opened the door, and walked out of the room. Fish watched her go. Nasty, nasty woman, he thought. It wasn’t getting any easier to like her.

He looked back at the family, but they were all huddled together, talking, and hadn’t noticed his exchange with the doctor. Jean, her jaw tensed, was handling the situation as well as could be expected, and Blanche had a protective arm around her mother. Bear was due home the next day for his work, but Blanche wanted to stay on, and was asking him to delay going back. Bear wanted to, but wasn’t sure if he could.

Fish sat on the outside of the circle, thinking. His thoughts traveled back to Donna, and wondered again about her presence at the hospital. Was it a sign of a guilty conscience? Or worse, a desire to finish the job?

Donna was another person to whom he had taken an instant disliking, but he was less inclined to be open-minded in her case. He had called the dean and reported seeing Donna at the hospital the night of Rose’s accident. But all the dean could tell him was that Donna hadn’t returned to school after break, and had indicated her desire to take the rest of the semester off.

Dr. Murray from Graceton Long-Term Care facility, who arrived at lunchtime that day, was a decided contrast to Dr. Prosser. She had more of a bedside manner, and although with her build and wavy hair, she bore a passing resemblance to Dr. Prosser, there was a distinctly different manner. She was soft-spoken and somber, and listened intently to Jean and Blanche’s descriptions of what had happened to Rose.

“That’s very unfortunate,” she said as they stood in the hospital corridor. “Let me go and see her, and then I can give you my opinion.”

As they went into Rose’s room, however, Dr. Murray drew up short on seeing the patient’s face. She said nothing for a moment, then went forward to Rose’s side. “I thought her name sounded familiar,” she said at last, the sadness in her face deepening. “This is the student I just met with a few days ago. She was doing a paper of some kind.”

Fish and the other family members exchanged glances. “That’s what she was doing on the day she fell,” Jean said with an effort. “Her friend from school said she was interviewing doctors.”

“Yes. She talked with me,” the doctor said woodenly, and slowly shook her head. “I’m very, very sorry.”  At last she said, “Well, if you don’t mind waiting in the other room, I’ll begin.”

The family filed over to the waiting room, where they sat together, waiting. They attempted to talk, but eventually settled into silence. It was as if they had fallen asleep themselves. We’re all praying, Fish thought to himself. We’re all hoping that there’s some hope.

When Dr. Murray returned, she sat down in the remaining chair by the bed, and with a sigh, took out her clipboard of notes. “I’m running some tests,” she said. “Comas are very mysterious. We still are not sure exactly what causes them, and how they end.” She looked around at the family. “If she doesn’t come out of it within the next few days, though, there’s a chance that she could be in the coma much longer. And it may be an indication of some permanent damage.”

Jean bit her lip and nodded. Dr. Murray put away her clipboard and cleared her throat. “I wanted to make an offer to you,” she said. “Dr. Prosser may have told you that I’m the director of a facility for long-term care of people in a vegetative state. Normally we don’t take people until they’ve been in a coma like this one for some time. But I recognize that keeping your daughter in a hospital for an extended period of time like this can be quite difficult for you, as well as expensive. We do have an opening, and I would be willing to accept your daughter as a patient in our facility, on the chance that this will be a temporary situation and she will wake up soon. And if that doesn’t come to pass, I would be quite willing to discuss having her with us for as long as we need to. Financially, I’m sure we can make some kind of arrangement.”

“That’s quite generous of you,” Jean said with an effort, and Dr. Murray shook her head.

“Not at all. At times we are able to offer assistance to people in your position, and when we can, I’m quite happy to offer it. Do you live near here?”

“Actually, we’re living in New Jersey,” Jean said. “And it is such a long way away.”

“I realize that,” Dr. Murray said, “And you’ll have to make the decision about whether to transfer her to New Jersey or not, but here, she can have visits from her school friends, from those she was interacting with shortly before her accident. That might add more normality to her situation, and might encourage her to continue to heal.”

“I can come and visit her regularly,” Fish said. Jean glanced at him gratefully.

“We’ll certainly consider it,” Jean said. “That would be a real help. I’ve already been trying to work out the problems of the care in my head, and the situation seems rather grim. You see, I’m a full-time nurse myself, and my salary isn’t enormous. I would be happy to have Rose at home—I’m sure our insurance would cover some of it—but I’m afraid she would need, at least at first, more round-the-clock observation than I could afford to give her. And quality care at home isn’t inexpensive, as I’m sure you know.” Her voice trembled.

“You don’t need to give me your decision now,” Dr. Murray said gently. “I just wanted to make the offer.”

“We appreciate it, Doctor,” Jean said.

On the Tuesday that school resumed after break, Mercy College had a special Mass said for the intention of Rose’s healing. Jean, Blanche, and Fish, who had all been personally invited by the president of the college, also came.When Fish escorted Jean into the chapel, they were met by Paul Fester, who was wearing a suit coat and tie. Several other soberly-dressed male students stood with him.

“Mrs. Brier, I just wanted to tell you that my friends and I have been praying the rosary for Rose in the chapel every night,” he said earnestly.

“Thank you, Paul,” Jean said to the tall student, whom she had met in person when he came to visit Rose in the hospital. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done for Rose.”

“I wish I could do more,” Paul said. “My friends and I hope to go over regularly to visit her.”

“The doctor said visits would help her recover,” Jean said. “I appreciate it.”  And she squeezed his hand, for a moment looking a bit more at ease. Fish wondered what she thought of Paul. He was certainly a wholesome, clean-cut guy. Much more the type of guy a mother would want dating her daughter.

Paul and his friends were serving as ushers, and they led Fish and the Briers up to front seats in the chapel. Fish was surprised at how many students had come to the Mass.

Still, there was a sense of heaviness in the air that was difficult to dispel. Afterwards, the crowd filed out into the darkness of the night like sleepwalkers. Fish said goodnight to Blanche and looked around for Jean.

At last he spotted her, talking to a tiny nun in a blue habit.

Something awakened in him, something that he hadn’t thought about for a very long time. The ancient nun was holding Jean’s hand and patting it, saying something over and over.

Fish moved towards them as though he were climbing out of a dream. He paused beside Jean, and the nun looked into his eyes. Her blue eyes were penetrating and bright.

“Fish, there you are. This is Sister Maria, Rose’s godmother. I knew her when I was at college here.”

The wind billowed the nun’s veil in the haze of the spotlights outside the chapel. “It’s good to see you again, young man.”

Jean faded away into the crowd of condolers, but Fish kept looking at the nun. She looked at him with her clear, surprisingly young eyes.

“How did you know?” he said to her at last.

The little nun’s face was peaceful despite its pain.

“I am her godmother,” she reminded him mildly.

Does that mean you automatically have foresight? he wanted to ask. “You said she was in danger.”

The nun took his arm and drew him away from the crowd to a vacant spot beneath the thorny crabapples flanking the chapel.

“She has been in danger ever since she was baptized.”

Fish, trying to figure out if this was a theological statement about the fallenness of the world, nodded vaguely. “But what was the serpent in the grass you told me about?”

“It wasn’t a literal snake, you know.”

“I figured that.”

“We just call it that, to illustrate that it was a hidden and unexpected danger.”

“We?” There was a prickle in his spine.

“My sisters and I. We have been praying for her, and for you. Come with me. You should hear the whole story.”