Giorgio Faletti - I'm God

‘Ben, I have to go. You don’t know how grateful I am.’

‘But I do. And I also know you’re a good person. I hope you find what you’re looking for.’

Ben Shepard’s eyes were moist again, but his handshake was firm and quick. Russell was already crossing the garden, on his way to the car. A few moments later, as he entered the address Ben had given him in the GPS, he told himself that he couldn’t handle the information he now had all by himself. He would need the resources of the police. He had to get back to New York as soon as possible, once he’d obtained the material he needed from Homer. As he started the car and headed back to town, he wasn’t sure if the excitement he felt inside him came from the discovery he had just made or the thought that he would soon see Vivien again.

From the window of the clinic, Vivien had seen the sun come up. For Greta, there wouldn’t be any new day. There wouldn’t be any more dawns or sunsets, until the day came for a resurrection she had always found it difficult to believe in. She put her forehead against the window pane and felt the damp coldness of the surface on her skin. She closed her eyes, and dreamed of waking up in a time and place where none of this had happened and she and her sister were children, happy as only children can be. Earlier, as she had held Greta’s hand and heard the beep-beep-beep of the monitor getting slower and slower until it was just a straight green line that came from nothing and led towards nothing.

In the past she had always supposed this was a privilege reserved for the dying, allowing them to become aware of the duration of their own lives. In this case, it had seemed absurdly short. Maybe because she was the one left behind and everything seemed fragile and vain, with that sense of emptiness that would remain with her for a very long time.

She went back to the bed and placed her lips on Greta’s forehead. The skin was smooth and soft and Vivien’s tears slid down her sister’s temple onto the pillow. She reached out a hand and pressed a button next to the bedhead. She heard a buzzing sound. The door opened and a nurse appeared.

A quick glance at the monitor, and the woman immediately grasped the situation. She took an internal telephone from her pocket and sent a signal. ‘Doctor, can you come to Room 28, please?’

Before long Dr Savine entered the room, preceded by the sound of his rapid footsteps in the corridor. He was a balding man, of medium height and middle age, with a capable air and a patient, professional manner. He approached the bed, pulling his stethoscope from the pocket of his white coat. He moved the sheet down and put the stethoscope to Greta’s frail chest. It took him a moment to register the truth, and another moment to turn to Vivien with an expression that seemed to encompass all the similar situations he had experienced in his medical career.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Light.’

The voice and the words were not merely formal. Vivien knew that the doctors and staff of the Mariposa had taken Greta’s case to heart. And their powerlessness to halt the progress of the disease had been accompanied day after day by a sense of defeat, which they had shared with her. She turned away from the bed, so as not to see the sheet being pulled up to cover Greta’s face.

The grief and fatigue made her feel dizzy. She swayed and put a hand against the wall to stop herself falling. Dr Savine immediately went to her to support her. He led her to a small armchair and helped her to sit down. Vivien felt his expert fingers looking for her pulse.

‘Miss Light, you’re exhausted. Don’t you think you should rest a little?’

‘I’d like to, doctor. But I can’t. Not now.’

‘If I remember correctly, you’re a police officer. Am I right?’

Vivien looked up at the doctor, her face full of effort and urgency. ‘Yes. And I absolutely have to get back to New York. It’s a matter of life and death.’

‘There’s nothing more you can do here. If you believe in prayer, it can reach its destination from wherever you send it. In case you don’t already have one, the clinic can supply you with the names of some undertakers who are very capable and very discreet. They’ll see to everything.’ Savine turned to the nurse. ‘Meg, prepare the papers for the death certificate. I’ll come and sign them.’

As soon as they were alone, Vivian rose from the armchair. Her legs felt stiff and wooden.

‘Doctor, I have a big day ahead of me. And I can’t afford to fall asleep.’ She paused to overcome her embarrassment. ‘It’s a strange thing for a police officer to ask you, but I need something to keep me awake.’

The doctor gave her a strange knowing smile. ‘Is this a trap? Am I going to end up in handcuffs?’

Vivien shook her head. ‘No. But you will be in my prayers.’

Savine thought it over for a moment. ‘Wait here.’

He went out, leaving Vivien alone. Before long, he returned with a white plastic container. He shook it to indicate that there was one pill inside.

‘Here. Take this pill if and when you need it. But make sure you don’t drink alcohol.’

‘There’s no danger of that. Thank you, doctor.’

‘Good luck, Miss Light. And once again, my condolences.’

Again, Vivien was alone. She tried to convince herself that her sister was no longer in that room, that what was lying on the bed under the sheet was only an envelope that for years had contained her beautiful soul, a borrowed envelope that would soon be surrendered to the earth. In spite of this, she couldn’t help giving Greta a final kiss and a final look.

On the night table there was a half-full bottle of water. She opened the container the doctor had just given her and tipped the pill straight out onto her tongue. She swallowed it with a sip of water that, to her, tasted like tears. Then she moved away from the bed, took her jacket from the coat stand, and left the room.

She walked along the corridor, her eyes stinging. She got in the elevator and glided smoothly and noiselessly down to the lobby, where she found a couple of young women in uniforms behind the reception desk. Within a few moments she had made arrangements for Greta’s body with an undertaker whose number had been supplied by one of the two women.

Then she looked around at this place where there was now nothing more for her to do, but above all where there was nothing more she could do. When she had first brought Greta to the Mariposa, she had appreciated its elegance and sobriety. Now it was only a place where people didn’t always get better.

She went outside and walked to the parking lot to get her car. It might be just the placebo effect – surely it was too soon for the pill to take effect – but she felt the tiredness wear off and her body gradually free itself of all the dross it had accumulated.

As she joined the stream of traffic leaving the city headed towards Palisades Parkway, she went over the events that had brought her to this point in the investigation and in her life.

The previous day, when Father McKean had told her his secret, contravening one of the strictest rules of his ministry, she had felt both anxious and excited. On the one hand, there was her responsibility towards all those innocent people who were in imminent danger, the same responsibility that had finally convinced the priest to turn to her. On the other hand there was the desire to spare him the consequences of a decision that must have caused him enormous pain.

Michael McKean’s work was too important. The young people he took care of loved him and they, and all those who might come to Joy in the future, needed to know that he would always be there for them.

It was after lunch with the kids, during which she had laughed and joked with Sundance, who seemed completely new in body and mind, that the call had come from the clinic. Dr Savine had informed her, with all the tact the news demanded, that Greta’s condition was changing rapidly and that they must be prepared for the worst at any moment. She had gone back to the table, trying not to let any of the anguish she felt inside show, but she hadn’t been able to deceive Sundance’s acute and sensitive eye.