Connie Willis - Passage

I lied to Richard, Joanna thought. I told him I’d only had three incidents, but there were four. She’d forgotten about Greg’s murmuring, “Fifty-eight.” When he’d said it, she’d had the same feeling that she almost knew what he was talking about. And that can’t have been temporal-lobe overstimulation, she thought. I hadn’t even gone under then. I hadn’t even met Richard.

“Thank you for your input,” she said to Ms. Isakson, switching off the minirecorder. She stuck her notebook and Ms. Isakson’s waiver in her pocket, said good-bye, and walked out of the room. And into Mr. Mandrake.

“Dr. Lander,” he said, looking surprised to see her and vexed that she had actually beaten him to a patient. “You were in seeing Ms. Isakson?”

“Yes, we’ve just finished,” she said and started quickly down the hall.

“Wait,” he said, cutting off her escape. “I have several things I’ve been wanting to discuss with you.”

Please don’t let him have found out I’ve been going under, Joanna prayed, looking longingly at the elevators at the end of the hall, but he had her pinned between a supply cart and the open door of Ms. Isakson’s room.

“I’m curious to know how your and Dr. Wright’s research is progressing,” he said.

I’ll bet you are, she thought, especially now that you’ve lost all your spies.

“I must confess, I was disappointed when you told me you were working with Dr. Wright. If I had known you were interested in collaboration, I’d have asked you to assist me, but it had always been my impression you preferred to work alone.”

The elevator dinged faintly, and Joanna looked down the hall at it, praying, Let someone I know get off. Anyone. Even Mr. Wojakowski.

“And to have chosen such a dubious project! Attempting to reproduce a metaphysical experience through physical means!”

The elevator opened and a portly man carrying a large potted mum got out.

“All any of these so-called experiments has been able to produce is a few lights or a sensation of floating. In not one has anyone seen angels or the spirits of the departed. Have you seen Mrs. Davenport?”

Is she departed? Joanna thought, startled, and then amused. That’s all I need, she thought, to see Mrs. Davenport standing at the end of the tunnel.

Mr. Mandrake was waiting for her answer. “Is Mrs. Davenport still in the hospital?” Joanna asked. “I assumed she’d gone home.”

He shook his head. “She’s developed several symptoms the causes of which the doctors have been unable to find, and has had to stay for additional tests,” he said. “As a result, I’ve been able to interview her several times, and each time she has remembered additional details about her experience.”

I’ll bet, Joanna thought, leaning her head back against the wall.

“I know your view that interviews should be conducted as soon as possible after the event,” he said, “but I have found that patients’ memories improve over time. Only yesterday Mrs. Davenport remembered that the Angel of Light had raised his hand and said, ‘Behold,’ and she saw that Death was not Death, but only a passage.”

“A passage?” Joanna said, and was instantly sorry, but Mr. Mandrake didn’t seem to notice.

“A passage to the Other Side,” he said, “which was revealed to Mrs. Davenport in all its glory. And as she gazed at the beauties of the next life, the secrets of past and future were revealed to her, and she understood the secrets of the cosmos.”

“Did she say what those secrets were?”

“She said mere words were incapable of expressing them,” Mr. Mandrake said, looking irritated. “Can Dr. Wright produce a revelation like that in his laboratory? Of course not. Such a revelation could have come only from God.”

Or the temporal lobe, Joanna thought. He’s right. These are all temporal-lobe symptoms.

“ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’ ” Mr. Mandrake intoned, and Joanna decided that was as good an exit line as any.

“I have another patient to see,” she said, “on six-west.” She squeezed past him, and walked down to the elevator. When it came, she pushed eight, and, as soon as it had gone up a floor, five. That should keep Mr. Mandrake busy for a while, she thought, getting off on five. And, she hoped, away from poor Ms. Isakson. She started for the stairs.

“Hey, Doc,” a voice behind her called.

It’s my own fault, she thought. Be careful what you ask for. “What are you doing here, Mr. Wojakowski?” she said, trying to smile.

“Friend of mine fell and broke his hip,” he said cheerfully. “One minute he’s walking to ceramics class, and the next he’s flat on his back. Reminds me of that time at Coral Sea when a depth charge hit us. Me and Bud Roop were down on the hangar deck repairing the magneto on a Wildcat when it hit, and one of the props flew off and took half of Bud’s head with it. Bam!” He made a slashing motion across his forehead. “Went down just like that. One minute he’s alive, chewing gum and talking away to me—he always chewed gum, Blackjack gum, haven’t seen it in years—and the next, half his head’s gone. He never even knew what hit him.” He shook his head. “Not a bad way to go though, I guess. Better than my friend in there.” He jerked a thumb back in the direction of the hall. “Cancer, congestive heart failure, and now this hip thing. I’d take a Jap bomb any day over that, but you don’t get to choose how you go, do you?”

“No,” Joanna said.

“Well, anyway, I’m glad I ran into you,” Mr. Wojakowski said, brightening. “I been trying to get ahold of you and ask you about that schedule.”

“I know, Mr. Wojakowski. The thing is—”

“ ’Cause I’ve got a problem. I told this friend of mine over to Aspen Gardens I’d sign up for this hearing study with him. It was before I signed up for yours, and I forgot I’d told him, so here I am signed up for two things at the same time. Yours is a heck of a lot more interesting, and I ain’t really hard of hearing, except for a little ringing in one ear. I’ve had it ever since Coral Sea, when this bomb hit just forward of the Number Two elevator and—”

“But you did sign up for it first,” Joanna said, deciding she couldn’t wait for an opening. “The hearing study has to take precedence.”

“I don’t wanta let you down.”

“You’re not.”

“Helluva thing, letting a friend down. Did I ever tell you about the time Ratsy Fogle told Art Blazaukas he’d take mess duty for him so Art could go see this native gal over on Maui?”

“Yes,” Joanna told him, but to no avail. She had to listen to the whole story, and the one about Jo-Jo Powers, before he finally let her go.

She went straight to her office and stayed there, looking up examples of ineffable revelations and all-encompassing wisdom until it was time for her session, and then took the list to the lab.

Richard was at the console, looking at scans. “Where have you been?” he asked without taking his eyes from the screen.

“Discussing philosophy with Mr. Mandrake,” she said. She handed him the transcripts and went in to get her hospital gown on. The sight of herself in the mirror reminded her that she hadn’t told Richard about the Greg Menotti incident, and as soon as she came out, she said, “Richard, you asked me if I had had any other incidents besides the—”

“Hello, all,” Tish said, coming in, waving a piece of paper. “Word from on high.” She handed the paper to Richard.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It was on your door,” she said.

“ ‘Attention, all hospital personnel,’ ” Richard read aloud. “ ‘Because of a recent series of drug-related events in the ER—’ ” He looked up. “What events?”