George Chesbro - The Cold Smell Of Sacred Stone

Garth's room was the fourth on the left in the corridor to the right of the elevator, and I went directly there. My brother was lying in the same position as when I had left him, on his back, with a pale blue sheet pulled up under his chin; his eyes were open, staring vacantly at the ceiling.

"Garth?" I said quietly as I stared down into his eyes and rubbed the back of my hand against his stubbled cheek. There was no response, and his flesh felt cold.

I started slightly at the sound of a cart rolling into the room, behind me. I turned to find myself looking at a tall, solidly built man dressed in a starched white hospital coat, pushing a cart on which were arrayed a variety of toilet articles-a stainless steel bowl filled with steaming soapy water, a second bowl of clear water, rubbing lotion, washcloths and towels, a cup with toothbrush and toothpaste, shaving equipment. The man had large, bright hazel eyes and long brown hair, which he wore in a ponytail secured by a tooled leather band. In his left earlobe he wore a tiny gold earring. Despite the fact that it was early spring, the man was deeply tanned-which probably meant he was an avid skier. He looked very fit.

"Dr. Frederickson," the man said easily, coming around from behind his cart and extending a large, heavily muscled hand. His voice was high-pitched and carried just the trace of a lisp. His grip was firm. "It's a real pleasure to make your acquaintance; I've heard a lot about you. I'm Tommy Carling-one of Garth's nurses."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Carling."

"Please; call me Tommy."

"My friends, and people who take care of my brother, call me Mongo."

Carling smiled, revealing even, white teeth that looked as if they might have been capped, then pushed the cart next to Garth's bed. "Then I'd better start taking care of your brother, hadn't I, Mongo?"

I watched as Carling checked Garth's pulse, then examined the levels of the fluids in the bottles attached to the tube city that had grown up around Garth's bed. Next, he carefully removed the tubes from Garth's nose and the needles from the implants in his veins. This done, he pulled the sheet down to Garth's waist. He lathered my brother's face with shaving cream, then proceeded to shave him expertly with an old-fashioned bone-handled straight razor, occasionally rinsing the blade in the bowl of soapy water, drying it on a towel he wore draped over his shoulder. Tommy Carling, I thought, had a light, gentle touch, and he seemed fastidious and sincerely caring as he went about the business of tending to Garth. Garth, of course, wasn't about to lodge any complaints, and it was possible that the male nurse was putting on a good show for a relative and visitor-but I didn't think so.

I asked, "Are you permanently assigned to Garth?"

"When I'm on duty," Carling replied, carefully lifting

Garth's nose with his left thumb and forefinger in order to shave his upper lip.

"Good. I like your style."

Carling laughed easily. "My style? I haven't even finished shaving him."

"Still, I like what I see."

"Thank you."

"I hope I'm not in your way."

"Certainly not."

"I wanted to be here early, just in case Garth was. . awake. I guess I was being silly and overoptimistic. I guess you could say Garth is always awake-or always asleep, depending on how you look at it."

"A little optimism never hurt anybody, patient or relative," Carling said as he finished shaving Garth, wiped his face clean with a towel, then splashed on some English Leather cologne. Next, he proceeded to brush Garth's teeth, carefully massaging the gums with the rubber tip of the toothbrush. As he did so, he nodded toward the pass I had clipped to my shirt pocket. "Incidentally," he continued matter-of-factly, "with that ID, it's irrelevant whether or not you get in anybody's way. That particular piece of plastic entitles you to go anywhere you like, any time you like, and do whatever you want, just as long as it doesn't interfere with any patient's treatment. It's heavy."

"This badge is different from the usual visitor's badge?"

Carling laughed as he finished brushing Garth's teeth, then rubbed some astringent on the gums with the tip of his finger. "A regular visitor's pass is green, with a broad yellow stripe across it. It will get you as far as the Day Room downstairs-or into a patient's room only if the patient is absolutely immobile. You'd have an escort from the time you entered the building until you left. That badge you're wearing is a Z-13; God knows why it's designated that, but it is. We call it a brown bomber. It gives you unlimited access to this facility, and also gives you the authority to ask questions of anyone, and get answers. Except for clinical matters, that badge gives you equal authority with the doctors here. That badge makes me, and the other nurses and attendants, your subordinates."

"I didn't know."

"I've only seen a brown bomber three other times in the five years I've been here, and those were worn by an official from D.I.A. headquarters in Washington and two congressmen from a select oversight committee. As far as I know, you're the first relative of a patient ever to be issued one of those. It means you have either a very high security clearance or very powerful friends in very high places. Don't be surprised if it raises a few eyebrows."

So Mr. Lippitt had really taken care of me; perhaps too much so, unwittingly creating enmity and suspicion toward me among the clinic's staff. It could explain Dr. Slycke's attitude.

Tommy Carling was obviously curious as to how I'd secured my brown bomber-but I didn't feel any great urge to tell him, and he didn't press. Quickly and efficiently, Carling stripped off the top sheet and then removed Garth's pajamas, leaving my brother lying naked on another sheet stretched over a rubber mat. He detached Garth's colostomy bag, dumped it into the toilet, and attached a fresh one to the rubber tube extending out from the gash in Garth's side. He did the same with the urine bag, then proceeded to wash Garth. I smoothed down Garth's thinning, wheat-colored hair, then joined in with the washup, using a second washcloth from the cart, and starting with Garth's feet. There was one striking change in my brother's condition: he had been absolutely rigid when he had collapsed in the Washington hearing room, but his muscles were now completely slack, and his limbs flopped wherever they were placed. Now that the sheet was off, I could see that his head was propped in a face-forward position by two foam rubber supports which had been placed on either side of his jaw. I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of sadness, futility, and loss; I blinked back tears.

"I don't want any authority over anybody," I said quietly as I worked my way with the soapy washcloth up Garth's legs. "I'd appreciate being kept informed of my brother's treatment and progress, but most of all I just want to be able to be with him."

"You've got it. But, as I said, don't be surprised if you get some strange reactions. It's not only your brown bomber, but the fact that your brother is here in the first place; neither of you works for the D.I.A.-unless we've been lied to, which is what some people around here whose names I won't mention may think."

"Wasn't Dr. Slycke briefed?"

"Of course; all of us were briefed. The fact that Garth was poisoned with NPPD makes him a very special case. Remember, I said some people may be suspicious, but there are always people whose noses get out of joint over changes in routine. Let me tell you, just about everyone is watching Garth with a hell of a lot of curiosity about what happens when-" Carling abruptly stopped speaking and glanced down at me with genuine alarm in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mongo. I didn't mean to sound insensitive."

"It's all right. I know all about the curiosity, and it's why Garth is here-obviously. Why should anyone think differently?"