art. The long straight run of an escalator brought them to a mezzanine, where a bookshop, florist, newsagent, gift shop and business center were ranged around a fountain. New Age music, airy and unmodulating, merged with the sound of tinkling water. The model was, of course, the modern airport. With altered destinations. At this level there was little sign of illness, none of medical equipment. The patients were finely spread between visitors and staff. Here and there were people in dressing gowns, looking rakish. Fiona and Marina followed signs with motorway lettering. PEDIATRIC ONCOLOGY, NUCLEAR MEDICINE, PHLEBOTOMY . They turned down a wide polished corridor that brought them to a bank of elevators and rode up in silence to the ninth floor, where an identical corridor took them through three left turns toward Intensive Care. They passed a jolly mural of apes swinging through a forest. Now, at last, the uncirculated air tasted of hospital, of cookedfood long removed, antiseptic and, fainter, something sweet. Neither fruit nor flowers.
The nurses’ station faced protectively onto a semicircular array of closed doors, each one with an observation window. The silence, broken only by an electric hum, and the lack of natural light made it feel like the small hours. The two young nurses on the desk, one Filipina, Fiona later learned, the other Caribbean, exclaimed and greeted Marina with high fives. Suddenly the social worker was a different person, an animated black woman in a white skin. She spun round to introduce the judge to the young nurses as “truly high up.” Fiona put out her hand. She could not have performed a high five without withering self-consciousness, and that seemed to be understood. Her hand was taken warmly. In a rapid exchange at the desk it was agreed that Fiona would remain outside while the social worker went in and explained things to Adam.
When Marina had gone through a door to the far right, Fiona turned to the nurses and asked about their young patient.
“He’s learning the violin,” the young Filipina woman said. “And driving us crazy!”
Her friend theatrically slapped her thigh. “He’s strangling a turkey in there.”
The nurses looked at each other and began to laugh, but quietly, out of consideration for their patients. This was clearly an old and coded joke. Fiona waited. She was feeling at home, but she knew it wouldn’t last.
Finally she said, “What about this transfusion business?”
All humor vanished. The Caribbean nurse said, “I pray for him every day. I say to Adam, ‘God don’t need you to do this, darlin’. He loves you anyway. God wants you to
live
.’ ”
Her friend said sadly, “He’s made up his mind. You got to admire him. Living for his principles, is it.”
“Dying, you mean! He knows nothing. This is one confused little puppy.”
Fiona said, “What does he say when you tell him that God wants him to live?”
“Nothing. He’s like, Why should I listen to
her
?”
Just then, Marina opened the door, raised a hand and went back inside.
Fiona said, “Well, thank you.”
In response to a buzzer, the Filipina nurse was hurrying toward another door.
“You go in there, ma’m,” her friend said, “and please turn him
around
. He’s a lovely boy.”
If Fiona’s recollection of stepping into Adam Henry’s room was confused, it was because of the disorienting contrasts. There was much to take in. The place was in semidarkness but for the focused bright light around the bed. In a corner, Marina was just settling herself into a chair with a magazine whose print she could not possibly read in such gloom. The life-support and monitoring equipment around the bed, the high stands, their feed lines and the glowing screens emanateda watchful presence, almost a silence. But there was no silence, for the boy was already talking to her as she entered, the moment was unfurling, or erupting, without her and she was left behind in a daze. He was sitting
The nurses’ station faced protectively onto a semicircular array of closed doors, each one with an observation window. The silence, broken only by an electric hum, and the lack of natural light made it feel like the small hours. The two young nurses on the desk, one Filipina, Fiona later learned, the other Caribbean, exclaimed and greeted Marina with high fives. Suddenly the social worker was a different person, an animated black woman in a white skin. She spun round to introduce the judge to the young nurses as “truly high up.” Fiona put out her hand. She could not have performed a high five without withering self-consciousness, and that seemed to be understood. Her hand was taken warmly. In a rapid exchange at the desk it was agreed that Fiona would remain outside while the social worker went in and explained things to Adam.
When Marina had gone through a door to the far right, Fiona turned to the nurses and asked about their young patient.
“He’s learning the violin,” the young Filipina woman said. “And driving us crazy!”
Her friend theatrically slapped her thigh. “He’s strangling a turkey in there.”
The nurses looked at each other and began to laugh, but quietly, out of consideration for their patients. This was clearly an old and coded joke. Fiona waited. She was feeling at home, but she knew it wouldn’t last.
Finally she said, “What about this transfusion business?”
All humor vanished. The Caribbean nurse said, “I pray for him every day. I say to Adam, ‘God don’t need you to do this, darlin’. He loves you anyway. God wants you to
live
.’ ”
Her friend said sadly, “He’s made up his mind. You got to admire him. Living for his principles, is it.”
“Dying, you mean! He knows nothing. This is one confused little puppy.”
Fiona said, “What does he say when you tell him that God wants him to live?”
“Nothing. He’s like, Why should I listen to
her
?”
Just then, Marina opened the door, raised a hand and went back inside.
Fiona said, “Well, thank you.”
In response to a buzzer, the Filipina nurse was hurrying toward another door.
“You go in there, ma’m,” her friend said, “and please turn him
around
. He’s a lovely boy.”
If Fiona’s recollection of stepping into Adam Henry’s room was confused, it was because of the disorienting contrasts. There was much to take in. The place was in semidarkness but for the focused bright light around the bed. In a corner, Marina was just settling herself into a chair with a magazine whose print she could not possibly read in such gloom. The life-support and monitoring equipment around the bed, the high stands, their feed lines and the glowing screens emanateda watchful presence, almost a silence. But there was no silence, for the boy was already talking to her as she entered, the moment was unfurling, or erupting, without her and she was left behind in a daze. He was sitting
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