Happiness.
Natalie was explaining that Pierre’s job kept him from home a lot. It had been a lonely existence. She’d wanted to work – in Paris she had studied history of art and worked in galleries – but Louis needed so much attention.
—He kept having illnesses and accidents. It was like there was a curse on him. They say lightning never strikes twice in the same place. But it kept striking Louis.
—I’d be interested to hear more about these accidents, I told her, remembering Philippe’s epilepsy theory. —Has Noelle spoken to you about the background files? I want to have a look at everything, so I’ll need to know which hospitals treated Louis, with the names of the doctors, if you can remember them. Infuriating, that we still don’t have a centralised system in this country. It’s taking privacy too far.
She looked uncomprehending for a moment, then rearranged her features. —Yes, of course. It’s in that moment that the thought struck me again: she knows he may die – just as I do, and just as Philippe did. At which point I distracted her – and myself, for I do not like to admit such ideas – by talking her through the medical procedures we planned to perform on Louis: physical intervention in the form of massages, water therapy, and general physiotherapy to keep the muscles from wasting. He’d have a twice-weekly session in the exercise room.
—Everyone enjoys that part. It’s very sociable, you’ll see. The relatives – young siblings especially – do a lot of laughing. It seems to free everyone up. They can even begin to see the funny side. Quite remarkable.
—Given that there isn’t one? she said with a small tight smile. I found myself flustered by her directness, her swings of mood.
—I don’t believe in pessimism. (How many times have I used that phrase in the course of my career? I feel the cramping inadequacy of it every time). —I believe hope to be part of the process.
—But I know just how bad it is, doctor. Now her voice was flat and weary, with no variation in tone or pitch. I could not imagine her laughing. It was as though what had happened to her had cauterised the muscles that express joy. —And whatever happens, I’ll be here for him. I’ll see it through. But I want you to tell me something. I know each patient’s different, depending on the injury and so on ... But what I want to know is – She paused to make sure she had my attention: in that moment her eyes seemed to awaken a little, and shine with something that might, finally, be hope. Or was it fear? —If he comes back, how likely is it that he’ll remember the accident?
It was an absurd question, given the prognosis, but I tried to stay tactful.
—What a patient does and doesn’t remember of their accident is usually the least of one’s worries, if they do come round, I told her. —You can never predict what state the memory will be in. In any case – look, I’ve heard what happened. I spoke to Philippe Meunier. And the detective.
—And what did they say? she asked. There was a pause, during which I studied her face. There was a small muscle twitch, the same one I noticed before – but no expression of discomfort at the mention of Philippe.
—Just – Well, what happened that day. The accident. I had no idea. And I really am sorry. But surely, given the story, it’s best that he doesn’t remember?
—Yes, she said. —Exactly. I don’t want him to. I’d rather his whole memory was wiped than to have him relive that. I’m a prime suspect, you know. Did they tell you that? Can you imagine how that feels?
—No. But it’s their procedure. You mustn’t take it personally. Do you still ... I was about to ask about her husband, but she interrupted, agitated.
—I saw Louis fall. I saw his face just as he – She stopped and breathed in deeply, determined to finish.
Natalie was explaining that Pierre’s job kept him from home a lot. It had been a lonely existence. She’d wanted to work – in Paris she had studied history of art and worked in galleries – but Louis needed so much attention.
—He kept having illnesses and accidents. It was like there was a curse on him. They say lightning never strikes twice in the same place. But it kept striking Louis.
—I’d be interested to hear more about these accidents, I told her, remembering Philippe’s epilepsy theory. —Has Noelle spoken to you about the background files? I want to have a look at everything, so I’ll need to know which hospitals treated Louis, with the names of the doctors, if you can remember them. Infuriating, that we still don’t have a centralised system in this country. It’s taking privacy too far.
She looked uncomprehending for a moment, then rearranged her features. —Yes, of course. It’s in that moment that the thought struck me again: she knows he may die – just as I do, and just as Philippe did. At which point I distracted her – and myself, for I do not like to admit such ideas – by talking her through the medical procedures we planned to perform on Louis: physical intervention in the form of massages, water therapy, and general physiotherapy to keep the muscles from wasting. He’d have a twice-weekly session in the exercise room.
—Everyone enjoys that part. It’s very sociable, you’ll see. The relatives – young siblings especially – do a lot of laughing. It seems to free everyone up. They can even begin to see the funny side. Quite remarkable.
—Given that there isn’t one? she said with a small tight smile. I found myself flustered by her directness, her swings of mood.
—I don’t believe in pessimism. (How many times have I used that phrase in the course of my career? I feel the cramping inadequacy of it every time). —I believe hope to be part of the process.
—But I know just how bad it is, doctor. Now her voice was flat and weary, with no variation in tone or pitch. I could not imagine her laughing. It was as though what had happened to her had cauterised the muscles that express joy. —And whatever happens, I’ll be here for him. I’ll see it through. But I want you to tell me something. I know each patient’s different, depending on the injury and so on ... But what I want to know is – She paused to make sure she had my attention: in that moment her eyes seemed to awaken a little, and shine with something that might, finally, be hope. Or was it fear? —If he comes back, how likely is it that he’ll remember the accident?
It was an absurd question, given the prognosis, but I tried to stay tactful.
—What a patient does and doesn’t remember of their accident is usually the least of one’s worries, if they do come round, I told her. —You can never predict what state the memory will be in. In any case – look, I’ve heard what happened. I spoke to Philippe Meunier. And the detective.
—And what did they say? she asked. There was a pause, during which I studied her face. There was a small muscle twitch, the same one I noticed before – but no expression of discomfort at the mention of Philippe.
—Just – Well, what happened that day. The accident. I had no idea. And I really am sorry. But surely, given the story, it’s best that he doesn’t remember?
—Yes, she said. —Exactly. I don’t want him to. I’d rather his whole memory was wiped than to have him relive that. I’m a prime suspect, you know. Did they tell you that? Can you imagine how that feels?
—No. But it’s their procedure. You mustn’t take it personally. Do you still ... I was about to ask about her husband, but she interrupted, agitated.
—I saw Louis fall. I saw his face just as he – She stopped and breathed in deeply, determined to finish.
Similar Books
