I lay back and closed my eyes. I felt very sleepy. Her voice seemed a long way away. My mind was drugged. Her voice got fainter and fainter. She was saying something about the rig, about newspaper men, about them knowing now that we’d struck oil. It didn’t seem important any more and her voice faded entirely as I slid into sleep again.
When next I woke the room was dark. I tried to raise myself, but the pain in my chest brought on a cold sweat. I lay there for a long time, my eyes open, seeing nothing in the darkness. Somewhere out in the night a train hooted and I heard the rattle of its wheels on the points. I was thinking what a waste of effort this was, this struggle back to life. Why couldn’t I have died there, quickly and easily in the flood of the burst dam? And then I remembered Max and how I had held him against the tearing grasp of the flood and I was glad. God had been good to me. He had given me time to get the men away from the slide, and we’d brought in a well. For some reason I found myself remembering how I had knelt on the floor of my digs in London and prayed for God’s guidance and for His help in doing what my grandfather had asked of me. And suddenly words were forming on my lips and I was thanking God that I had been able to achieve so much.
Slowly light filtered into the room and day dawned, grey and thick with cloud mist. Dozing gently I was conscious of the beginning of movement in the hospital and in no time, it seemed, a nurse was bringing breakfast in to me. ‘Well, how’s the great oil man this morning?’
I stared at her and she laughed. ‘You don’t imagine anybody’s discussing the international situation with you here in town, do you?’ She put the tray down on a bed table and swung it across me. ‘Now, you stay quiet and eat that egg. It’s time you got some food inside you. And I brought you the papers so that you can read all about yourself. There’s pictures of Campbell’s Kingdom and of the discovery well with the rig all broken and twisted. Dr Graham said he reckoned the papers were about the best tonic for you he had in the hospital. And here’s a letter for you.’
I took the envelope and slit it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper, most of which was filled with signatures. The letter was very brief and as I read my eyes blurred.
The Golden Calf, Come Lucky, B.C. Dear Mr Wetheral This letter, signed by all of us who were working on the site of the power station, is to tell you how grateful we all are to you. If you had not risked your life and come down the hoist to warn us, not one of us would be alive today. We sure are sorry that you are in hospital because of this and wish you a speedy recovery. We will do what we can to express our gratitude and in the meantime we would like you to know that you can count on the undersigned at any time to do anything to assist you.
There followed three columns of signatures spreading over on to the back — names that were of Polish, French, Italian and Chinese origin as well as English. I looked up at the nurse. ‘What day is it?’ I asked her.
‘Friday.’
And the Kingdom had been flooded on Tuesday. ‘I’ve been out a long time,’ I murmured.
‘Not as long as you will be if you don’t get some food inside you,’ she said as she went out.
As I ate my breakfast I read through the papers.
They were full of the disaster. But there was the story of the well we had brought in, too — interviews with Garry and Johnnie, and in one of them a long feature article headed — ‘There’s Oil in the Rocky Mountains.’ The writer was Steve Strachan and in it he acknowledged the quotation as belonging to Stuart Campbell and made it clear that the old man was now completely vindicated. I put the paper down and lay back, suddenly completely happy.
The doctor came in then. He gave my broken bones only a cursory examination and then started to go over me thoroughly, listening to my breathing, taking my blood pressure, feeling my pulse, listening to my heart beats, and all the time asking me questions. ‘What’s the trouble, Doc?’ I asked him.
‘Oh, just a routine check-up.’
But I knew this wasn’t routine for a man with a broken leg and a few broken ribs. And when they wheeled in the X-ray apparatus I knew he was on to the real trouble. ‘You’re wasting your time,’ I said, and I told him what Maclean-Harvey’s verdict had been.
He shrugged his shoulders and I bit my lip as they shifted me to get the screen and X-ray tube in position. ‘How did you know I’d got cancer?’ I asked him.
‘Jean Lucas told me,’ he answered.
‘Jean!’ I tried to turn, but a hand gripped my shoulder, steadying me. All I could see was the nurse’s white uniform. I stared at a bone button, wondering how Jean knew.
They were some time taking the photographs and when they had finished they made me comfortable and trundled the equipment out. The doctor was not in the room, but he returned a few minutes later. ‘All right, Mr Wetheral? I hope they didn’t cause you too much pain moving you.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘It just seemed pointless, that’s all.’
He nodded and drew up a chair beside me. ‘Does it occur to you that for a man who was given two to six months to live way back in the spring you’ve been remarkably active lately?’
There seemed no point in conserving energy,’ I murmured.
‘No, no, of course not.’ He hesitated and then said quietly, ‘There have been cures, you know.’
‘Have there?’ I looked at him, seeing his broad, rather serious features through a blur of pain as I shifted my position. ‘I thought cancer was incurable.’
‘Aye.’ He nodded. ‘It’s incurable as far as the medical profession is concerned. But there are such things as spontaneous cures. We don’t know the cause of them. I wish we did. Some change in the chemistry of the patient, maybe — or a psychological readjustment. Anyway, once in a while it happens.’ He leaned forward, his large grey eyes peering down at me from behind the thick-lensed glasses. ‘Listen, Wetheral. I don’t want to raise any false hopes. We’ll know soon enough when they’ve developed those X-ray plates. There’s just a chance, that’s all.’ There was a glint of excitement in his eyes now. It showed in his manner, in the way he spoke. ‘I can’t believe a case as desperate as yours must have been when Dr Maclean-Harvey gave you that verdict could have gone on for five months, living the way you have been, unless the condition had improved. There’s no internal haemorrhage and no trace now of secondary anaemia. You’ve been eating well and instead of getting weaker, you’ve got stronger.’ He suddenly sat back, taking his glasses off and polishing them. ‘I shouldn’t really have spoken to you about it. I should have waited till I had the X-ray results. But-’ He hesitated and got to his feet. ‘It’s a most interesting case, you see. I didn’t want you to feel that I was just taking the opportunity to examine a cancer growth.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘You must be about as obstinate a man as your grandfather, I guess. Anyway, I’ll be back as soon as I’ve got a picture of what’s going on inside you.’
He left me then and for a while I lay there, thinking over what he had said. I felt suddenly restless. The mood of excitement I had seen reflected in the doctor’s eyes had communicated itself to me. For the first time in months there was no immediate problem ahead of me and I was free to consider the future. Almost unconsciously I reached for the papers and began reading Steve’s article again. I was still reading it when the nurse showed Jean in. She was followed by Johnnie and Garry.
‘We just looked in to say goodbye,’ Johnnie said. ‘Garry’s off to Edmonton to see about a new rig and I’m going up to the Kingdom.’ He came and stood over me, his eyes narrowed as though he were looking straight into the sun, a lazy smile on his lined face.
‘You look pretty damn comfortable lying there, Bruce.’