She walked to the window and raised the white shade, only to greet the night. The dazzling, coloured lights of Hong Kong lit up the sky, and she was closer to the sky than to the ground. As David would say – or rather, Jason: So be it. The door. The corridor.
So be it.
She crossed to the washbasin. The hospital-supplied toothbrush and toothpaste were still encased in plastic; the soap was also virginal, wrapped in the manufacturer's jacket, the words guaranteeing purity beyond the breath of angels.
Next there was the bathroom; nothing much different except a dispenser of sanitary napkins and a small sign in four languages explaining what not to do with them. She walked back into the room. What was she looking for? Whatever it was she had not found it.
Study everything. You'll find something you can use. Jason's words, not David's. Then she saw it.
On certain hospital beds – and this was one of them – there is a handle beneath the baseboard that when turned one way or the other raises or lowers the bed. This handle can be removed – and often is – when a patient is being fed intravenously, or if a physician wants him to remain in a given position, for example, in traction. A nurse can unlock and remove this handle by pressing in, turning to the left, and yanking it out as the cog-lock is released. This is frequently done during visiting hours, when visitors might succumb to a patient's wishes to change position against the doctor's wishes. Marie knew this bed and she knew this handle. When
David was recovering from the wounds he received at Treadstone 71, he was kept alive by intravenous feedings; she had watched the nurses. Her soon-to-be husband's pain was more than she could bear, and the nurses were obviously aware that in her desire to make things easier for him, she might disrupt the medical treatment. She knew how to remove the handle, and once removed, it was nothing less than a wieldy angle iron.
She removed it and climbed back into the bed, the handle beneath the covers. She waited, thinking how different her two men were – in one man. Her lover, Jason, could be so cold and patient, waiting for the moment to spring, to shock, to rely for survival upon violence. And her husband, David, so giving, so willing to listen – the scholar – avoiding violence at all costs because he had been there and he hated the pain and the anxiety – above all, the necessity to eliminate feelings to become a mere animal. And now he was called upon to be the man he detested. David, my David! Hold on to your sanity I I love you so.
Noises in the corridor. Marie looked at the clock on the bedside table. Sixteen minutes had passed. She placed both her hands above the covers as the nurse entered, lowering her eyelids as though she were drowsy.
'All right, my dear,' said the woman, taking several steps from the door. 'You have touched me, I will not deny that. But I have my orders – very specific instructions about you. The major and your doctor have left. Now, what is it you wanted to tell me?'
'Not... now,' whispered Marie, her head sinking into her chin, her face more asleep than awake. 'I'm so tired. I took... the pill. '
'Is it the guard outside?"
'He's sick... He never touches me – I don't care. He gets me things... I'm so tired. '
'What do you mean, "sick'?'
'He... likes to look at women... He doesn't... bother me when I'm... asleep. ' Marie's eyes closed, the lids full.
'Zang? said the nurse under her breath. 'Dirty, dirty!' She
spun on her heels, walked out the door, closed it, and addressed the guard. The woman is asleep! Do you understand me!'
That is most heavenly fortunate. '
'She says you never touch her!'
'I never even thought about it . '
'Don't think about it now!'
'I do not need lectures from you, hag nurse. I have a job to do. '
'See that you do it! I will speak to Major Lin in the morning!' The woman glared at the man and walked down the corridor, her pace and her posture aggressive.
'You!' The harsh whisper came from Marie's door which was slightly ajar. She opened it an inch farther and spoke. That nurse! Who is she?'
'I thought you were asleep, Mrs.,' said the bewildered guard.
'She told me she was going to tell you that . '
'What?'
'She's coming back for me! She says there are connecting doors to the other rooms. Who is she?'
'She what?
'Don't talk! Don't look at me! She'll see you!'
'She went down the hallway to the right . '
'You never can tell. Better a devil you know than one you don't! You know what I mean?'
'I do not know what anybody means!' pleaded the guard, talking softly, emphatically, to the opposite wall. 'I do not know what she means and I do not know what you mean, lady!'
'Come inside. Quickly! I think she's a communist! From Peking!'
'Beijing?'
'I won't go with her!' Marie pulled back the door, then spun behind it.
The guard rushed in as the door slammed shut. The room was dark; only the light in the bathroom was on, its glow diminished by the bathroom door, which was nearly closed. The man could be seen, but he could not see. 'Where are you,
Mrs.? Be calm. She will not take you anywhere–'
The guard was not capable of saying anything further. Marie had crashed the iron handle across the base of his skull with the strength of an Ontario ranch girl quite used to the bullwhip in a cattle drive. The guard collapsed; she knelt down and worked quickly.
The Chinese was muscular but not large, not tall. Marie was not large, but she was tall for a woman. With a hitch here, and a tuck there, the guard's clothes and shoes fitted reasonably well for a fast exit, but her hair was the problem. She looked around the room. Study everything. You'll find something you can use. She found it. Hanging from a chrome bar on the bedside table was a hand towel. She pulled it off, piled her hair on top of her head and wrapped the towel around it, tucking the cloth within itself. It undoubtedly looked foolish and could hardly bear close scrutiny, but it was a turban of sorts.
Stripped to his underpants and socks, the guard moaned and began to raise himself, then collapsed back into unconsciousness. Marie ran to the closet, grabbed her own clothes and went to the door, opening it cautiously no more than an inch. Two nurses – one Oriental, the other European – were talking quietly in the hallway. The Chinese was not the woman who had returned to hear her complaint about the guard. Another nurse appeared, nodded to the two, and went directly to a door across the hall. It was a linen supply closet. A telephone rang at the floor desk fifty feet down the hallway; before the circular desk was a bisecting corridor. An Exit sign hung from the ceiling, the arrow pointing to the right. The two conversing nurses turned and started towards the desk; the third left the linen closet carrying a handful of sheets. The cleanest escape is one done in stages, using whatever confusion there is.
Marie slipped out of the room and ran across the hall to the linen closet. She went inside and closed the door. Suddenly, a woman's roar of protest filled the hallway, petrifying her. She could hear heavy racing footsteps, coming closer; then more footsteps.
The guard!' yelled the Chinese nurse in English. 'Where is that dirty guard?'
Marie opened the closet door less than an inch. Three
excited nurses were in front of her hospital room; they burst inside.
'You! You took off your clothes! Zang sile dirty man! Look in the bathroom!'
'You!' yelled the guard unsteadily. 'You let her getaway! I will hold you for my superiors. '
'Let me go, filthy man! You lie!'
'You are a Communist! From Beijing?
Marie slipped out of the linen closet, a stack of towels over her shoulder, and ran to the bisecting corridor and the Exit sign.