“I didn’t mean any harm,” the nurse huffed as she left the room.
After she was gone, Covenant lost sight of the doctor for a while; he seemed to fade into the insensitive haze of the lighting. Covenant tried to take stock of his situation. His right wrist was also tied, so that he lay in the bed as if he had been crucified. But the restraints did not prevent him from testing the essential facts about himself. His feet were numb and cold. His fingers were in the same condition-numb, chill. His forehead hurt feverishly. His lip was taut and hot with swelling.
He had to agree with the nurse; he was in rotten shape.
Then he found the doctor near him again. The man seemed young and angry. Another man entered the room, an older doctor whom Covenant recognized as the one who had treated him during his previous stay in the hospital. Unlike the younger man, this doctor wore a suit rather than a white staff jacket. As he entered, he said, “I hope you’ve got good reason for calling me. I don’t give up church for just anyone-especially on Easter.”
“This is a hospital,” the younger man growled, “not a bloody revival. Of course I’ve got good reason.”
“What’s eating you? Is he dead?”
“No. Just the opposite-he’s going to live. One minute he’s in allergic shock, and dying from it because his body’s too weak and infected and poisoned to fight back-and the next-Pulse firm, respiration regular, pupillary reactions normal, skin tone improving. I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a goddamn miracle, that’s what it is.”
“Come, now,” the older man murmured. “I don’t believe in miracles-neither do you.” He glanced at the chart, then listened to Covenant’s heart and lungs for himself. “Maybe he’s just stubborn.” He leaned close to Covenant’s face. “Mr. Covenant,” he said, “I don’t know whether you can hear me. If you can, I have some news which may be important to you. I saw Megan Roman yesterday-your lawyer. She said that the township council has decided not to rezone Haven Farm. The way you saved that little girl-well, some people are just a bit ashamed of themselves. It’s hard to take a hero’s home away from him.
“Of course, to be honest I should tell you that Megan performed a little legerdemain for you. She’s a sharp lawyer, Mr. Covenant. She thought the council might think twice about evicting you if it knew that a national news magazine was going to do a human interest story on the famous author who saves children from rattlesnakes. None of our politicians were very eager for headlines like ‘Town Ostracizes Hero.’ But the point is that you’ll be able to keep Haven Farm.”
The older man receded. After a moment, Covenant heard him say to the other doctor, “You still haven’t told me why you’re in such high dudgeon.”
“It’s nothing,” the younger man replied as they left the room. “One of our Florence Nightingales suggested that we should kill him off.”
“Who was it? I’ll get the nursing superintendent to transfer her. We’ll get decent care for him from somewhere.”
Their voices drifted away, left Covenant alone in his bed.
He was thinking dimly, A miracle. That’s what it was.
He was a sick man, a victim of Hansen’s disease. But he was not a leper-not just a leper. He had the law of his illness carved in large, undeniable letters on the nerves of his body; but he was more than that. In the end, he had not failed the Land. And he had a heart which could still pump blood, bones which could still bear his weight; he had himself.
Thomas Covenant: Unbeliever.
A miracle.
Despite the stiff pain in his lip, he smiled at the empty room. He felt the smile on his face, and was sure of it.
He smiled because he was alive.