.
Then twenty years of education rose up strongly in him, and he pushed the notion aside. There were cases without number of comatose patients who had awakened with a dreamlike knowledge of many of the things that had gone on around them while they were in coma. Like anything else, coma was a matter of degree. Johnny Smith had never been a vegetable; his EEG had never gone flat-line, and if it had, Brown would not be talking with him now. Sometimes being in a coma was a little like being behind a one-way glass. To the beholding eye the patient was completely conked out, but the patient's senses might still continue to function in some low, power-down fashion. And that was the case here, of course.
Marie Michaud came back in. 'Neurology is confirmed, and Dr. Weizak is on his way.'
'I think Sam will have to wait until tomorrow to meet Mr. Smith,' Brown said. 'I want him to have five milligrams of Valium.'
'I don't want a sedative,' Johnny said. 'I want to get out of here. I want to know what happened!'
'You'll know everything in time,' Brown said. 'Right now it's important that you rest.'
'I've been resting for four-and-a-half years!'
'Then another twelve hours won't make much difference,' Brown said inexorably.
A few moments later the nurse swabbed his upper arm with alcohol, and there was the sting of a needle. Johnny began to feel sleepy almost at once. Brown and the nurse began to look twelve feet tall.
'Tell me one thing, at least,' he said. His voice seemed to come from far, far away. Suddenly it seemed terribly important. 'That pen. What do you call that pen?'
'This?' Brown held it out from his amazing height. Blue plastic body, fibrous tip. 'It's called a Flair. Now go to sleep, Mr. Smith.'
And Johnny did, but the word followed him down into his sleep like a mystic incantation, full of idiot meaning:
Flair... ....... Flair...
5.
Herb put the telephone down and looked at it. He looked at it for a long time. From the other room came the sound of the TV, turned up almost all the way. Oral Roberts was talking about football and the healing love of Jesus there was a connection there someplace, but Herb had missed it. Because of the telephone call. Oral's voice boomed and roared. Pretty soon the show would end and Oral would dose it out by confidently telling his audience that something good was going to happen to them. Apparently Oral was right.
My boy, Herb thought. While Vera had prayed for a miracle, Herb had prayed for his boy to die. It was Vera's prayer that had been answered.. What did that mean, and where did it leave him? And what was it going to do to her?
He went into the living room. Vera was sitting on the couch. Her feet, encased in elastic pink mules, were up on a hassock. She was wearing her old gray robe. She was eating popcorn straight from the popper. Since Johnny's accident she had put on nearly forty pounds and her blood pressure had skyrocketed. The doctor wanted to put her on medication, but Vera wouldn't have it - if it was the will of the Lord for her to have the high blood, she said, then she would have it. Herb had once pointed out that the will of the Lord had never stopped her from taking Bufferin when she had a headache. She had answered with her sweetest long-suffering smile and her most potent weapon: silence.
'Who was on the phone?' she asked him, not looking away from the TV. Oral had his arm round the well-known quarterback of an NFC team. He was talking to a hushed multitude. The quarterback was smiling modestly.
.... and you have all heard this fine athlete tell you tonight how he abused his body, his Temple of God. And you have heard...
Herb snapped it off.
'Herbert Smith! ' She nearly spilled her popcorn sitting up. 'I was watching! That was...'
'Johnny woke up.'
.... Oral Roberts and
The words snapped off in her mouth. She seemed to crouch back in her chair, as if he had taken a swing at her.
He looked back, unable to say more, wanting to feel joy but afraid. So afraid.
'Johnny's...' She stopped, swallowed, then tried again. 'Johnny... our Johnny?'
'Yes. He spoke with Dr. Brown for nearly fifteen minutes. Apparently it wasn't that thing they thought ... false-waking... after all. He's coherent. He can move.'
'Johnny's awake?'
Her hands came up to her mouth. The popcorn popper, half full, did a slow dipsy-doodle off her lap and thumped to the rug, spilling popcorn everywhere. Her hands covered the lower half of her face. Above them her eyes got wider and wider still until for a dreadful second, Herb was afraid that they might fall out and dangle by their stalks. Then they dosed. A tiny mewing sound came from behind her hands.