In the process of fitting the binaurals of a stethoscope to his ears, the paramedic paused. ?What did you say??
The sight of the stethoscope inspired in Ethan the realization that he could hear his heartbeat, and that what he heard was ragged, uneven, alarming.
Listening, he knew that he was hearing not just his heart, but also the knock-hoofed canter of Death?s horse approaching.
?Bells,? he repeated, as throughout his mind the doors to a thousand fears flew open.
The ambulance began to move, and as it rolled, the siren found its shrill voice.
Ethan couldn?t hear the bells above the banshee wail, but he could see the nearest three trembling on their string. Trembling.
He raised his left hand toward the dangling cluster but couldn?t reach that far. His hand grasped at empty air.
This terrible intensity of fear brought with it a clouding confusion, and perhaps he was utterly delirious; nevertheless, the bells seemed to be more than mere decorations, seemed mystical in their shiny smoothness, in their glimmering curves, the embodiment of hope, and he desperately needed to hold them.
Apparently the paramedic understood the urgency of Ethan?s need to have the bells, if not the reason for it. He plucked a small pair of scissors from a kit, and swaying with the movement of the vehicle, he clipped the knot that secured the nearest cluster to the garland of tinsel.
Given the string of bells, Ethan clutched them in his left hand with a grip both tender and ferocious.
He was exhausted, but he dared not close his eyes again, for he feared that when he opened them, darkness would remain and never go away, that he would henceforth see nothing of this world.
[173] The paramedic picked up the stethoscope once more. He inserted the binaural tips in his ears.
With the fingers of his left hand, Ethan counted the bells on the string, from tiniest to largest, to tiniest again.
He realized that he held these ornaments as he?d held a rosary in the hushed hospital room during the last few nights of Hannah?s life: with equal measures of despair and hope, with an unexpected awe that sustained the heart and with a stoicism that armored it. His hope had been unrealized, his stoicism essential, when he had found it necessary to survive her loss.
Between thumb and forefinger, he had tried to pinch mercy from the rosary beads. Now he smoothed the curvatures of bell, bell, and bell, seeking mercy less than understanding, seeking a revelation deaf to the ear but resonant in the heart.
Although Ethan did not close his eyes and bring the darkness down, seeping shadows encroached from the periphery of vision, like ink spreading through the fibers of a blotter.
Apparently the stethoscope captured rhythms that alarmed the paramedic. He loomed close, but his voice came from a distance, and though his face was a mask of calm professionalism, he spoke with an urgency that revealed the depth of his concern for his patient. ?Ethan, don?t leave us here. Hang tight. Hold on, damn it.?
Cinched by a knot of darkness, Ethan?s vision narrowed as the cords pulled tighter, tighter.
He detected the astringent scent of rubbing alcohol. A coolness below the crook of his left arm preceded the sting of a needle.
Within him, the knocking hooves of one-horse Death gave way to the thunder of an apocalyptic herd in chaotic gallop.
The ambulance still rocketed toward Our Lady of Angels, but the driver gave the siren a rest, evidently trusting to the swiveling beacons on the roof.
In the absence of the banshee shriek, Ethan thought he heard bells again.
[174] These were not the worry-bead bells that in his hand he smoothed and smoothed, nor were they the strings of ornamental bells suspended from the red sparkling tinsel. These chimes arose at some distance, calling him with a silvery insistence.
His vision irised to a dim spot of light, and then the mortal knot drew tighter still, blinding him completely. Accepting the inevitability of death and endless darkness, at last he closed his eyelids.
He opened the door, then opened his eyes.
In a growl of wind and a jingle of overhead bells, he stepped out of Forever Roses into the cold teeth of the December night, and drew the door shut behind him.
In shock to find himself alive, in disbelief that he stood on legs unbroken, he waited in the entry alcove, between the display windows, as a young couple in raincoats and hoods strolled by on the sidewalk, led by a golden retriever on a leash.
The dog looked up at Ethan, its eyes as wise as they were liquid and dark.
?Good evening,? the couple said.
Unable to speak, Ethan nodded.
?Tink, let?s go,? the woman urged, and then repeated the command when the dog hesitated.
The soaked retriever pranced away, snout lifted to savor the chilly air, followed by its companions.
Ethan turned to peer at the florist who still stood behind the counter, past the glass coffins full of roses.
Rowena had been staring after him. Now she quickly looked down as though attending to a task.
On legs as shaky as his reason, Ethan retraced the route that he had taken to this place, under the sheltering awnings of shops and restaurants, toward the Expedition in the red zone.
Ahead, Tink twice glanced back, but didn?t stop.
Passing a restaurant bejeweled with candlelight and sparkling [175] tableware, breathing in the yeasty fragrance of freshly baked bread, Ethan thought, The staff of life.
At the end of the block, the dog looked back once more. Then the trio disappeared around the corner.
In the street, the traffic was lighter than usual at this hour, moving faster than the weather warranted.
Arriving at the red zone near the end of the block, Ethan stood under the last awning-and thought that he might stand there, well and safely back from the street, until dawn reclaimed the city from the night.
A long gap appeared in the approaching traffic.
With his trembling right hand, he fished his keys from a jacket pocket and thumbed the lock-release button on the fob. The Expedition chirruped at him, but he didn?t approach it.
Turning his attention toward the intersection, Ethan saw the headlights of the PT Cruiser as the vehicle approached at far too high a speed on the cross street.
The Cruiser fishtailed in the intersection, and its wheels locked. In the spinout, the car rotated past the parked Expedition, mere inches from a collision.
Had Ethan stood there, he would have been battered between the vehicles, like a pinball between warring flippers.
Here came the crushing truck, the shrill blast of air brakes.
With a sharp stuttering bark of tires against wet blacktop, the Cruiser spun into the far lanes where it belonged.
Parting the rain where the Cruiser had just whipped through it, the truck shook and shuddered to a stop.
When the driver of the Cruiser regained control, he raced away, at a lower but still reckless speed.
The agitated trucker blew his horn. Then he continued on the route that he?d been following before the near miss, toward whatever destination unhindered fate had planned for him.
[176] In the wake of the truck, the gap in traffic had closed.
The signal light changed at the intersection. In two directions, traffic came to a halt, but in two others, it began to move again.
Drenching the night: the delicious aroma of baking bread.
Golden lamplight spending doubloons upon the pavement.
The rush and rustle of the rain.
Perhaps the signal light changed twice again or even three times before Ethan became aware of an aching in his left hand. The cramping pain had begun to spread into the muscles of his forearm.
Tangled through the fiercely clenched fingers of his fist was the string of three small silvery bells clipped from the ambulance tinsel and given to him by a compassionate paramedic.