</p>
−
<p>
"Dr. Burnham will come when it is possible," Adam said coldly. Then after a moment in which he met the resentment and accusation, he said, "Governor, I think that it would be a good thing for you to lie down. To get some rest."
</p>
<p>"No," the Boss said hoarsely, "no."</p>
−
<p>
"You can do no good by not lying down. You will only waste your strength. You can do no good."
</p>
−
<p>
"Good," the Boss said, "good," and clenched his hands as though he had tried to grasp some substance which had faded at his touch and dissolved to air.
</p>
−
<p>
"I would advise it," Adam said quietly, almost softly. Then he turned and inquiring glance upon Lucy.
</p>
−
<p>
She shook her head. "No, doctor," she almost whispered. "I'll wait. Too."
</p>
−
<p>
Adam inclined his head in acceptance, and went out. I got up and followed him.
</p>
−
<p>
I caught up with Adam down the hall. "What is it like?" I asked.
</p>
<p>"Bad." he said.</p>
<p>"How bad?"</p>
−
<p>
"He is unconscious and paralyzed," Adam said. "His extremities are quite limp. The reflexes are quite gone. If you pick up his hand it is like jelly. The X-ray–we took a skull plate–shows a fracture and dislocation of the fifth and sixth cervical vertebrae."
</p>
<p>"Where the hell is t?"</p>
−
<p>
Adam reached out and laid a couple of fingers on the back of my neck. "There," he said.
</p>
<p>"You mean he's got a broken neck?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"I thought that killed them."</p>
−
<p>
"It usually does," he said. "Always if the fracture is a little higher."
</p>
<p>"Has he got a chance?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"To just live or to be all right?"</p>
−
<p>
"To be all right. Or almost all right. Just a chance."
</p>
<p>"What are you going to do?"</p>
−
<p>
He looked at me directly, and I saw that his own face didn't look much different from the way it would have looked if somebody had kicked him in the head, too. It was white and drawn.
</p>
−
<p>
"It is a difficult decision," he said. "I must think. I don't want to talk about it now."
</p>
−
<p>
So he turned from me, and squared his shoulders, and went off down the hall, over the polished composition floor, which glittered in the soft light like brown ice.
</p>
−
<p>
I went back to the room where Lucy Stark sat across from the Boss, in the midst of the chintz and potted plants and water colors. Now and then she would lift her gaze from her lap, where the hands were clasped together with the veins showing blue, and would look across the intervening distance into her husband's face. He did not meet her gaze, but stared into the heatless illumination of the artificial logs on the hearth.
</p>
−
<p>
After one o'clock a nurse came down to the room with the message that the fog had cleared and that Dr. Burnham's plane was on the way again. They would let us know as soon as it came in. Then she went away.
</p>
−
<p>
The Boss sat silent for a minute or two, then said to me, "Go down and call up the airport. Ask what the weather is like here. Tell 'em to tell Sugar-Boy I said for him to get here quick. Tell Murphy I said I meant quick. By God! By God–" And the oath was left suspended, directed at nothing.
</p>
−
<p>
I went down the corridor and down to the telephone booths on the first floor, to give that crazy message to Sugar-Boy and Murphy. Sugar-Boy would drive like hell anyway, and Murphy–he was the lieutenant in charge of the motorcycle escort–knew he wasn't out there for fun. But I called the port, was told that the weather was lifting–a wind had sprung up–and left the message for Murphy.
</p>
−
<p>
When I stepped out of the booth, there was Sadie. She must have been hanging around in the lobby, probably sitting on one of the benches back in the shadow, for I hadn't seen har when I entered.
</p>
−
<p>
"Why didn't you say boo and give me real heart failure and finish the job?" I asked.
</p>
<p>"How is it?" she demanded, seizing my coat sleeve.</p>
<p>"Bad. He broke his neck."</p>
<p>Has he got any chance?"</p>
−
<p>
"Dr. Stanton said he did, but he wasn't wreathed in smiles."
</p>
<p>"What are they going to do? Operate?"</p>
−
<p>
"There is another big-shot doctor coming in from Johns Hopkins for a consultation. After he gets here they will flip a nickel and find out what to do."
</p>
−
<p>
"Did he sound like there was a real chance?" Her hand was still clutching my sleeve.
</p>
−
<p>
"How do I know?" I was suddenly irritated. I jerked my sleeve out of her grasp.
</p>
−
<p>
"If you find out anything–you know, when the doctor comes–will you let me know?" she asked humbly, letting her hand fall.
</p>
−
<p>
"Why the hell don't you go home and quit spooking around here in the dark? Why don't you go home?"
</p>
<p>She shook her head, still humbly.</p>
−
<p>
"You wanted to kick his teeth down his throat, and now you hang around and loose sleep. Why don't you go home?"
</p>
<p>She shook her head slowly. "I'll wait," she said.</p>
<p>"You're a sap," I affirmed.</p>
−
<p>
"Let me know," she said, "when you find out anything."
</p>
−
<p>
I didn't even say anything to that, but walk on away, back upstairs, where I rejoined the party. Things hadn't changed in the atmosphere of the room.
</p>
−
<p>
After a spell, a nurse came back to say that the plane was expected at the port in about thirty or forty minutes. Then a little later she came back to say that there was a telephone call for me.
</p>
<p>"Who is it?" I asked the nurse.</p>
−
<p>
"It's a lady," she said, "but she wouldn't give her name."
</p>
−
<p>
I figured that one out, and when I got to the phone at the floor desk I found I was right. It was Anne Stanton. She had stood it as long as she could. She didn't seize me by the sleeve, for she was a few miles away in her apartment, but her voice did pretty near the same thing. I told her what I knew, and answered her repetitious questions. She thanked me and apologized or bothering me. She had had to know, she said. She had been calling at my hotel all evening, thinking I would come in, then she had called me at the hospital. There wasn't anybody else she could ask. When she had just called the hospital and had asked for news, they had been noncommittal. "So you see," she said "so you see I had to call you."
</p>
−
<p>
I said I saw, all right, and hung up the phone and went back down the hall. In the room nothing had changed. And nothing did change till toward four o'clock, when the Boss, who had been sunk in the chintz chair with his gaze on the artificial logs, suddenly lifted up his head, the way a drowsing dog does on the hearth to a sound you can't even hear. But the Boss hadn't been drowsing. He had been listening for that sound. One instant he held his head up intently, then swung up to his feet. "There!" he exclaimed raspingly. "There!"
</p>
−
<p>
Then I heard it, for the first time, the far-off wail of the siren of the motorcycle escort. The plane had got in.
</p>
−
<p>
In a minute a nurse came in and announced that Dr. Burnham was with Dr. Stanton. She would not say how long before they would give an opinion.
</p>
−
<p>
The Boss had not sat back down, after the first sound of the siren. He had stood in the middle of the floor, with his head up, hearing the siren wail and fade and wail again and die off, then waiting for the steps in the hall. He did not sit back down now. He began to pace up and down. Over to the window, where he snatched back the chintz curtains to look out on the blackness of the lawn and off across the lawn, where no doubt, a solitary street light glowed in the mist. Then back to the fireplace, where he would turn with a grinding motion that twisted the rug under his heel. His hands were clasped behind him, and his head, with the forelock down, hung forward sullenly and seemed to sway a little from side to side.
</p>
−
<p>
I kept on looking at my picture magazines, but the solid tread, nervous and yet deliberate, stirred something back in my mind. I was irritated, as you are when the memory will no rise and be recognize. Then I knew what it was. It was the sound of a tread, back and forth, back and forth, caged in a room in a country hotel beyond the jerry-built wall. That was it.
</p>
−
<p>
He was still pacing when a hand outside was laid on the knob of the door. But at that sound, the first sound of the hand on the knob, he swung his head toward the door and froze in his tracks like a pointer. Adam walked into the room into the clutch of that gaze.
</p>
−
<p>
The Boss liked his lower lip, but he controlled the question.
</p>
−
<p>
Adam shut the door behind him, and took a few steps forward. "Dr. Burnham has examined the patient," he said, "and studied the X-ray plated. His diagnosis and my own check absolutely. You know what that is." He paused as though expecting some reply.
</p>
−
<p>
But there was no reply, not even a sign, and the gaze on him did not relinquish its clutch.
</p>
−
<p>
"There are two lines of action possible." he resumed. "One is conservative, the other radical. The conservative line would be to put the patient in traction, in a heavy cast, and wait for some resolution of the situation. The radical line would be to resort to surgical procedure immediately. I want to emphasize that this is a difficult decision, a very technical decision. Therefore I want you to understand the situation as fully as possible." He paused again, but there was no sign, and the gaze did not relax.
</p>
−
<p>
"As you know," he began again, and now his tone carried a hint of the lecture room, of academic precision, "the plate showed in lateral view a fracture and dislocation of the fifth and six cervical vertebrae. But the X-ray cannot show the condition of the soft tissue. Therefore we cannot know at this moment the condition of the spinal cord itself. We can learn that only by surgical action. If upon operating we discover that the cord is crushed, the patient will remain paralyzed for the rest of his life, for the cord has nor regenerative power. But it is possible that a displaced segment of bone is merely pressing upon the cord. In that case we can, by performing a laminectomy, relieve the pressure. We cannot predict the degree of benefit from such procedure. We might restore some or we might restore almost all function. Of course, we should not expect too much. Some muscle groups might remain paralyzed. You understand?"
</p>
−
<p>
This time, Adam scarcely seemed to expect any response, and this pause was only momentary. "I must emphasize one consideration. This operation is very near the brain. It may be fatal. And the chances of infection are greater with the operation. Dr. Burnham and I have discussed the matter at length and are in agreement. I myself take full responsibility for advising the operation. But I want you to know that it is radical. That it is the outside chance. It is the gambler's chance."
</p>
−
<p>
He stopped, and in the silence, the Boss's breath rasped two or three times, in and out. Then he said, gratingly, "Do it."
</p>
−
<p>
He had taken the outside chance, the gambler's chance. But that was no surprise to me.
</p>
−
<p>
Adam was looking inquiringly at Lucy Stark, as though he wished corroboration from her. She turned her eyes from him and looked at her husband, who had walked over to the window to look out over the black lawn. For a moment, she studied the hunched shoulders, then returned to Adam Stanton. She nodded her head slowly, while her hands worked together on her lap. Then she whispered, "Yes–yes."
</p>
−
<p>
"We shall operate immediately," Adam said. "I had ordered arrangements made. It does not have to be done immediately, but in my judgment it is better so."
</p>
−
<p>
"Do it," the grating voice over the window said. But the Boss did not turn around, not even when the door closed behind Adam Stanton.
</p>
−
<p>
I went back to my picture magazines, but I turned the pages over with the greatest care as though I couldn't afford to make a sound in the special kind of devouring stillness there was in the room. The stillness lasted a long time, while I kept on looking at the pictures of girls in bathing suits and race horses and scenes of natural beauty and long files of erect, clean-faced youths in some kind of shirt or other lifting their arms in a salute and detective stories acted out in six photographs with the answer on the next page. But I wasn't paying much attention to the pictures, and they were always alike anyway.
</p>
−
<p>
Then Lucy Stark got up from her chair. She walked over to the window, where the Boss stood and stared out. She laid her hand on his right arm. He drew away, without even looking at her. But she took him by the forearm and drew him, and after a momentary resistance he followed her. She led him back to the big chintz-covered chair. "Sit down, Willie," she said, very quietly, "sit down and rest."
</p>
−
<p>
He sank down into the chair. She turned away and went back to her own chair.
</p>
−
<p>
He was looking at her, not at the artificial logs now. Finally, he said, "He'll be all right."
</p>
<p>"God grant it," she replied.</p>
−
<p>
He was silent for two or three minutes, still looking at her. Then he said, violently, "He will, he's got to."
</p>
−
<p>
"God grant it," she said, and met his gaze until his eyes fell away from hers.
</p>
−
<p>
By that time I had had enough of sitting there. I got up and went out and down the hall to the nurse who was on the floor desk. "Any chance of getting some sandwiches and coffee brought up here for the Governor and his wife?" I asked.
</p>
−
<p>
She said she would get some brought up, and I told her just to have them brought to her desk, that I would take them in. Then I wandered down to the lobby again. Sadie was still there, spooking in the shadows. I told her about the operation and left her there. I hung around at the floor desk upstairs until the sandwiches arrived, then took the tray down to the waiting room.
</p>
−
<p>
The grub and coffee, however, didn't do much to change the atmosphere there. I put a little table by Lucy with a sandwich on a plate and a cup of coffee. She thanked me, and broke a piece of the sandwich and put it to her mouth two or three times, but I could not see that she was doing it much damage. But she took some coffee. I put some food and coffee handy to the Boss. He looked up out of himself and said, "Thanks, Jack." He did not even make a pretense, however, of eating. He held the cup in his hand for a few minutes, but I didn't notice that he even took a sip. He just held it.
</p>
−
<p>
I ate a sandwich and had a cup of coffee. I was pouring myself a second cup, when the Boss reached to set his cup down, sloshingly, on the little table beside him.
</p>
<p>"Lucy," he said, "Lucy!"</p>
<p>"Yes," she answered.</p>
−
<p>
"You know–you know what I'm going to do?" He leaned forward, not waiting for an answer. "I'm going to name the new hospital for him. For Tom. I'm going to call it the Tom Stark Hospital and Medical Center. It'll be named for Tom, it'll–"
</p>
−
<p>
She was slowly shaking her head, and his words stopped "Thos things don't matter," she said. "Oh, Willie, don't you see? Those things don't matter. Having somebody's name cut on a piece of stone. Getting it in the paper. All those things. Oh, Willie, he was my baby boy, he was our baby boy, and those things don't matter, they don't ever matter, don't you see?"
</p>
−
<p>
He sank back into his chair, and the silence picked up where it had left off. The silence was still going full blast when I got back from taking the dishes and uneaten food down to the desk. It gave me an excuse for getting out. It was twenty minutes to six when I got back At six o'clock Adam came in. He was pretty gray and stony in the face. The Boss got to his feet and stood there looking at Adam, but neither he not Lucy uttered a sound.
</p>
<p>Then Adam said, "He will live."</p>
−
<p>
"Thank God," Lucy breathed, but the Boss still stared into Adam's face.
</p>
−
<p>
Adam stared back. Then he said, "The cord was crushed."
</p>
−
<p>
I heard a gasp from Lucy, and looked over to see her with her head bowed on her breast.
</p>
−
<p>
The Boss didn't show a sign for a moment. Then he lifted his hands, chest-high, with the fingers spread as though to seize on something. "No!" he declared. "No!"
</p>
−
<p>
"It was crushed," Adam said. And added, "I am sorry, Governor."
</p>
<p>Then he left the room.</p>
−
<p>
The Boss stared at the closed door, then slowly sank back into the chair. He kept on staring at the door, his eyes bulging and the moisture gathering in drops on his forehead. The he jerked upright and the sound wrenched out of him. It was a formless, agonized sound torn raw right out of the black animal depths inside of the bulk there in the chair. "Oh!" he said. Then, "Oh!"
</p>
−
<p>
Lucy Stark was looking across at him. He was still staring at the door.
</p>
<p>Then the sound came again: "Oh!"</p>
−
<p>
She rose from her chair and went across to him. She didn't say anything. She simply stood by his chair and laid a hand on his shoulder.
</p>
−
<p>
The sound came again, but it was the last time. He sank back, still staring at the door, and breathed heavily. It must have been like that for three or four minutes. Then Lucy said, "Willie."
</p>
<p>He looked up at her for the first time.</p>
<p>"Willie," she said, "it's time to go."</p>
−
<p>
He stood up from the chair, and I got their coats off the couch by the wall. I helped Lucy on with hers, and then she picked up the other and helped him. I didn't interfere.
</p>
−
<p>
They started for the door. He had drawn himself erect now and looked straight ahead, but her hand was still on his arm, and if you had seen them you would have got the impression that she was expertly and tactfully guiding a blind man. I opened the door for them, and then went on ahead to tell Sugar-Boy to get the car ready.
</p>
−
<p>
I was there when the Boss got into the car and she got in after him. That surprised me a little, but it didn't hurt my feelings if Sugar-Boy drove her home. Despite the coffee, I was ready to drop.
</p>
−
<p>
I went back inside and up to Adam's office. He was just about ready to pull out. "What is the story?" I asked.
</p>
−
<p>
"What I said," he said. "The cord is crushed. That means paralysis. The prognosis is that for a time the limbs will be absolutely limp. Then the muscle tone will come back. But he will never use arms or legs. The bodily function will continue but without control. He'll be like a baby. And the skin will be inclined to break down. He will get infections easily. The respiratory control will be impaired, too. Pneumonia will be likely. That's what usually knock off cases like this sooner or later."
</p>
−
<p>
"It sounds to me the sooner the better," I said, and thought of Lucy Stark.
</p>
−
<p>
"Maybe so," he said, tiredly. He was sagging now, all right. He slipped on his coat and picked up his bag. "Can I drop you somewhere?" he asked.
</p>
−
<p>
"Thanks, I'm in my car," I said. Then my eyes fell on the telephone on his desk. "But I'll make a call, if I may," I said. "I'll pull the door to."
</p>
−
<p>
"All right," he said, and went to the door. "Good night," he added, and went out.
</p>
−
<p>
I dialed outside, and got Anne's number, and told her the news. She said it was horrible. She kept saying that into the telephone–"It is horrible"–in a low bemused voice, three or four times. Then she thanked me and hung up.
</p>
−
<p>
I left the office. I had one more errand to do. I went down to the lobby. Sadie was still there. So I told her. She said it was pretty tough. I agreed.
</p>
<p>"It will be tough on the Boss," she said.</p>
−
<p>
"It will be tough as hell on Lucy," I said, "for she is the one who will have to fix the baby. Don't forget that while you're giving out the free samples of sympathy."
</p>
−
<p>
She must have been pretty tired or something for that didn't make her mad. So I asked her if I could take her into town. She had her car, too, she said.
</p>
−
<p>
"Well, I am going home and sleep forever," I said, and left her in the lobby.
</p>
−
<p>
By the time I got out to my car, the sky was curdling blue with dawn.
</p>
−
<p>
The accident occurred on Saturday afternoon. The operation was performed just before dawn on Sunday. The big pay-off was on Monday. It was the Monday before Thanksgiving.
</p>
−
<p>
That day, there was a gradual piling up of events, then the rush to the conclusion, as when a great weight that has been grinding and slipping suddenly breaks the last mooring and takes the plunge. As I experienced that day, there was at first an impression of the logic of the events, caught flickeringly at moments, but as they massed to the conclusion I was able to grasp, at the time, only the slightest hints as to the pattern that was taking shape. This lack of logic, the sense of people and events driven by impulses which I was no able to define, gave the whole occasion the sense of a dreamlike unreality. It was only after the conclusion, after everything was over, that the sense of reality returned, long after, in fact, when I had been able to gather the pieces of the puzzle up and put them together to see the pattern. This is not remarkable, for, as we know, reality is not a function of the event as event, but of the relationship of that event to past, and future, events. We seem here to have a paradox: that the reality of an event, which is not real in itself, arises from other events which, likewise, in themselves are not real. But this only affirms what we must affirm: that direction is all. And only as we realize this do we live, for our own identity is dependent upon this principle.
</p>
−
<p>
Monday morning I got to the office early. I had slept all day Sunday, getting up only in time for a bite of dinner and then some silly movie, and being back in bed by ten-thirty. I came into the office with that sense you get after a lot of sleep of being spiritually pure.
</p>
−
<p>
I went back to the Boss's office. He hadn't come in. But while I was there one of the girls came in carrying a big tray piled up with telegrams. "They are all about his boy getting hurt," she said, "and they keep coming in."
</p>
<p>"They'll be coming in all day," I said.</p>
−
<p>
That would be true, all right. Every pinfeather politician, county-courthouse janitor, and ambitious lickspittle in the state who hadn't seen the story in the Sunday paper would see it in this morning's paper and get off his telegram. Getting that telegram off would be like praying. You couldn't tell that praying would do any good, but it certainly never did anybody any harm. Those telegrams were part of the system. Like presents for the wedding of a politician's daughter or flowers for a cop's funeral. And it was part of the system, too, for the flowers, now that we are on the subject, to come from Antonio Giusto's flower store. A girl in the flower store kept a record in a special file of all the orders that came in for a cop's funeral, and then Tony just ran through the file after the funeral and checked the names by his master list of perennially bereaved friends and if your name was on the master list it had sure-God better be in the file for Murphy's funeral, and I don't mean any bunch of sweet peas, either. Tony was a good friend of Tiny Duffy.
</p>
−
<p>
It was Tiny Duffy who came into the office just as the girl flounced out with a cute little twitch of her skirt. He mooned in with a face full of professional sympathy and mortician's gloom, but as soon as he took in the fact that the Boss was not present he relaxed a little, showed his teeth, and said, "How's tricks?"
</p>
<p>I said tricks was O. K.</p>
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