Karla paged past a full-page department store ad featuring a bride in the world’s most elaborate bridal train and settled on the continuance of a story she had started to read on page one.
“None of these is saying anything,” she said. “There isn’t any real news at all. I wish I’d been able to talk to Liza before she died.”
Evan hadn’t wanted to tell Karla about Liza. He had thought the news might traumatize her. That would be all he needed. Karla back in her coma. Karla sick unto death. Everything his fault. He had no idea if bad news could put a coma patient back into a coma. He had no idea it would be so hard to keep things from Karla. He hadn’t realized how it would be with the nurses either. They talked a convincing line about how any coma patient might actually be conscious under the veil of unconsciousness, but they said things in the sickroom as if they were dealing with a deaf-mute. Karla seemed to have heard all about Liza Verity before she ever woke up.
“Is the television news any better?” she asked now. “This stuff is really awful. Nobody is saying anything about anything.”
“I think that’s deliberate,” Evan told her. “I think the police don’t want the public to know exactly what’s going on. Because it might jeopardize their case, you know.”
“You watch much too much American television. What about this Gregor Demarkian person? You met him.”
“Oh, yes.”
“And? What was he like? If you got him over here and I talked to him, would he insist on telling everybody on earth that I was awake?”
“Karla, I think you should tell everybody on earth that you’re awake. You’re not going to be able to keep this up much longer. You have to realize that. Every time a nurse comes in here and you play dead, I cringe. You’re not any good at it.”
“Every time a nurse comes in here and I’ve got my eyes closed, all I want to do is laugh.” Karla sighed. “I wish these papers were more informative. I wish I knew what to do.”
“Fess up,” Evan said.
“I wish Liza were still around to talk to. Do you know, I was thinking about it. If I’d known Liza was available and I had gotten in touch with her before the reception, then the reception would never have happened, and—”
“Shh,” Evan said.
Karla got immediately quiet. They could both hear sounds in the hallway, big booming voices, male and unmedical. Karla pushed the papers off the bed and lay down again. The little white bag of McDonald’s French fries landed on the pillow next to her chin and she shoved it into the air in the direction of Evan, anything at all in order to get rid of it. Evan grabbed the bag of French fries and stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket. Then he bent over and started taking sections of newspapers off the floor.
By the time the door opened, seconds later, Karla Parrish was completely still. Evan tried to see signs of incipient laughter in her face, but he couldn’t. She was made of stone. One of the nurses he knew well, a very young Latino girl named Carmencita Gonzalez, ushered Mr. John Jackman and Mr. Gregor Demarkian into the room.
“Hello, Evan,” Carmencita said. “There, you see it,” she told the two other men. “Just the way she’s been for days now. As far as I know, her vital signs are good, and that tells us nothing at all. Unless Evan has seen something the staff of the hospital hasn’t.”
“Me?” Evan said. “No. I wouldn’t know what to look for.”
“Speech would be a good sign,” Carmencita said.
Gregor Demarkian walked over to the bed and looked into Karla’s face. Evan shifted nervously back and forth on the balls of his feet. Demarkian was supposed to be a great detective. Surely, at this close range, he would be able to tell that Karla was faking.
He wasn’t able to tell. He backed away from the bed. Evan tried hard not to be too obvious about heaving a great big sigh of relief.
“I know I should know better,” Gregor Demarkian said, “but I’m always looking for the Gordian knot solution.”
“What’s a Gordian knot solution?” Evan asked.
“Alexander the Great,” Gregor said. “He’s supposed to have gotten to the gates of this city nobody had ever been able to conquer because they were held shut by a thick rope tied in a knot so intricate nobody had ever been able to untie it. So Alexander got out his sword and hacked the thing to shreds.”
“Smart man,” Evan said.
“He was a boy, really,” Gregor Demarkian said. “He was only twenty-six on the day that he died.”
“Forget Alexander the Great,” John Jackman said. “What are we going to do now?”