Stardust(24)

“He was awake. I’ll get the doctor,” Ben said, still excited, heading for the door.

“I’ll go,” Ostermann said.

But Ben was already on his way, racing down the hall to the nursing station, everything around him a blur. The nurse, alone on duty, looked up in alarm, Ben’s hands now pounding on the desk, an emergency signal. Dr. Walters was on another floor. She picked up the phone to call the station upstairs.

“Never mind,” Ben said, not waiting for the elevator, leaping up the stairs, his eyes looking for the recognizable white coat. Down the hall, jotting notes on a clipboard.

“He woke up,” Ben said, a little breathless.

Dr. Walters, startled, put the clipboard down without a word and followed him to the stairs. Ben could hear their feet clumping, an echo effect between floors. Ostermann and Dieter were at the nursing station now, then Liesl, everyone running, the corridor filling with people, the same blur as they raced back. Dr. Walters dodged past an aide, not stopping till he pushed the door and ran across the empty room to the bed, taking up Danny’s hand.

“You said if he came to—” Ben started, watching the doctor lower his head to Danny’s face, then take his wrist. “What’s the matter?”

The doctor took out a stethoscope and bent lower again, a repeat check.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “He’s gone.”

Ben looked at Danny, winded, his own body suddenly cool. Could you tell just by looking? The body still, mouth slightly open, no movement at all.

“But he can’t. He was just here,” Ben said.

The doctor looked at him. “Maybe he was saying good-bye. A last effort. Nurse.”

She hurried over, turning off the monitor, and drew up the sheet. The doctor glanced at his watch, already mentally filling out a certificate.

“It may be for the best,” he said calmly, an attempt to comfort. “This kind of injury. A full recovery isn’t possible. It’s unusual, to last this long. If we do a complete examination, maybe we’ll know more next time. Mrs. Kohler, I’ll need you to sign some forms.”

Liesl didn’t answer, staring at the bed, dazed.

“We can wait till tomorrow, if you like.”

“You mean an autopsy,” Ben said, imagining the knives.

“It can wait,” the doctor said.

Liesl turned from the bed. “No, I’ll come,” she said, her voice a monotone. “He wanted to be cremated.” Danny in a box.

“That’s not a hospital—”

“No, I just meant, it won’t matter, the examination.” She touched Ben’s arm. “That’s right, isn’t it? You don’t object?”

Ben shook his head. “He knew me. He was conscious.”

And then he wasn’t. When? What everyone always said, it happened so fast, a part of a second.

“Mrs. Kohler,” the doctor said again and then he was leading her out, Ostermann following, everybody, even the duty nurse, until Ben was alone in the room.

In a minute orderlies would come and wheel the bed away. Ben went over and pulled back the sheet, a last look, shaken. On the train, he’d thought of Danny as already dead, but that was an idea. This was worse, a flash of contact, then gone, actually cold now to the touch. Another body. When he was a child, death was something remote, an event for old people. Then, in the war, it happened to everybody. But you only got used to it when they were already dead. Dying itself was new each time, something you could feel. Ed bleeding away. Now Danny. Don’t leave me, he’d said. But he was the one who’d left, just the way he always did, when it suited him, leaving Ben behind.

He was still standing by the bed when he heard the door open. He turned, expecting the orderlies, but it was Liesl. She glanced toward the white sheet, then away.

“Do you want more time?” she said.

“You’re finished?”

“A few papers only.” She walked over to the bed, staring at the body for a minute, eyes soft. “So it’s over.” She looked up. “What should we do with the flowers?” she said, her voice shaky, snatching the phrase out of the air, something to say. “What happens to them?”

“I never thought about it. Maybe they give them to other people.”

“It’s true? He was awake?”

Ben nodded.

She looked down, then folded her arms across her chest, as if she had caught a chill. “We should go. All the arrangements. There’ll be so much to do. For the widow.” Another glance to the bed, her voice catching again. “So now this. I’ve never been a widow before.”


THE PHONE started ringing early and continued for most of the morning, through the deliveries and the extra help and Iris directing the table setups, the whole house in motion. The mechanics of mourning had taken over. No one sat and brooded, or even mentioned Danny.