The Friendship of Mortals
Page 39
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Notes from the Case-Book of Herbert West.
August 16, 1917, 2:20 a.m.
Subject #17.8.5R (non-experimental)
Subject was dead approx. 6 hours. Time between administration of fluid and revivification: 95 minutes. Time elapsed since revivification: 12 hours.
Vital signs: respiration normal; heart rate, 70; blood pressure, 120/60.
General appearance: good.
Injuries: trauma of lower left abdomen, right thigh and left arm. No broken bones. No foreign matter left in wounds. Instilled regenerating substance. Installed drains. Subject stabilized. No further loss of fluids.
Prognosis: excellent.
Cognitive abilities: unknown as yet; subject unable to speak.
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When I opened my eyes again, I knew I was somewhere else. The light was different – daylight, not lamplight like before. I was in a big bright room with windows. And other people. I could see the end of a metal bed, past where my feet were. In the distance, another bed. Grey blankets. I turned my head one way and the other. More metal beds and grey blankets, and in each bed, a man. “Hospital,” I thought. Then, “What’s a hospital? Why did I think that? Who are all these men? Who am I?”
There were people moving around the room. Women, dressed in blue and white. “Mothers,” I thought. But where was he? “I’ll be back.” That was what he’d said. But now I was somewhere else. Would he be able to find me? That was very important. So when one of the mothers came close to me I raised my hand and tried to grab her sleeve.
“Ou est Monsieur L’Ange?” I asked. My voice felt rusty, and she didn’t seem to have heard me, so I said it again, trying hard to talk louder. She turned and bent over me.
“She isn’t a mother at all,” I thought. “She’s too young.” I could see smooth brown hair under the veil she wore. “So she’s a nun,” I thought. Then, “What’s a nun?” Her eyes were light brown, with little green flecks.
“Oh, you can speak now,” she said. “That’s good. I’ll tell Major West. He specially asked us to tell him when you started to talk.”
Of course she spoke in English, and even though I could understand her, I couldn’t answer in English, only in French. “Qui est Major West?” I asked. But she was gone.
When he came, he spoke French to me. At first I couldn’t understand him, because of his strange accent. Plus I had just woken up from a long sleep, so I was feeling stupid. I asked him the first thing that popped into my fuzzy head.
“Is your name Raphael?”
He smiled. “No. My name is Herbert West. I’m your doctor. And you, it seems, are Andre Boudreau, from Grassadoo, New Brunswick.”
He tripped over “Grassadoo,” just enough to make me smile too and nearly forget that the name Andre Boudreau didn’t mean a thing to me. He might have been introducing a stranger.
“If you say so,” I said. “I don’t know who I am. Or where I am. Or anything.”
“It’s all right, Andre,” he said. “You’re perfectly safe with me. I’ll help you get better. So don’t worry.” He touched my shoulder and smiled. And I stopped being scared and went back to sleep.
That was the first time I had this dream: a rutted country road, curving around the side of a hill, and a girl running along it, crying. The girl is my sister, Marguerite, carrying a bundle of food from our mother. “Maman said that no child of hers would ever leave her house hungry.” So sad, her little face was, so sad.
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Notes from the Case Book
August 28, 1917
Subject #17.8.5R (Andre Boudreau)
Subject appears to be a complete amnesiac. Cognitive abilities may be normal. Speaks English and French (New Brunswick dialect? Odd pronunciation). Short term memory good. Retains knowledge of concepts – hospital, war, army, etc. – but no specifics about himself.
Physical condition improving rapidly. All wounds nearly healed.
Must find reason to keep him here. Amnesia might preclude return to action – verify. Is he a tabula rasa? Experiments with his mental development might prove interesting.