Full Spectrum 3 Part 17

"You're seeing my death, aren't you?"

She blinked, as if surprised by his bluntness, but her answer was equally frank. "Yes, I always do. Or I see my own."

"I'm a hev'rae, so I've seen my share of dying."

"This is different," she said evenly.

"Of course." He flushed. "Forgive me, I just meant to say that I don't know how you can do it. I mean, how can you talk to people, knowing the exact second that they will cease to be?"

"It can be a difficult thing." She gazed away, out over the water.

He thought about what it would be like to care about someone, maybe even love someone, knowing that. He suddenly found himself wondering what rhyena'v'raien did about that. Did they have lovers? Families?

Another thought occurred to him. "Tell me," he asked, "Can you act as rhyena'v'rae for a Terran?"

"Perhaps. Are you asking for yourself, Hev'rae?"

He hesitated. "No. Not at this time." He watched her face carefully; he didn't want to offend her.

But she only nodded. "There is a time for everything, Hev'rae. Now is not always the right one."

"Leave the autoclave to its own devices for one night, Mateo, m'boy. You and I are going out tonight to celebrate."

Matthew straightened up from the pile of instruments he was sterilizing and peered at Gremekke through clouds of steam. "Celebrate? Celebrate what?"

"Why, your anniversary, you dolt. Tonight marks the start of your third year on Calypso!"

Matthew glanced at the wall calender, made of strips of cloth with colored beads attached representing the days and months, and he did some mental calculations. "I'm still thinking in terms of Earth time; I didn't even realize it." He banged down the lid of the autoclave and stripped off his greens. "You're on."

They closed up the dispensary and headed up the street which led over a hill to the public houses on Tanners Row. Gremekke stumped along, wheezing, with Matthew's tactful hand on his arm to guide him around the puddles he normally would have splashed right through. "Fine night!" he exclaimed. "Wonderful night! Smell that sea breeze! That's why I'd never move to one of the inland cities."

Matthew could smell little but the fumes of the leatherworkers' lye, mixed with the smell of dung, but he allowed that the air certainly cleared one's head quickly.

"Absolutely. You certainly picked the right place to come to be a healer. Now, I'll admit that I've wanted to visit Earth sometimes, but I wouldn't trade my practice on Calypso for anything-plenty of opportunity for roll-up-the-sleeves hands-on experience."

"I did do my residency in the ER at Los Angeles County General," Matthew said wryly.

Gremekke abruptly came to a stop at the crest of the hill, panting, and Matthew almost plowed right into him.

"This is where I wanted to take you." Gremekke indicated a nondescript door with an expansive wave of his arm. A wooden placard swinging above it read The River's Edge. From the bottom of the placard hung a copper bell, the symbol of drinking establishments. "A good place for carousing. Let's go in and buy a barrel of ale and two straws."

Despite this recommendation, The River's Edge proved to be no more than a friendly, somewhat sleepy neighborhood public house, with a few customers talking quietly among themselves. The room looked big enough to seat thirty people or so, although it held only about half that number at the moment. Bluish smoke from a few pipes drifted, coiling, below the low ceiling, dimming the light. The sweetish smell of the smokeweed mingled pleasantly with the odor of hops, frying onions, and fresh-cut reeds.

Gremekke led the way to a rush mat by the fireplace where they seated themselves on flat floor cus.h.i.+ons and ordered the first pitcher of ale. "It's your third year here, now," he said, "and how long did you say you had practiced on Earth before signing on with the Peace Corps?"

"Five years, in Earth reckoning. I got a late start in the Corps."

"Me, now, I've been practicing for forty-two years. Forty-two years! Think of it!" He took a deep swallow. "It's downright terrifying."

Matthew laughed.

"That's better," said Gremekke judiciously. "That's the ticket! Tonight's a night for loosening up."

"And you think I need that?" asked Matthew, amused.

Gremekke snorted and s.h.i.+fted on his pillow, making the reeds crackle underneath him. "When you stepped off that s.h.i.+p, I don't mind telling you that for the first day or two, I wondered if it would work out between you and me. Now, you may have been a hev'rae for a while at the time, but I thought you were as bad as the green ones fresh out of training." He shook his head in mock consternation. "You were positively grim!"

Matthew grinned into his cup.

"Maybe it was just being in a new place and all. You seem to have gotten over it. Mind you, like I say, all hev'raien start out that way. I started out that way! I tell you, I was-" He broke off and looked over Matthew's shoulder. "Look, there's Teah."

Matthew glanced over toward the doorway. Teah stood there, her eyes searching the room. Some of the patrons seated near the door saw her and stirred uneasily. The house owner saw her and scowled before disappearing again into the back kitchen.

"Teah!" Gremekke gestured her over with his cup, slopping a little over his fingers. "Come and join us, won't you?"

She wove her way toward them through the mats, and Gremekke s.h.i.+fted his pillow over to make room for her. As she seated herself, Matthew reached for the ale pitcher, accidentally brus.h.i.+ng her arm with his fingers. She recoiled, looking at him with such surprise that he mumbled, "Sorry," wondering what social taboo he had unwittingly violated this time.

"Oh no, Mateo, I'm not offended," she hastened to a.s.sure him. "I was only, well, startled. Most people avoid touching rhyena'v'raien."

"Everybody sweats when a rhyena'v'rae walks through the door," Gremekke observed, grinning.

"Except for you, old friend," she smiled. "You've never been afraid of me."

Gremekke chuckled and signaled for another pitcher of ale. "I usually see you walking everywhere around the city at all kinds of hours, la.s.s, but I haven't seen much of you lately."

"A hev'rae is usually thankful for that," she replied drily.

Gremekke, caught in the middle of a swallow, choked on his ale and then laughed again. "Too true. But Mateo and I are glad to see a friend tonight. We're toasting the start of his third year on Calypso."

"Congratulations, Mateo." She filled the ale mug the server brought and took one swallow, then left it untouched. "You've been lucky to have a sponsor like Gremekke. He's the best hev'rae in the city."

Gremekke coughed and rumbled, "Well, now..." but Matthew could see that he was pleased.

"Haven't I always told the truth?" Teah asked. "I should know. I haven't been practicing as long as you, Gremekke, but I've been around awhile."

"Gremekke was just telling me about when he started out," Matthew said.

"Did he tell you about the time he delivered twins upside down?"

Matthew frowned, unsure that he had understood her syntax. "You mean a double breech delivery?"

"No." A smile curled at the corner of her mouth. "I mean Gremekke was upside down, while doing the delivery.

"What?"

"That was about oh, nineteen, twenty years ago, I think. A pregnant woman fell through some rotted flooring in one of the warehouses on Sailmaker Street. The fall started her labor, and by the time someone heard her screams, she was so near her time that they didn't even have a chance to dig her out. Someone got Gremekke, and they lowered him headfirst through the hole and held on to his legs while he delivered the babies. Two of them."

"It wasn't entirely upside down," Gremekke corrected. "More like a forty-five-degree angle. Good thing, too-I would have blacked out, otherwise."

"You should have seen him, Mateo, with his scissors tied to him, dangling from his wrist so that he wouldn't lose them if he dropped them. He handed up the babies, and then they were able to pry the mother loose."

"My G.o.d."

"How many babies would you say you've delivered, Gremekke?" Teah asked.

"I don't know. Thousands." He laughed.

"And it hasn't all been babies, either," Teah went on. "This city has seen a couple of serious epidemics."

Gremekke sighed. "The last one-it was a spring after a lot of flooding. Roads were impossible. A virus. One hundred and fifty died in a month."

"You forget," said Teah softly. "How many more would have died, if you had taken to the hills along with so many others?" She turned to Matthew. "I know. He set up a makes.h.i.+ft hospital compound extending out from his clinic and pooled his resources with Hev'rae Lenor and Hev'rae Mavo. He went without sleep for seventy-two hours."

Gremekke was silent, staring at his ale.

"You've been a good hev'rae, Gremekke."

There was a little pause. Then Gremekke said slowly, "You've been a lot of places, Teah, but I don't believe that I've ever seen you in The River's Edge before."

"No, Gremekke. But you were here."

Gremekke raised his eyes slowly to her, his face white. "This is it, then, isn't it?"

"Yes, Gremekke. This is it."

"Gremekke?" Matthew asked, puzzled. "What's going on? Gremekke!" Gremekke made a convulsive movement, upsetting his ale, which spread in a brown pool, soaking into the mat. Matthew sat up straight in alarm as heads turned in their direction. Teah didn't move.

"Felt... felt something... pop," Gremekke forced out, his voice mildly surprised. "Lord, I'm so weak..." He slumped back against the wall. "What is it? It's not a stroke?"

"It's the tube beneath the heart, leading to the lower body," Teah said calmly.

Matthew gasped. "An abdominal aneurism? The lower aorta burst? But he'll bleed to death in minutes-" He scrambled up to his knees and shoved the drinking cups aside with a sweep of his arm. "Help me lift him. I've got to get him back to the clinic."

But as he reached out to hoist Gremekke's limp form, Teah's hand on his wrist stopped him. "Wait-think, Mateo," she said urgently. "I will not say that he dies because you fail to operate, or because you do. I can only tell you that whatever action you choose to take, his time has come. Given that, how will you choose to let Gremekke meet his end-under the knife? Or here, where he wants to be, with his friends?"

He stared at her in anguish. "I can't do nothing!"

"Life comes to an end, Mateo. It must." She withdrew her hand. "You must choose."

He turned to Gremekke and gently put his hand on the old man's shoulder. Gremekke's eyes glazed over with pain and then closed, and in that instant Matthew made up his mind. "I'm not going to sit back and let a man die. Not this time."

"Mateo-"

"Save it. I'm taking him back to the clinic." Lifting the healer over his shoulder, Matthew struggled to his feet. The other patrons had gathered around, and he glared at them, wondering if anyone would try to stop him. "Somebody help me carry him."

No one moved, although a few looked uncomfortably at Teah. She rose slowly, her gaze steadily meeting his. He wheeled and started for the door. "All right, then. Get out of my way." He didn't wait to see Teah follow.

The streets were still slick from the night's early rain, and Gremekke got heavier with every step. Matthew's mind raced as he tottered on: even if he had his kit with him, it wouldn't do any good. Only immediate surgery could save Gremekke now. It was more than a kilometer to the clinic, and the gravity making it seem even longer, and besides, there wasn't enough blood in stock to replace what he must have lost by now; there wasn't enough time, not enough time, not enough time...

When he had gone about half of the distance, Matthew staggered and half fell against the corner of the building, his breath burning in his chest. He collapsed to the cobblestones, lowering Gremekke across his lap. Teah appeared silently at his side like a shadow and knelt beside them. Matthew raised Gremekke's head, pus.h.i.+ng the gray fringe of hair back. In the pale glow from a nearby unshuttered window, he could see how ashen the old man's face looked. "G.o.ddammit. G.o.ddammit, Gremekke."

The old hev'rae heard the plea in his voice and opened his eyes. "That's... all right, boy... there isn't enough time to get me back home. Teah promised long ago... she'd make sure... I'd... I'd be ready. She promised a good death for me." He was having trouble breathing. "Rhyena'v'rae, please... take me into your arms."

Teah put her arms around Gremekke and pulled him toward her, to lay his head in her lap as Matthew hastened to s.h.i.+ft the healer's feet. They settled him as comfortably as they could, and then Teah leaned over him. "Gremekke, what do you to need to say before you go?"

"Thank you... for telling me what it was... I always did... have a morbid curiosity to know... what would carry me off in the end. Impossible to do an autopsy on yourself." His eyes looked over to Matthew. "And... thank you, boy. For everything."

Teah waited and then said, "Is that all, Gremekke? Is there anything else?"

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Nnnno..."

Teah laid her hand on his forehead. "Then rest. You will soon know the answer to the question you have pondered for all these years. When you could not save your patients, and they died with their eyes open to something which only they saw, you always wondered, what was there on the other side? Now, Death is coming, but it won't frighten you. It will be like all the times you have delivered children. A cord will be cut, but it will not hurt. It is the beginning of something new."

She fell silent and remained with her eyes closed and her hand on Gremekke's forehead, unmoving. Two minutes crawled by, and then four, as Matthew watched them, his eyes stinging.

Finally, Teah whispered, "There it is; do you see it? Death raises the Cloak to enfold you, and it will feel cool, like the shadows that comfort you in the heat of the noonday sun. Don't be afraid... I am with you."

Gremekke's breath eased out once more as Teah leaned forward and kissed his forehead-and then it stopped. Matthew laid his head on the old man's chest but heard nothing. He buried his face in the roughspun s.h.i.+rt. Just as he was wondering whether he would be able to control the sobs that struggled in his throat, he felt Teah's hand, placed on his head like a benediction, and he gave way to his grief.

In accordance with the instructions of his testament, Gremekke's body was cremated and the ashes scattered at sea. An old friend of Gremekke's, Hev'rae Lenor, delivered the eulogy at the memorial service. Matthew spoke briefly, too, trying to describe what their work together had meant to him. Somehow, the words didn't seem enough.

Afterwards he greeted many of the people who had attended the service. The various hev'raien spoke kindly to him and asked him about his plans. Others who had been Gremekke's patients over the years shook Matthew's hand and told him little stories, of something Gremekke had said or done for them once, of a bill discreetly overlooked, a baby's life saved. He felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of all the people who had known Gremekke, who wanted to come to honor his pa.s.sing.

The evening after the service Matthew spent going through the papers in Gremekke's desk. Many of them having to do with the running of the clinic were already familiar to him. But there were others: correspondence, research notes, lists, and legal doc.u.ments, including a copy of his testament which Teah had brought over earlier in the day. Matthew read over it carefully.

The first section dealt with the estate. Gremekke had left the clinic to Matthew, contingent upon Matthew's decision to stay on Calypso and a.s.sume the practice. If Matthew decided not to stay, the a.s.sets of the clinic were to be sold, with part of the profit going to Matthew, part to a few other friends and colleagues, and the rest to charity. Teah's fee was included, too.

He sat back and thought about it. Taking the practice over formally would mean leaving the Peace Corps, of course. After all, he had taken the a.s.signment on Calypso with the understanding that it was only temporary. But things were different now, and he had to alter his preconceptions to match the change in his situation. Could he be happy making this world his permanent home?

He picked up the testament and read on through the second section, the contract between Gremekke and Teah: ... to come to him when his time of death draws near, using the art of the rhyena'v'raien to ease and comfort... Matthew stopped and thoughtfully chewed a thumbnail. Teah had not come for any of his patients since that workman died two years ago. He realized now that he had been relieved that he hadn't had to face the issue again, almost as if it allowed him to pretend that the whole thing didn't matter.

And yet Gremekke had hired her himself. Why? Gremekke had devoted his life as a hev'rae to fighting off entropy in every way possible and yet-Matthew remembered the trust in Gremekke's eyes when he finally turned to Teah at the very end. For all his faith in medicine, Gremekke had needed something from her that Matthew couldn't give him.

His gaze fell on the modestly framed copy of the Hippocratic Oath that hung on the wall beside the desk. ... I will follow that method of treatment, which, according to my ability and judgment, I consider for the benefit of my patients, and abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous... Into whatever houses I enter I will go into them for the benefit of the sick... And what of the dying, he wondered. What of the dead? What is my responsibility toward them? Does her work benefit them, even more than medicine can? Gremekke must have thought so. Is it possible that Teah is fulfilling this oath better than I am?

Someone was knocking. Matthew tried to ignore it because Gremekke was the hev'rae on call and should have been the one to get up and answer it. Then he remembered that Gremekke was dead.

He raised his head. He had fallen asleep at Gremekke's desk, with his head resting on the piles of papers, because he hadn't wanted to go to bed. How foolish. He got up and went to answer the door. It was Teah.

"Mateo?" She blinked in the light, pulling her cloak close against the rain.

"Teah," he said, surprised. "I'd planned to come see you tomorrow, to thank you for all your help with the service and everything." He held the door open for her, but she stayed where she was, s.h.i.+vering. Something about the way she looked at him seemed strange to Matthew, and another thought struck him: it was rather late at night for a sympathy call.