Страница 53 из 105
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Green.”
She turned. Dr. Winokur was standing there, a dark, handsome man in crisp white, exuding self-confidence and sympathy. Doris Green knew it wasn’t just his bedside ma
“Would you care to talk in the waiting room?” he asked.
“I’d prefer to stay here. If Margo could hear-and who knows, maybe she can-she’d want to know everything.”
“Very well.” He paused, seated himself in the visitor’s chair, rested his hands on his knees. “The bottom line is this: we simply don’t have a diagnosis. We’ve performed every test we can think of and then some; we’ve consulted with the country’s top coma and neurology specialists, at Doctors’ Hospital in New York and Mount Auburn Hospital in Boston-and we just don’t have a handle on it yet. Margo is in a deep coma, and we don’t know why. The good news is that there’s no evidence of permanent brain damage. On the other hand, her vital signs are not improving, and some important ones are slowly declining. She simply isn’t responding to the normal treatments and therapies. I could load you down with a dozen theories we’ve had, a dozen treatments we’ve tried, but they all add up to one fact: she’s not responding. We could move her to Southern Westchester. But to tell you the truth, there isn’t anything down there that we don’t have here, and the move might not be good for her.”
“I’d prefer she stay here.”
Winokur nodded. “I have to say, Mrs. Green, you’ve been a wonderful patient’s mother. I know this is extremely hard on you.”
She shook her head slowly. “I thought I had lost her. I thought I’d buried her. After that, nothing could be worse. I know she’s going to recover-I know it.”
Dr. Winokur gave a small smile. “You could be right. Medicine doesn’t have all the answers, especially in a case like this. Doctors are more fallible-and illness a great deal more complex-than most people realize. Margo is not alone. There are thousands like her all over the country, very ill and without a diagnosis. I’m not telling you this to comfort you so much as to give you all the information I have. I sense that is how you’d prefer it.”
“It is.” She glanced from the doctor to Margo and back again. “Fu
“The longer I’m a doctor, the more I believe in the healing power of prayer.” He paused. “Do you have any questions? Is there anything I can do?”
She hesitated. “There is one thing. I got a call from Hugo Menzies. Do you know him?”
“Yes, of course-her employer at the museum. He was with her when she had her seizure?”
“That’s right. He called me to tell me what had happened, what he’d seen-he knew I’d want to know.”
“Of course.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Yes, certainly. He’s been very good-he’s dropped in to check on Margo’s condition more than once since her relapse. He seems most concerned.”
Mrs. Green smiled faintly. “Having such a caring employer is a blessing.”
“It most certainly is.” The doctor rose.
“I’ll just stay here a little while with her, Doctor, if you don’t mind,” Doris Green said.
Chapter 39
Thirty hours before the grand opening, the Tomb of Senef was boiling like a nest of angry hornets. And the swarm was no longer comprised of simply curators, electricians, carpenters, and technicians: a new element had been added to the mix. As Nora walked down the God’s Second Passage toward the Hall of the Chariots, she was met with the glare of television lights and a knot of men setting up cameras and mikes at the far end of the hall.
“Over there, dear boy, over there!”
A slender man with clenched buttocks, wearing a camel’s-hair sport jacket and yellow pinpoint bow tie, stood to one side. He was gesturing furiously with slender hands toward a burly soundman. Nora realized he must be the director Randall Loftus, whom Menzies had recently spoken to her about. He had won huge acclaim for his documentary series The Last Cowboy on Earth, and since then had produced a string of award-wi
As she approached, the babel of overlapping voices grew more shrill. “Testing. Testing…”
“Ugh! We’ve got the acoustics of a barn in here!”
Loftus and his crew were setting up to broadcast the premiere of the sound-and-light show on the night of the opening. The local PBS station pla
“I want two six-inch, one-kilowatt Mole Babies in the corner, there,” Loftus was saying. “Will somebody move that jar?”
Nora quickly stepped up. “Mr. Loftus?”
He turned to her, squinting over the tops of his John Mitchell glasses. “Yes?”
She gamely stuck out her hand. “I’m Dr. Nora Kelly, curator of the exhibition.”
“Oh! Of course. Randall Loftus. Delighted.” He began to turn away.
“Excuse me, Mr. Loftus? You mentioned something about moving a jar. I’m sure you’ll understand that nothing can be moved-or even touched-except by museum staff.”
“Nothing moved! How am I supposed to set up?”
“You’ll just have to work around things, I’m afraid.”
“Work around things! I’ve never been asked to perform in such conditions. This tomb is like a straitjacket. I can’t get any good angles or distance. It’s impossible!”
She gave him a brilliant smile. “I’m sure, with your talent, you’ll find a way to make it work.”
The smile had no effect, but at the word talent Loftus seemed to pause.
“I’ve admired your work,” Nora continued, sensing her opening. “I’m personally thrilled that you agreed to direct the show. And I know that, if anyone can make it work, you can.”
Loftus touched his bow tie. “Thank you indeed. Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I wanted to introduce myself, see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Loftus spun abruptly, shouted to someone in a dim corner teetering on a ladder, “Not that one, the other light, the LTM Pepper spot! I want it mounted on that ceiling rack on a three-sixty.”
He turned back to her. “You’re a dear, but we simply must move that jar.”
“I’m sorry,” said Nora. “There’s no time to move anything even if we wanted to. That jar is three thousand years old and invaluable-you can’t just pick it up and move it. It takes special equipment, specially trained conservators… As I said, you’ll just have to work with what’s here. I’ll help you any way I can, but that’s one thing I can’t do. I’m sorry.”
Loftus drew in a long breath. “I can’t work around that jar. It’s so fat and horrible.”
When Nora didn’t reply, the director waved his hand. “I’ll talk to Menzies about it. Really, this is impossible.”
“I’m sure you’re as busy as I am, so I’ll leave you,” she replied. “As I said, if you need anything, let me know.”