The Fall of Man

Part II chapter 4

Chapter 4

Four weeks later, Noah is learning to shave. The electronic razor feels heavy in his hand, and its flexible cord tangles persistently with the thick coil of wires and tubes that remain connected to his wrist. When he presses the device to his face, the dull buzz reverberates through the bones in his head. He tosses it onto the white sheets peppered with short black hairs, and studies himself in a small hand-held mirror.

Half of his adult face is clean shaven. A weeks’ growth still occupies the other half. It is definitely a man’s face. The skin is drawn, taut even, but soft and without lines. Like the rubbery velvet leaves of a plant that lives in the dark. Thick, straight stems of hair break through the surface of the unshaven side, all the way from the line of his collarbone high up to his cheek. He thinks back to David Banner and the Hulk. Which is the animal side? he wonders, turning his head from side to side in the mirror. Which is the good side?

The bedroom door bleeps and slides smoothly into the adjoining wall with a Star-Trek whoosh. Doctor Marsh stands alone in the opening with a warm smile on her face.

“You’ve been discharged, Noah. You’re free to leave the-“

She holds up a plastic card then looks away from him, back down the corridor. Noah glances down to the telltale bulge at his groin. He feels his face grow hot, and quickly draws his knees up in front of him under the sheets.

“It’s ok.” She moves into the room and perches on the end of the bed. He can feel the pressure of her sitting around his feet. He pleads with his toes to surge out beneath the bedclothes, to touch her where she sits, but they refuse. She smiles again, her eyes boring directly into his, and he relaxes a little.

“You’ll get the hang of it. You have a lot to get used to… You’ve been allocated rehabilitation accommodation – an apartment just over on the other side of the hospital - while your recovery continues.”

He coughs to clear his dry throat. “An apartment?” The throbbing pulse at his groin is distracting. It leaves him light-headed, vulnerable and invincible at the same time.

“Your own flat. It’ll have a living room, a bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen – all yours. It’s part of a whole building of accommodation owned by the university, mostly occupied by people who are recuperating from different injuries and illnesses.”

“What will I do about this?” He tentatively holds up the arm with trailing tubes attached. With only the milder pain killers in his system, any sudden movement of this arm shoots the same stabbing pains up his wrist.

“We still need to monitor you, but I’ll get you onto a portable life-support. Something more discrete that won’t get in the way as much. It’s time you started moving around a bit – you haven’t walked for quite a while!”

Noah feels another wave of warmth towards Doctor Marsh. She understands that he’s not yet fully grown. Most of the people he’s spoken to in these last few weeks just see a gaunt, middle-aged man shrouded in white sheets, and treat him accordingly. Her way of speaking - explaining things in simple terms as she goes - is the first familiar thing that he’s found since he woke up. It triggers muddled memories of the patient, kindly and attentive explanations of his long-dead mother.

“You’ll be seeing more of Kevin and Tracey from now on - the physiotherapists, you remember?         I’d like to keep in touch though, check up on you now and again if that’s ok. Just to see how you’re doing. I could come visit you in your new apartment?...              Here. I brought you something.”  She places a glossy white box on the bed. It is well camouflaged in the sterile hospital environment.

“What is it?”

“One of these.” She taps at her right ear. “You can use it to get in touch with me. You’re bound to have questions, and I’d like to try to answer them for you, if I can. I have to go now, but I’ll speak to you soon, ok?”

She stands and turns to leave.

“Don’t forget, you need to take it easy. A lot has changed in the years you’ve been asleep, but you have plenty of time.” She steps out of the room and the door slides closed in front of her. In the yellow frosted glass, the silhouette of her dark, shoulder-length hair hesitates for a moment in the frame of the doorway, before disappearing to the left with an inaudible swish. He watches the brown and gold ripples slowly diffuse, their waves emanating across the surrounding walls, before looking back down to the glossy box that she left on his hard hospital bed. It is difficult to believe that he lay unmoving for so many years. As everyone around him went to school, then college, got married, had children, grew old, and died… so he slept.

He touches a finger to the top of the box. Without a sound, the outer skin of the package slides smoothly upwards to reveal a second inner box, also a glossy white colour, with a faintly embossed outline of the eye emblem at its centre. A moment passes and the inner box falls open with a flourish like a swiftly blooming flower. On a cushion of soft, gauzy white fabric sits a dainty earpiece coiled around a plastic ear-shaped mould. The latex lump looks suspiciously familiar. He peels the earpiece from its host and holds the surrogate ear up to his own in the mirror. It is identical. He wonders what other parts of him might exist, wrapped up in linen or pickled in jars of oil, locked away in dusty cabinets across the hospital complex.

With a little teasing, the tail of the earpiece coils tightly behind his ear. It emits a low buzz and a tingle of current. In a moment, it is lost behind his unkempt hair and almost indistinguishable from the pale flesh of his face. He touches the junction of ear and apparatus at the back of his neck and jumps with fright as a familiar female voice breathes her name into his ear.

“Doctor Mar-”

He looks up to the doorway, but the room is empty. Tentatively, he places his finger back to his neck.

“Doctor Marsh.”

In the mirror, the earpiece glows briefly. He runs his finger down its spine and hears a clicking sound, like the turning of a tiny wooden ratchet.

“Doctor Marsh. Click.

Accident and emergency. Click.

Top up credit. Click.

Doctor Marsh. Click.

Accident and- ”

Not much of a rollcall. He looks back at the Russian doll of packaging on the bed. It is beautiful even in its discarded state. His first possession in this new life. He stacks the boxes up on top of one another and places them in a little white ziggurat on the bedside cabinet.