Cutting for Stone - Abraham Verghese [179]
I'd developed my own heuristics, my mix of reason, intuition, facial appearance, and scent. These were things not in any book. The army soldier who'd tried to steal the motorcycle had an odor at the moment of his demise, and so, too, had Rosina, and the two odors were identical—they spoke of sudden death.
But I didn't trust my nose when I should have, when it picked up signals from Ghosh that put my nerves on edge. I wrote it off as being a function of his new job as a professor, a side effect of his new suits and new environment. When I was around him it was easy to be reassured. He'd always been upbeat, a happy soul. But now he was even more jovial. He'd found his best self. For a man who prided himself on “the three Ls: Loving, Learning, and Legacy,” he'd excelled in all three.
On the anniversary of Hema and Ghosh's marriage, I woke myself at 4:00 a.m. to study. Two hours later, I walked over from Ghosh's old bungalow to the main house. Shiva had moved back to our boyhood room. It was still dark outside. I planned to creep into Shiva's room to see if a shirt I was missing had been laundered and hung in his closet. I came in as Almaz arrived. I hugged her and then waited as she made the sign of the cross on my forehead and murmured a prayer.
Hema was still sleeping. The hallway bathroom door stood open, steam coming out. Ghosh stood in front of the washbasin, a towel around his waist, leaning heavily on the sink. It was early for him. I wondered why he was using this bathroom. So as not to wake Hema? I could hear his labored breathing before I saw him and, certainly, before he saw me. The effort of bathing had winded him. In his reflection in the mirror, I saw his unguarded self. I saw terrible fatigue; I saw sadness and apprehension. Then he saw me. By the time he'd turned around, the mask of joviality which had fallen into the sink had been slapped back on, not a seam showing.
“What's wrong?” I asked. I felt my stomach flutter. The scent was there. It had to be connected to what I just saw.
“Not a thing. Scary, isn't it?” He paused to take a breath. “My beautiful wife is sleeping like an angel. My sons make me so proud … Tonight I'm going to take my wife dancing and I'll ask her to extend our marriage contract for another year. The only thing wrong is that a sinner like me doesn't deserve such blessings.”
Hema came out to the hallway, shaking sleep from her hair. Ghosh flashed me an anxious look.
He turned back to the mirror, whistling as he slapped on cologne. His eyes pleaded with me not to alarm Hema. The effort of holding his arms up made his “Saints Come Marching In” full of staccato notes and pauses. I got my shirt and left.
I had an early morning class, an important one. But I followed my instinct, my intuition—my nose. I dressed and then hid myself behind Shiva's toolshed. Soon, the Volkswagen appeared out of the mist, with just Ghosh in it. I followed on foot.
I got to Casualty in time to see him enter Matron's office. Not only was Matron there at this early hour, she was waiting. I stood there considering what this meant, when Adam appeared carrying a bottle of blood. Matron's door opened for him. Adam emerged moments later empty-handed. He was startled to see me, and he tried to close the door behind him, but I had a foot there.
Ghosh was on a lounge chair, his feet up, a pillow behind his head, smiling. Bach's “Gloria” chorus sounded on Matron's ancient phonograph. Matron bent over his arm, taping the needle that carried blood into his vein in place. They looked up, thinking perhaps it was Adam returning for something.
Ghosh's lips moved.
“Son, you know I—”
“Don't bother to lie to me,” I said.
He looked to Matron, as if for a cue. She sighed. “This is fate, Ghosh. I always thought Marion should know.”
I'll never forget the stillness, the hesitation,