Field of Thirteen - Dick Francis [59]
He blinked his eyes consciously and licked his lips to make sure that they at least were working. He couldn’t think what had happened. His thoughts were a confused but peaceful fog.
Finally he remembered the carrot, and the whole complicated agony washed back into his consciousness. He cried out in protest and tried to move, to get up and away, to escape the impossible, unbearable guilt. People heard his voice and came into the room and stood around him. He looked at them uncomprehendingly. They were dressed in white.
‘You’re all right, now,’ they said. ‘Don’t worry, young man, you’re going to be all right.’
‘I can’t move,’ he protested.
‘You will,’ they said soothingly.
‘I can’t feel… anything. I can’t feel my feet.’ The panic rose suddenly in his voice. ‘I can’t feel my hands. I can’t… move… my hands.’ He was shouting, frightened, his eyes wide and stretched.
‘Don’t worry,’ they said. ‘You will in time. You’re going to be all right. You’re going to be all right.’
He didn’t believe them, and they pumped a sedative into his arm to quiet him. He couldn’t feel the prick of the needle. He heard himself screaming because he could feel no pain.
When he woke up again he knew for certain that he’d broken his neck.
After four days Arthur Morrison came to see him, bringing six new-laid eggs and a bottle of fresh orange juice. He stood looking down at the immobile body with the plaster cast round its shoulders and head.
‘Well, Chick,’ he said awkwardly, ‘it’s not as bad as it could have been, eh?’
Chick said rudely, ‘I’m glad you think so.’
‘They say your spinal cord isn’t severed, it’s just crushed. They say in a year or so you’ll get a lot of movement back. And they say you’ll begin to feel things any day now.’
‘They say,’ said Chick sneeringly. ‘I don’t believe them.’
‘You’ll have to, in time,’ said Morrison impatiently.
Chick didn’t answer, and Arthur Morrison cast uncomfortably around in his mind for something to say to pass away the minutes until he could decently leave. He couldn’t visit the boy and just stand there in silence. He had to say something. So he began to talk about what was uppermost in his mind.
‘We had the result of the dope test this morning. Did you know we had the chestnut tested? Well, you know we had to have it put down, anyway. The results came this morning. They were positive…Positive. The chestnut was full of some sort of narcotic drug, some long name. The owner is kicking up hell about it and so is the insurance company. They’re trying to say it’s my fault. My security arrangements aren’t tight enough. It’s ridiculous. And all this on top of losing the horse itself, losing that really great horse. I questioned everyone in the stable this morning as soon as I knew about the dope, but of course no one knew anything. God, if I knew who did it I’d strangle him myself.’ His voice shook with the fury which had been consuming him all day.
It occurred to him at this point that Chick being Chick, he would be exclusively concerned with his own state and wouldn’t care a damn for anyone else’s troubles. Arthur Morrison sighed deeply. Chick did have his own troubles now, right enough. He couldn’t be expected to care all that much about the chestnut. And he was looking very weak, very pale.
The doctor who checked on Chick’s condition ten times a day came quietly into the small room and shook hands with Morrison.
‘He’s doing well,’ he said. ‘Getting on splendidly.’
‘Nuts,’ Chick said.
The doctor twisted his lips. He didn’t say he had found Chick the worst-tempered patient in the hospital. He said, ‘Of course, it’s hard on him. But it could have been worse. It’ll take time, he’ll need to learn everything again, you see. It’ll take time.’
‘Like a bloody baby,’ Chick said violently.
Arthur Morrison thought, a baby again. Well, perhaps second time around they could make a better job of him.
‘He’s lucky he’s got good parents to look after him once he goes home,’ the doctor said.