The Sparrow - Mary Doria Russell [21]
The intrusion was a setback for Sandoz, for whom the incident had been literally nightmarish. But even before the break-in, it was clear that he wasn’t improving much mentally, despite the fact that his physical condition had stabilized. The worst symptoms of scurvy were under control, although the fatigue and bruising persisted. The doctors suspected that his ability to absorb ascorbic acid had been impaired by long exposure to cosmic radiation. There was always some kind of physiological or genetic damage in space; the miners did fairly well because they were shielded by rock, but the shuttle crews and the station staffs always had trouble with cancers and deficiency diseases.
In any case, Sandoz healed poorly. Dental implants were impossible; he’d been fitted with a couple of bridges so he could eat normally, but he had no appetite and remained underweight. And the surgeons wouldn’t touch his hands. "There’s no point in trying, as things stand," one of them said. "His connective tissue is like a spider web. It’ll hold if you don’t disturb it. Maybe in a year..."
So the Society brought in Father Singh, an Indian craftsman known for his intricate braces and artificial limbs, who fabricated a pair of near-prostheses to strengthen and help control Sandoz’s fingers. Delicate-looking as spun sugar, the braces were fitted over his hands and extended back toward his elbows. Sandoz was courteous, as always, and praised the workmanship and thanked Father Singh for his help. And he practiced daily with an obstinate persistence that first worried and then frightened Brother Edward.
Eventually, they were told, Sandoz would learn to use only the wrist flexors to activate the servomotors that ran off electrical potentials generated in the muscles of his forearms. But even after a month, he couldn’t seem to isolate the movement he needed, and the effort to control his hands took every bit of strength he had. So Brother Edward did his best to keep the sessions short, balancing the progress Emilio made against the price they both paid in tears.
TWO DAYS AFTER another reporter was caught climbing an outside wall near Sandoz’s bedroom, the Father General called Edward Behr and John Candotti into his office, just after his regular morning meeting with his secretary. To John’s dismay, Voelker stayed.
"Father Voelker has suggested that Emilio might benefit from a retreat, gentlemen," Vincenzo Giuliani began, glancing at Candotti with eyes that said quite clearly, Shut up and play along. "And he has kindly offered to conduct the Spiritual Exercises. I am interested in your views."
Brother Edward shifted in his chair and leaned forward, hesitant to speak first but with a definite opinion about this. Before he could form a sentence, Johannes Voelker spoke. "We are taught that we should make no decision in times of desolation. It’s clear that the man is experiencing a darkness of the soul, and no wonder. Sandoz is spiritually paralyzed, unable to move forward. I recommend a retreat with a director who would help him focus on the task he has before him."
"Maybe if the guy didn’t have people breathing down his neck, he’d do better," said John, smiling genially and thinking, You pedantic prig.
"Forgive me, Father General," Brother Edward broke in hastily. The animosity between Candotti and Voelker was becoming the stuff of legends. "With respect, the Exercises are a very emotional experience. I don’t think Emilio’s ready for them now."
"I’d have to agree with that," John said pleasantly. And Johannes Voelker is the last man on Earth I’d choose as a spiritual director for Sandoz, he thought. Shit or get off the pot, my son.
"Strictly from a safety standpoint, however," Edward Behr continued, "I’d like to see him elsewhere. He feels as though he’s under siege, here in Rome."
"Well, in a manner of speaking, he is," the Father General said. "I agree with Father