Dragon Fall
Page 11
Fifteen minutes later, swearing mightily and huffing and puffing in a way that bespoke of someone who hadn’t had much exercise while confined to the booby hatch, I managed to get the man onto the blanket and hauled off the beach onto the sandy dirt drive that led to the house.
“I sincerely… bloody, buggery hell… hope you don’t have a back… son of a seagull… back injury because if you do, then I’m making it a hundred times worse. Holy mayonnaise and all the little condiments.” I collapsed against the side of my car and panted, rubbing my hands in order to take away the sting of blanket burn.
The man lay on the ground, still not awake, but every now and again one of his arms or legs would twitch, and he’d mutter something unintelligible. I wondered if he was dreaming or hallucinating.
“Doesn’t matter which,” I said with an effort, shoving myself away from the car in order to grab him under the armpits. “I just hope my Good Samaritan efforts aren’t going to end in a lawsuit by your family. Upsy-daisy.”
With a very unladylike grunt, I managed to heave the man into the car, arranging him on the backseat in as comfortable a manner as possible. The dog watched me with bright, interested eyes, and when I hesitated, unsure of what to do with him, he walked over to the passenger door and waited for me to open it.
“Sure, why not,” I said. “By all means, come with me to see the doctor who may or may not grace us with his expertise. The more the merrier, right?”
When my parents moved to Sweden, they had chosen an underpopulated section of the northeastern coast to build a house. They wanted isolation, and they got it in buckets. The closest house to ours was a good three miles down the road, and the nearest town—if you could call a collection of weather-beaten buildings and a small bait shop that doubled as a post office and miniscule grocery store a town—clung to the coastline with the tenacity of a limpet. The folks there were mostly fishermen, people like my parents who didn’t mind living on the back side of nowhere. I drove through the town and down the road that led toward several other small communities that dotted the area. The largest of them, about nine miles away, had a few more amenities, including one Dr. Anders Ek, physician.
“And here we are,” I said as my phone’s GPS directed me to a small green house with a white picket fence. I glanced at the time. “Ouch. He’s probably asleep. Oh well, let’s hope he has a lot more compassion than the emergency lady. Stay, doggy. Guard the guy. Not that he’s going to go anywhere…”
It took a few minutes of pounding on the front door before a light went on behind the fan window above the door. A few seconds later an elderly man in pajamas and a fuzzy sea-green bathrobe peered at me. He had salt-and-pepper hair that stood on end, reminding me of an old picture of Albert Einstein.
“Yes? What is it? Who are you?”
“My name is Aoife. Are you Dr. Ek?”
“Yes, yes. What time is it?” The doctor squinted up at the sky. “Bah. It is impossible to tell this time of year. Are you ill?”
“No, but I found a guy on the beach, and the emergency people had some big fire that they had to deal with, so they told me to bring him to you.”
He didn’t look any too pleased when I gestured toward my car. “I was sleeping.”
“Yeah, well, I couldn’t very well leave him on the beach, could I? And you know how far away the hospital is.”
He clicked his tongue and reluctantly told me to bring the man in, turning to walk back into his house.
“By myself?” I called after him. “I barely got him into the car as is, and being dragged along the beach probably didn’t do his head any good, assuming his brains aren’t already scrambled.”
The doctor said something I didn’t hear, waving one hand dismissively at me. I had quite a few things to say about that, but mindful of the happy psyche stuff that Dr. Barlind insisted was the key to a successful life, I kept them under my breath. I had the man half out of the car when a metallic rattling caused me to whirl around. The doctor was wheeling out an ancient gurney, the kind used in old black-and-white movies. Still, it had wheels, and it meant I wouldn’t have to drag the poor man in by his heels.
It took some time for us to get him around the side of the house, where the doctor evidently had a room devoted to emergencies, with what looked like a massage table, a cabinet full of gauze and bandages and a few stainless steel medical tools, and even a bottle of oxygen. We wheeled the man in and I stood back, wondering if I should leave or sit outside and wait for the prognosis.
“Is that your dog?”
I glanced over my shoulder to where the dog sat on his haunches, watching us with those eyes that seemed uncannily knowing.
“Not really, no. I kind of ran over him earlier in the evening, but he wasn’t hurt, and the vet couldn’t keep him, so he’s staying with me until I find his people. I don’t suppose you recognize him?”
“No.”
“I figured that was too much to hope for.”
“Here,” the doctor said, shoving a chipped enamel basin into my hands. “You hold that.”
“Um… I was going to head on home. It’s late, and—”
“This is your man,” he said, peering over the tops of his thick-lensed glasses. “You can’t leave him here. I will patch him up, and then you must take him away.”
“You’re a doctor,” I said, feeling a strange déjà vu.
“I have no room for him. I am retired, you know, and only help out occasionally when I’m needed. No, don’t tip it. Hold it steady.” He poured some alcohol into the basin and tossed into it a pair of scissors, forceps, and something that looked like a scalpel before bending over the man, pulling up one eyelid and flashing a tiny light right onto the man’s eyeball. “Hmm.”
“Hmm?” I wanted to look at the same time I wanted to be away from there. My curiosity won out. I peeked over his shoulder. “Is he badly hurt?”
“I haven’t examined him yet, but he’s not showing signs of a concussion.”
“That’s good.” I stepped back when the doctor spun around, selected a pair of scissors from the alcohol bath, and used them to cut the sodden shirt off the man’s body.
“Ah.”
“Ah?” I felt like a human parrot, repeating his words. “Is that a good ah or a bad ah?”
“I sincerely… bloody, buggery hell… hope you don’t have a back… son of a seagull… back injury because if you do, then I’m making it a hundred times worse. Holy mayonnaise and all the little condiments.” I collapsed against the side of my car and panted, rubbing my hands in order to take away the sting of blanket burn.
The man lay on the ground, still not awake, but every now and again one of his arms or legs would twitch, and he’d mutter something unintelligible. I wondered if he was dreaming or hallucinating.
“Doesn’t matter which,” I said with an effort, shoving myself away from the car in order to grab him under the armpits. “I just hope my Good Samaritan efforts aren’t going to end in a lawsuit by your family. Upsy-daisy.”
With a very unladylike grunt, I managed to heave the man into the car, arranging him on the backseat in as comfortable a manner as possible. The dog watched me with bright, interested eyes, and when I hesitated, unsure of what to do with him, he walked over to the passenger door and waited for me to open it.
“Sure, why not,” I said. “By all means, come with me to see the doctor who may or may not grace us with his expertise. The more the merrier, right?”
When my parents moved to Sweden, they had chosen an underpopulated section of the northeastern coast to build a house. They wanted isolation, and they got it in buckets. The closest house to ours was a good three miles down the road, and the nearest town—if you could call a collection of weather-beaten buildings and a small bait shop that doubled as a post office and miniscule grocery store a town—clung to the coastline with the tenacity of a limpet. The folks there were mostly fishermen, people like my parents who didn’t mind living on the back side of nowhere. I drove through the town and down the road that led toward several other small communities that dotted the area. The largest of them, about nine miles away, had a few more amenities, including one Dr. Anders Ek, physician.
“And here we are,” I said as my phone’s GPS directed me to a small green house with a white picket fence. I glanced at the time. “Ouch. He’s probably asleep. Oh well, let’s hope he has a lot more compassion than the emergency lady. Stay, doggy. Guard the guy. Not that he’s going to go anywhere…”
It took a few minutes of pounding on the front door before a light went on behind the fan window above the door. A few seconds later an elderly man in pajamas and a fuzzy sea-green bathrobe peered at me. He had salt-and-pepper hair that stood on end, reminding me of an old picture of Albert Einstein.
“Yes? What is it? Who are you?”
“My name is Aoife. Are you Dr. Ek?”
“Yes, yes. What time is it?” The doctor squinted up at the sky. “Bah. It is impossible to tell this time of year. Are you ill?”
“No, but I found a guy on the beach, and the emergency people had some big fire that they had to deal with, so they told me to bring him to you.”
He didn’t look any too pleased when I gestured toward my car. “I was sleeping.”
“Yeah, well, I couldn’t very well leave him on the beach, could I? And you know how far away the hospital is.”
He clicked his tongue and reluctantly told me to bring the man in, turning to walk back into his house.
“By myself?” I called after him. “I barely got him into the car as is, and being dragged along the beach probably didn’t do his head any good, assuming his brains aren’t already scrambled.”
The doctor said something I didn’t hear, waving one hand dismissively at me. I had quite a few things to say about that, but mindful of the happy psyche stuff that Dr. Barlind insisted was the key to a successful life, I kept them under my breath. I had the man half out of the car when a metallic rattling caused me to whirl around. The doctor was wheeling out an ancient gurney, the kind used in old black-and-white movies. Still, it had wheels, and it meant I wouldn’t have to drag the poor man in by his heels.
It took some time for us to get him around the side of the house, where the doctor evidently had a room devoted to emergencies, with what looked like a massage table, a cabinet full of gauze and bandages and a few stainless steel medical tools, and even a bottle of oxygen. We wheeled the man in and I stood back, wondering if I should leave or sit outside and wait for the prognosis.
“Is that your dog?”
I glanced over my shoulder to where the dog sat on his haunches, watching us with those eyes that seemed uncannily knowing.
“Not really, no. I kind of ran over him earlier in the evening, but he wasn’t hurt, and the vet couldn’t keep him, so he’s staying with me until I find his people. I don’t suppose you recognize him?”
“No.”
“I figured that was too much to hope for.”
“Here,” the doctor said, shoving a chipped enamel basin into my hands. “You hold that.”
“Um… I was going to head on home. It’s late, and—”
“This is your man,” he said, peering over the tops of his thick-lensed glasses. “You can’t leave him here. I will patch him up, and then you must take him away.”
“You’re a doctor,” I said, feeling a strange déjà vu.
“I have no room for him. I am retired, you know, and only help out occasionally when I’m needed. No, don’t tip it. Hold it steady.” He poured some alcohol into the basin and tossed into it a pair of scissors, forceps, and something that looked like a scalpel before bending over the man, pulling up one eyelid and flashing a tiny light right onto the man’s eyeball. “Hmm.”
“Hmm?” I wanted to look at the same time I wanted to be away from there. My curiosity won out. I peeked over his shoulder. “Is he badly hurt?”
“I haven’t examined him yet, but he’s not showing signs of a concussion.”
“That’s good.” I stepped back when the doctor spun around, selected a pair of scissors from the alcohol bath, and used them to cut the sodden shirt off the man’s body.
“Ah.”
“Ah?” I felt like a human parrot, repeating his words. “Is that a good ah or a bad ah?”
