you then, nuh? Dr. Brown is angry. He is angry at me, angry at you, and angry at himself, I suspect, for half-believing something he has been sure is total poppycock for his whole life. The nurse who was a witness will never keep her silence. She will tell her husband tonight in bed, and it may end there, but her husband may tell his boss, and it is very possible that the papers will have wind of this by tomorrow evening. ‘Coma Patient Re-Awakens with Second Sight.’ ”
“Second sight,” Johnny said. “Is that what it is?”
“I don’t know what it is, not really. Is it psychic? Seer? Handy words that describe nothing, nothing at all. You told one of the nurses that her son’s optic surgery was going to be successful ...”
“Marie,” Johnny murmured. He smiled a little. He liked Marie.
“... and that is already all over the hospital. Did you see the future? Is that what second sight is? I don’t know. You put a picture of my mother between your hands and were able to tell me where she lives today. Do you know where lost things and lost people may be found? Is that what second sight is? I don’t know. Can you read thoughts? Influence objects of the physical world? Heal by the laying on of hands? These are all things that some call ‘psychic.’ They are all related to the idea of ‘second sight.’ They are things that Dr. Brown laughs at. Laughs? No. He doesn’t laugh. He scoffs.”
“And you don’t?”
“I think of Edgar Cayce. And Peter Hurkos. I tried to tell Dr. Brown about Hurkos and he scoffed. He doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t want to know about it.”
Johnny said nothing.
“So ... what are we going to do about you?”
“Does something need to be done?”
“I think so,” Weizak said. He stood up. “I’ll leave you to think it out for yourself. But when you think, think about this: some things are better not seen, and some things are better lost than found.”
He bade Johnny good night and left quietly. Johnny was very tired now, but still sleep did not come for a long time.
Chapter 9
1
Johnny’s first surgery was scheduled for May 28. Both Weizak and Brown had explained the procedure carefully to him. He would be given a local anesthetic—neither of them felt a general could be risked. This first operation would be on his knees and ankles. His own ligaments, which had shortened during his long sleep, would be lengthened with a combination of plastic wonder-fibers. The plastic to be used was also employed in heart valve bypass surgery. The question was not so much one of his body’s acceptance or rejection of the artificial ligaments, Brown told him, as it was a question of his legs’ ability to adjust to the change. If they had good results with the knees and the ankles, three more operations were on the boards: one on the long ligaments of his thighs, one on the elbow-strap ligaments, and possibly a third on his neck, which he could barely turn at all. The surgery was to be performed by Raymond Ruopp, who had pioneered the technique. He was flying in from San Francisco.
“What does this guy Ruopp want with me, if he’s such a superstar?” Johnny asked. Superstar was a word he had learned from Marie. She had used it in connection with a balding, bespectacled singer with the unlikely name of Elton John.
“You’re underestimating your own superstar qualities,” Brown answered. “There are only a handful of people in the United States who have recovered from comas as long as yours was. And of that handful, your recovery from the accompanying brain damage has been the most radical and pleasing.”
Sam Weizak was more blunt. “You’re a guinea pig, nuh?”
“What?”
“Yes. Look into the light, please.” Weizak shone a light into the pupil of Johnny’s left eye. “Did you know I can look right at your optic nerve with this thing? Yes. The eyes are more than the windows of the soul. They are one of the brain’s most crucial maintenance points.”
“Guinea pig,” Johnny said morosely, staring into the savage point of light.
“Yes.” The light snapped off. “Don’t feel so sorry for yourself. Many of the techniques to be employed in your behalf—and some of those already employed—were perfected during the Vietnam war. No shortage of guinea pigs in the V.A. hospitals, nuh? A man like Ruopp is interested in you because you are unique.