with the man he had become. For the first time in a long while he had seen a future, and when he’d proposed the following month at a dinner with her family, it had never crossed his mind she’d say no. Now, when he thought of that evening, recalling her silence and the fidgety enthusiasm of her father, he wasn’t sure, in fact, whether she’d said anything at all.
Leaning in close to Tom’s chest, James saw the problem. The right side was flat, the same side as the broken arm. That lung wasn’t inflating. Tom had a tension pneumothorax, and the realization sent a wave of fear rushing through James’s body like the vibrations of the grenades that still exploded in his dreams. A single bead of sweat trailed down his temple, mixing with the blond hairs that softened to silk at his hairline.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Mr. Menhenick said, his eyes dizzying when he saw James cleaning a small kitchen knife with some of his home-brewed spirits.
James tested the tip of the blade against Tom’s chest, watched as the skin paled before blushing pink as he released the pressure. “It’s either this, or a dead body on your kitchen table. Which would you prefer?” Menhenick licked at his salt-dried lips, and James took his silence as acceptance of the course of action that the blade implied. “Find me a metal coat hanger, and some of the tubing that you used to brew this,” he said, shaking the dimpled bottle with its slick clear fluid sloshing about inside.
Despite the inexplicability of the request, Mr. Menhenick returned moments later with the suggested items without further question. By then James had placed a chipped glass bowl of water on the floor underneath the table, had washed his hands and Tom’s chest with the home-brewed spirit, and had a plan in mind.
“Tom, can you hear me?” A mumbled response came, but nothing discernible. “Okay, lad. I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt.”
Summoning all his courage, James jabbed the knife into the side of Tom’s chest, making a small puncture wound along the top surface of one of his ribs. Tom barely flinched. Mr. Menhenick had opened out the coat hanger as requested, and James guided it through the rubber tubing before inserting it through the incision, praying that he didn’t end up puncturing the heart. Seconds later, he heard the rush of air coming from Tom’s chest, and with it, Tom began to rouse.
“Sweet mother of Jesus,” said Mr. Menhenick, sweaty hands pulling at sea-drenched hair. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Tom groaned, squirmed on the table.
“Neither have I,” James admitted, a verifiable truth to which he would not have cared to admit given a moment for reason. His sleeve came away wet as he mopped his brow, removing the hanger from within the tube. Bubbles formed in the water with each exhalation as James inserted the other end of the tube into the bowl, the once trapped air escaping the space between Tom’s lung and chest wall.
“What’s going on?” Tom asked, his voice croaky and weak. “Where am I?”
“You’re going to be all right,” James said, as much for himself as Tom. He turned to Mr. Menhenick, who was still shaking his head in disbelief. “We’re going to need to get him transferred to a hospital as soon as possible. The Priors have got the closest telephone, I think.”
Still trying to process the turn of luck following what had appeared little more than butchery, Mr. Menhenick nodded his agreement. “I’ll go and call for an ambulance, then,” he said, before stopping to dress in his coat and change into his Wellingtons as if he had all the time in the world. As he was leaving he turned back, the door half-open. “You didn’t really mean that you had never seen anything like that before, did you?”
James swallowed hard as he glanced at Tom, whose color was slowly returning. Even his fingers looked better, no longer the cool blue of hypoxia they were before. “Of course not. Saw the same thing a thousand times when I was in London.” The door slammed shut behind Mr. Menhenick, and James took what felt like the first breath in minutes. “Damn you, Porthsennen,” he muttered to himself. “You have made a liar out of an honest man.”
And as he looked at Tom, he realized that it wouldn’t be the last lie he would tell that day.