Green Eyes Page 0,19

'He was 'round the other day trying to poison me with his ravings.' She frowned at Magnusson; his eyes blazed out from the mottled ruin of his face, and they stared at each other like hellish grandparents gloating over an evil thought.

'Your mind's poisoned, Hilmer!' Ramsburgh's hands danced among her needles and yarn. 'Your arteries are hard, and your brain's a dried-out sponge! Time you came to grips with the fact and left the rest of us in peace.'

'Old woman,' said Magnusson gravely. 'Don't you feel the winnowing of your days?'

Edman eased through the crowd and seized the handles of his wheelchair. 'I think you've had too much excitement, Doctor,' he said with professional cheer. He started to wheel him away, but the old man locked his hands onto the wheels and the chair wouldn't budge.

'Don't you see it's a hoax?' Again he glanced at the other patients. 'By God, you'll see!' he said to Donnell. 'You'll have a glimpse over the edge before you fall.'

Laura knelt beside him, prying at his fingers. 'Stop this, Hilmer!' she said. 'Stop this right now.'

Gasping, reddening with the effort, Edman wrangled the chair sideways, and for a split second Jocundra found herself looking into Magnusson's eyes, except it was not merely looking: it was falling down luminous green tunnels so bright they seemed to be spinning, whirlpools sucking her under, and the pattern of gristle and discoloration surrounding them made no sense at all.

'It's so clear.' Magnusson shook his head in wonder, then he gazed sternly at Jocundra. 'No sorrow is too great to bear,' he said, 'and this one cannot be averted.'

Jocundra thought she understood him, but her understanding fled the instant he turned away and she felt disoriented.

Edman gave way to two black orderlies, who lifted Magnusson's wheelchair, bearing him aloft like a king on a palanquin.

'Hey, niggers!' shouted Richmond, and swung his cane at the nearest orderly; but Audrey wrapped her arms around him from behind and his swing went awry. They swayed together, struggling.

'No hope for you, sonny.' Magnusson beamed at Richmond from on high. 'You're a dead man.'

'Out!' bawled Edman; he waved his fist, abandoning control. 'Everybody out! Staff in my office!'

As the orderlies carried Magnusson off, he called back. 'Two years, Edman! Three at the most! They'll probe your every hollow, but they'll never find it!'

A babble arose, cries of alarm, milling, and Jocundra was later to reflect that when psychiatrists lost their cool they did not stoop to half measures. She had intended to wait until the crowd thinned, but Dr Brauer rushed up, poked his face into Donnell's, bleated 'Harrison!' then shouted at Jocundra to move it. There were more shouts of 'Move it!' and 'Let her through!' A hefty red-haired woman tried to get out of her path, snapped a high heel and tumbled head first over the arm of a sofa; her skirt slid down around her hips, exposing thighs dimpled by cellulite. A doctor and an orderly tugged at Clarice Monroe, contending for the right to escort her; French's wheelchair sideswiped Ramsburgh's, and she jabbed at his therapist with a plastic needle. Dodging, swerving, Jocundra pushed Donnell along a tunnel of consternated faces and into the hall. Three doctors had backed the girl whom Richmond had assaulted against the wall; she was straddling a fern, holding the madras jacket together. Tears streaked her face. She nodded in response to a question, but the nod may have had no significance because she continued to bob her head while they scribbled on their clipboards.

Donnell's room was sunny, a breeze shifted the curtains, leaf shadow jittered on the carpet. Jocundra could not think what to say, what lie would soothe him, so she left him at the writing desk and collected the laundry, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He straightened a stack of paper, picked up a pen, doodled, laid it down.

'He's really...' He picked up the pen again.

'Pardon?' She tossed his bathrobe into the hamper.

'What's the matter with him? Is he just naturally crazy or is it something to do with the process?' He kept fidgeting, his hands moving aimlessly from pen to paper to notebook.

'He's very, very old.' Jocundra knelt beside him, happy for the opportunity to comfort him. 'He was probably senile before the process was applied, and it wasn't able to restore him fully.' She rubbed the bunched muscles in his shoulder.

He bent his head, allowing her easier access to his neck. 'I can't wait to get