United States. But I felt that, the battle being for my tonsils, it was important that I win. So, I asked again and again if she was certain I’d been left in the right place, seeing as I did not want an operation if it could be avoided.
Finally, she said
– Mistakes do happen. I’ll look into it for you. Would you like that?
I was relieved and, thanks to the blood transfusion, I felt more or less myself again. The only things missing were my clothes or, at least, pyjamas so I could walk around. Without them, I was trapped on my gurney and, after a while, I fell asleep.
I woke when the nurses came for me. They were taking me to the operating room or, rather, to a place beside the operating room where the anesthesiologist would put me under.
– I don’t need an operation, I said. I was bitten by dogs, that’s all.
– You came in for a tonsillectomy, one of the nurses said. You can’t just change your mind.
I insisted there’d been a mistake. I tried to get up from the gurney, but, in the end, what saved me from a tonsillectomy was chance. My gurney passed by a public waiting area on its way to the operating room and, despite my distraction, I saw Professor Bruno reading a book. I called his name as loudly as I could and he heard me.
The nurses were just as suspicious of the professor’s words on behalf of my tonsils as they’d been of mine. But the weight of two testimonials must have instilled some doubt. So, they did a little digging around. They discovered then that my name was in fact Alfred Homer, as I’d repeatedly told them, not Arthur Helmers, and that they’d got my name wrong when I was admitted to the hospital. The other thing that saved me from a tonsillectomy was the discovery that Arthur Helmers had died from his infection.
– I told you it was serious, one of the nurses said.
For a moment, I wondered if they’d take my tonsils, anyway, as a precaution. But I was conveyed to a ward and, eventually, my suitcase was given to me.
I’d have liked to leave at once but there were papers to sign and apologies to be heard. At some point, I was famished because I hadn’t eaten for hours. So, when one of the nurses gave me a pomegranate she’d brought for her own dinner, I was grateful. More than that, her kindness struck me as a good omen. I was reminded of my father’s idea that the beginning of a trip casts its shadow forward, that it influences the trip itself. I remember thinking that, despite the small misunderstandings we’d encountered, the day had been a good one.
I could tell that Professor Bruno, who sat with me in the ward, was pleased I was out of danger.
– I hate to think what might have happened to you, dear boy, if we’d had an accident. I’m an old man. My death would have meant nothing. But you, Alfie, you still have your life in front of you. It would have been a tragedy.
His spirits were further lifted when I was discharged. He joked that the dogs we’d encountered were like Cerberus, the three-headed guardian of Hades, and thanked me for protecting him from them.
– The good news, he said, is that we’ve got past Cerberus. That’s a rare feat, Alfie. Only Hercules and Orpheus have done it! The bad news is that, from now on, we’ll be travelling through the underworld.
He smiled and patted my shoulder.
– God knows how we’ll get out, he said, but at least we’ll talk to the glorious dead!
I was on the edge of sleep again, the stress of nearly losing my tonsils having tired me out.
– We’re going to Hell? I asked.
– No, no, no, he said. The underworld is the domain of Hades, the unseen. No punishment involved! Unless you count an eternity of talk as punishment. Which I do not!
I wasn’t sure what to think about Hades or what to feel about it. I certainly wouldn’t have minded talking to the dead, to my mother and father, above all. I had so many questions to ask them, so many things I would have liked to tell them.
I closed my eyes while listening to the professor’s voice.
And I fell asleep while waiting for more paperwork, for the right paperwork to be brought to me. The hospital wanted official reassurance that I wasn’t angry, I suppose. And I wasn’t. I was grateful that nothing irreparable had been done to me. Despite my bites and bruises and the threat to my tonsils, the thing that had unnerved me most was Our Lady of Mercy, the hospital itself. Not just its clean surfaces and sceptic undertone but its banks of lights, long halls, and peach walls: endless passages to unpleasant rooms.
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