The Passion for Life Part 56

How long I was in this state I do not know, for, as I have said, time had no meaning to me. All life's standards seemed to melt away. I only knew that I was, that I felt, that I was filled with an overwhelming joy, because I knew that darkness would end in Eternal Light, that pain would end in Infinite Peace.

Then slowly everything began to fade away; the worlds by which I was surrounded ceased to be. I lost the power, of visualizing; my thoughts became dim and indistinct. Presently all became darkness save for one speck of light. Sometimes that speck of light became very small; sometimes it grew larger, but it was always there, and I was conscious of an unspeakable peace.

XXVIII

THE NEW LIFE

The first thing I can remember after coming to consciousness was the feeling that strangers were around me. I could not see them, but I knew they were there. I remember trying to open my eyes, but I could see nothing; I heard whispered voices, however.

"Is he dead?"

"I am not quite sure. No, he's not dead, his pulse still beats!"

"Will he live, do you think?"

"Difficult to say. He came out of it all right, but his vitality is very low."

"Was the operation severe?"

"Yes, very severe; it is a miracle that he has lived as long as he has.

I must go by the Riviera express to-morrow morning, but I will call about eight o'clock."

"Have you any further orders to give?"

"No, you can only do what I have told you. His life hangs on a thread; he may live, but I doubt it."

I listened in a detached kind of way, scarcely realizing what I heard; I was perfectly indifferent, too. It had nothing to do with me, and even if it had, I did not care. Then darkness came upon me again and I no longer saw the bright speck shining.

After that I had quickly fleeting moments of consciousness; things around me became real for a moment and then pa.s.sed away. Doubtless I was in a semi-comatose condition; sometimes I imagined I heard fragments of conversation, but I can remember nothing definite.

After that followed a time of intense weariness. I felt as though I were too weak even to lie down; I could not move my limbs, and the weight of my own body on the bed seemed to weary me, but I was not sufficiently conscious to realize the full extent of my weariness. I have a vague remembrance of being fed; I call to mind a woman standing by my bedside holding something to my mouth; but as I reflect now these things seem only phantoms of the mind.

After a time I became conscious of intense pain, and I have a recollection of being able to move my limbs, and I remember hearing a voice saying:

"He is stronger anyhow, but I never saw a man so utterly exhausted."

A long s.p.a.ce of time, how long I do not know, but it seemed to me interminable. Day appeared to follow day and week to follow week, and yet I have no distinct remembrance. In recalling it all, I am like a man trying to remember a far-off dream.

Suddenly I became awake. I was fully conscious that I was living; I could outline the room in which I lay, I could see the sunlight streaming in at the window, I could hear the birds singing. I was very weak, but I was alive; I was able to think, too, able to connect thought with thought, although my memory was dim. Incidents of my life pa.s.sed before me like shadows; I saw them only in part, but I did see them.

The room was strange to me. This was not my little bedroom by the sea; the apartment was bigger than the whole of my cottage. The ceiling was high, and the window through which the sun shone was large. I did not care so much where I was; all the same, I was curious.

"What has happened to me, I wonder?" I asked myself, "and why am I here?"

I could see no one in the room, and all was silent save for the singing of the birds and the humming of the insects. I had a vague consciousness that the feeling of summer was in the air, and a delicious kind of restfulness possessed me. I was no longer too tired to lie down, rather I felt the luxury of being in bed. I suffered no pain either, although at my side, where I remembered suffering exquisite agony, was a kind of tingling sensation which I a.s.sociated with a wound in the act of healing.

I saw a woman come to the head of my bed; she wore a nurse's uniform, and had a placid, kindly face.

"Who are you, and where am I?"

I know I spoke the words, but I did not recognize my voice at all; it seemed far away, like a whispering among breezes.

The woman said something, I know, but what, I could not tell. I imagine the effect was soothing, for immediately afterwards I found myself going to sleep.

Again I was conscious, more vividly conscious than before. The outlines of the room were the same, and I was able to recognize some of the furniture which I had previously seen. I remembered, too, lifting my hand from the counterpane and noting how thin and white it was.

The door of the room opened and a man entered. I saw at a glance that it was Simpson, and I looked at him through my half-closed eyes. He came to my bedside and looked steadily at me, then he placed his hand gently on my forehead; his touch was as soft as that of a woman.

"Simpson," I said, and this time I was able to recognize my voice. "Is that you, Simpson?"

"Yes, sir; thank you, sir."

His old-time formula acted on me like a tonic; it made me want to laugh.

Yes, I really was alive then, and Simpson was with me; but what was the meaning of this strange room?

"Simpson," I said, "am I really alive?"

"Yes, sir; thank G.o.d, sir."

I thought I saw the tears gather in his eyes, and I am sure I saw his lips tremble.

"Have I been ill, Simpson?"

"Yes, sir, very ill, but I believe we have beaten them, sir."

"Beaten who?" I asked.

But this time he did not answer. The woman came in again bearing something in her hand. There was a whispered consultation between them, and then I remember drinking something, after which I went to sleep again.

When I again awoke I felt sure it was morning. I had no reason for believing this, but I had no doubt about it; the air was morning air, the sounds were morning sounds. The birds were chirping in the trees, the cattle were lowing in the meadows, the poultry were cackling in a yard near by, a thousand whispering voices everywhere told me that I had awakened to the dawn of a new day. I moved in my bed; yes, I had strength enough for that, and the movement caused me no pain. In an instant I heard footsteps, and Simpson again came to my side.

"Can I do anything for you, sir? How are you to-day?"

"I feel like a man reborn, Simpson," I said. And it was true. A life was surging in my veins which I never remembered before; I felt as though my whole being had been made clean and all my powers renewed. I was unutterably weak, but I felt all a child's health and joy.

"Tell me what this means, Simpson," I said; "this is not my room, not my bed."

"No, sir, but I am your man, sir," and his voice was husky.

"Yes, I am glad you are with me, Simpson. It is good to wake up and find you here."

"I hope I shall never have to leave you, sir," and I saw him wipe away his tears.

"Tell me about it, Simpson--tell me where I am and what has happened to me."