Past Lives (3 page)

'What did you think we ate?' retorted Macandrew.

'Ambrosia,' replied Lucy with a straight face.

'What did I do?' asked Macandrew, feigning hurt.

'Not you Mac, replied Lucy thoughtfully. 'But some of your colleagues are a different story.'

'As long as they're good at their job,' said Macandrew, raising his hands slightly to signify he didn't want to get into this kind of conversation.

'I suppose so,' said Lucy. 'I guess people forgive a surgeon anything if he's good at his job. It's just that some of these guys make it a bit hard sometimes!'

Macandrew smiled and nodded. He knew that surgeons were not the easiest of people to get along with. There was often a conflict of interests between what was professionally necessary and what was socially desirable. They had to be supremely self-confident in their own ability but, as a consequence, were often self opinionated and egotistical - or as Lucy Long would have it – ‘a pain in the ass’.

Nice guys were the exception in the profession because being nice usually went with being self-critical and sensitive to alternative points of view. Surgeons had to make instant decisions, believe them to be right, and act without fear of contradiction - great in OR, not so endearing at the dinner table. The fact that Macandrew recognised the problem made him one of the exceptions. He was just as confident as the next man in OR but knew when to keep his mouth shut outside it. As a consequence, he was generally popular at the Med Centre.

'You did a good job this morning,' said Lucy. 'Everyone was impressed.'

'Thanks but it was textbook stuff.'

'What made you come to KC, Mac?'

'Not you as well!' replied Macandrew. 'This is a good Med Centre!'

Lucy shrugged. 'Yeah, sure, but I mean, you were working in Boston. Coming here is not exactly an award-winning career move!'

Macandrew smiled. 'I felt claustrophobic in Boston. I went to school in Boston; I went to college in Boston; I went to Med School in Boston. I could have lived and died in Boston but I didn't want to.'

'Just the gypsy in your soul,' smiled Lucy. '

Macandrew smiled.

'Do you intend moving on at some point?'

'Sure, I’ll head west when the time is right.'

'You sound like a pioneer!'

Macandrew nodded and said, 'I’ve got the genes. My great grandfather came to the USA from Scotland and headed west. He ended up in Missouri, a place called Weston.'

'I take it you've been to see it?' asked Lucy.

'I even found his headstone.

'Must have been a strange feeling?'

'A bit like an episode of Star Trek.'

Lucy smiled and looked at her watch. 'I'll have to get back.' She dabbed at her lips with a paper napkin. 'You?'

Macandrew shook his head. 'I'm going to take a walk,' he said. 'I've got nothing until four.'

When Macandrew returned to the Med Centre at three thirty he felt relaxed. He had enjoyed the walk and now felt ready to face the case study meeting called by Saul Klinsman at four. There was just time for him to take a shower and freshen up. As he stepped into the elevator that would take him up to his office he saw the nurse at Reception look up and recognise him. She raised her arm as if to attract his attention but the doors slid shut before he could hit the button. When he stepped out into the second level corridor, the public address system chimed and its female voice asked that Dr John Macandrew contact Dr Saul Klinsman immediately.

Macandrew picked up the phone on his desk and called Klinsman's extension. 'What's the problem?'

'Can you come up to my office please, Mac?'

'Something wrong?'

The phone went dead.

Macandrew tried to think what could have caused the abruptness in Klinsman's manner but failed to come up with anything as he headed for the elevator and took it right to the top floor. The top floor was where the heads of departments and administration chiefs had their suites and offices. The carpeting on the floor of the corridor deadened footsteps and made it seem unnaturally quiet in comparison to other areas of the hospital. It was the one place in the whole of the Med Centre that did not smell of anaesthetic or antiseptic because it had its own special air conditioning system. He entered Klinsman's outer office and said, 'Hello,' to Diana French, his secretary. 'Once again I stand before you, spellbound by your beauty.'

Diana French let him know with a barely perceptible shake of the head that this was not the time for banter. 'Go right in Mac, he’s expecting you.'

Macandrew had hoped to get a clue from Diana what this was all about but she diverted her eyes and continued working at her keyboard. He tapped lightly on the polished mahogany door with the brass nameplate on it and entered.

'How did the operation on Jane Francini go this morning?' Klinsman asked without preamble.

'Like clockwork. Why?'

'Something's wrong, Mac. She isn't recovering well.'

'In what way?'

'The nurses say she's confused and behaving strangely. They managed to reassure her husband that this was often the case when a patient came out of deep anaesthesia and suggested he come back in a couple of hours but the truth is that she hasn't improved any. Are you absolutely sure that nothing went wrong in OR this morning?'

'Of course I'm sure!'

'All right, all right, don't get on your high horse,' said Klinsman holding up his hands, ' but I need hardly tell you that Mr Francini isn't going to take this quietly if it turns out that something unforeseen has happened to his wife.'

'I'd better get down there,' said Macandrew getting to his feet. Klinsman was about to say something when the sound of raised voices from the outer office interrupted him. The door burst open and Diana French, looking red-faced and harassed, said, 'I'm sorry Doctors.'

Tony Francini pushed past her into the room. He came up to Macandrew, clenching his fists. 'Straightforward, huh? A routine procedure, huh? What kind of an asshole are you? What the fuck have you done to my wife?'

'Mr Francini, I've just this minute come back to the hospital. I haven't been down to see your wife yet, but let me assure you, the operation this morning went very well. There were no complications and I'm sure that whatever's alarming you is probably just some temporary reaction to the anaesthetic.'

Francini moved up even closer and poked his forefinger into Macandrew's chest. He said in menacing tones, 'Now let me tell you something, Doctor. You’d better be fucking right because I've just been down there and the woman in that bed . . . is not my wife.’

TEL AVIV

ISRAEL

October 2000

Benny Zur stuffed the last of his burger into his mouth and wiped his hands on his jeans. Dark stains on the denim said that it wasn't the first time he’d done this. He looked around anxiously and then stamped his feet impatiently on the ground. The last bus was about to leave for Jerusalem and Eli Aswar, still hadn't turned up. If this was all a joke, he was going to be real mad, but surely Eli wouldn't do something like this to him: they had been friends since childhood.

If, for whatever reason, Eli didn’t show, he was still going to have to stay out all night. He had lied to Shula about having to do an extra shift at the factory so he couldn't change his mind and go home without some good explanation. He indulged his frustration and took a kick at a pile of old cardboard boxes lying, stacked up against a wall behind the bus. A rat scurried out of the heap to run for cover elsewhere. Rats liked the bus station; they grew fat there. There were always plenty of discarded
falafels
to feed on. When night fell and the buses stopped running they took over from the creatures of the day.

The driver, who’d been speaking to two other drivers at a neighbouring stance, turned away and came towards his bus. He paused to stub out his cigarette on the ground and hitch up his trousers over a fat gut, tucking in his wayward shirt with both hands before looking towards Benny and enquiring with an inclination of his head whether or not he wanted to get on board. Benny scratched nervously at his stubbly beard and gave an ambivalent shrug as he looked again towards the station entrance.

Suddenly, Eli came running round the corner, one hand clutching a striped fabric bag, the other holding a baseball cap on his head.

'Where the fuck have you been, man?' demanded Benny.

'Couldn't get away,' explained Eli, still badly out of breath. 'Kepes wouldn't let me leave the dishes till the morning and the place was full of tourists till late.’

'Tourists,' said Benny with an inflection that needed no further explanation.

The driver started the engine and a cloud of blue smoke drifted out the back. The whole bus shuddered and vibrated in sympathy with a diesel engine whose pistons seemed to be working in opposition rather than harmony. He looked round and counted the passengers before marking the figure down on a clipboard and pushing it into a pocket in the back of his brown plastic bucket seat. He took a swig from a bottle of water parked at his feet, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and released the hand brake.

The bus pulled out of the station and started out slowly and laboriously on the road up to Jerusalem. It sounded so sick that both men wondered if it would manage the steep climb. Benny shouted as much to the driver but the man dismissed the suggestion with a wave of his hand.

Now that he’d calmed down and things were going according to plan again, Benny took time to look round at the other passengers. They comprised mainly Arab women - wearing shawls and carrying covered baskets - but there were two European tourists on board, a thin, round-shouldered man and a blonde woman who was wearing shorts. They were young and had rucksacks tucked in at their feet. They averted their eyes when Benny looked at them so he took comfort from the fact that the girl was due for a nasty surprise when they reached Jerusalem. It might be thirty degrees centigrade down in Tel Aviv but it would be a lot colder up in the hills. Shorts were a big mistake.

Benny turned to Eli and said, 'Tell me again what this guy said.’

'Three hundred shekels is what he said,' replied Eli with a grin of satisfaction.

'Each?'

'Yes, each; I've told you a hundred times, man.'

'I just like hearing it,' said Benny with a grin that exposed bad teeth. 'But why us?'

'Because we are Israelis - native Israelis, not Russians or Germans or American Jews who've come here to live here but true Israelis who were born here and whose parents were born here and whose grandparents were born here.'

'I still don’t get it.'

'Look, he wants to ask us things about our past, what we did, where we lived, stuff like that.'

'You said this guy’s a priest? What kind of priest?’

'They all look the same to me. You know, Christian, dressed in black with a cross round his neck.'

‘
How’d you meet him?’

‘
He came to the restaurant one night last week. I was emptying the bins when he left and he came over and spoke to me. He asked lots of questions about where I was born, where my parents came from, had I always lived in Israel. I told him me and my folks had always lived here. He seemed pleased at that and told me I was just the kind of guy he was looking for. If I was interested in making some good money I should meet him when I finished at the restaurant and he’d tell me more.'

'So you did?'

'I met him in a cafe down in Atarim Square. He bought me a couple of beers and told me how I could help with his research.'

'Research?'

'He said it was just a case of answering questions under what he called, "controlled conditions". He said it was nothing to worry about but I would have to go up to Jerusalem and it would mean staying the night. Then he told me how much. Three hundred shekels! Just for answering some questions and staying over at his expense!'

'I thought these guys were supposed to be poor.'

'They pretend that,' said Eli. 'It’s crap. Miriam Cohen says they’re the richest organisation in the world. I asked him if I could bring along a friend. He didn’t seem that keen at first but finally he said it would be okay providing my friend and his family had always lived here in Israel. I said I knew lots of people like that but he said just the one, so I asked you, my friend.'

Benny smiled with satisfaction. 'Three hundred shekels,’ he sighed.

'For one night.’

After a few moments Benny’s smile faded as worries returned. He turned to Eli, ‘Shit, you know this doesn’t make sense. This guy wants to know about
us
. . . a floor sweeper and a dish washer! And for that he's going to pay us 300 shekels each? He must have missed out the bit about wanting our kidneys.'

'Relax,’ said Eli. 'Just think about what you’re going to do with the money.’

'There has to be more to it,' murmured Benny.

Eli grinned. ‘Come on, we deserve a little luck in our lives and think what Shula will say when you hand her 300 shekels.'

Benny went quiet and Eli raised his eyebrows. ‘You didn’t tell her?’