The Ward (25 page)

When that brisk nurse crackling with starch and efficiency led us in here – a double room on the Preparation Ward level – after our meeting in the boardroom, she made it very clear
that Farrell wasn’t welcome.

‘Tush, tush. No spare parts allowed in here,’ she snapped at him. ‘There’s a comfort room at the end of the ward. You can wait there.’

I expected him to kick up a fuss and insist that he had to stay by his girlfriend’s side, but he didn’t argue. His eyes skated over Katya’s bandaged face, and without a word he
slunk out of the room. No ‘Good luck, Lisa’ or ‘It will work out fine’, or any other words of comfort.

Don’t be too hard on him, that’s his girlfriend lying there. He’s struggling to deal with this.

He’s not the only one.

The nurse treated me like I was an invalid, carefully helping me wash myself down and change into a clean hospital gown. I didn’t bother to question her, exhaustion and spent adrenaline
leaving me limp and voiceless, but I’m regretting that now. I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been in here, waiting for whatever they’re going to do to me.

Still, I’m tempted to slip into the bathroom and have one last look at my Katya reflection.

Don’t go there, Lisa. For the thousandth time, it’s not your face.

Dr Meka’s right. After this is all over, I’ll just be me again. I try to picture my old reflection, the face that’s been staring back at me in the mirror for the last
twenty-four years, but all I can call up is a blurry image, superimposed with Katya’s high cheekbones and full lips. What will I look like when I next face the mirror?

It hits me with a jolt. Oh God. What if I wake up with someone else’s face? What if I wake up with Gertie’s face?

Don’t be ridiculous.

It’s not ridiculous. Maybe they brought her down here for a reason. Just like Katya, just like me. Where is Gertie? What have they done with her?

Not your problem. Sort your own troubles out first.

God. How much longer will we have to wait? I just want this over and done with.

And then what will you do?

Go home. Promise Dad that I’ll go back into therapy, take the Luvox, finish my correspondence degree, get a job and—

Heard it all before, Lisa. You’re not fooling anyone.

This time it’s different. This time I really think I can—

‘Greetulations, Client Cassavetes!’ A nurse I’ve never seen before bustles in. She gives me a professional smile, but, even though she looks to be my age, her face appears to
have been Botoxed to death, and none of the muscles around her eyes or cheeks actually moves. She rustles over to my bed and needlessly starts fussing with the sheets.

My stomach flips. Is it time?

‘How are you feeling, Client Cassavetes?’

‘Scared.’

She tries to smile sympathetically, but the end result is as soulless as a fixed mannequin grin. ‘Don’t be headless, you’re in the Wards. You shouldn’t be scared. You
should be wonderful.’

‘Wonderful?’

‘Oh yes of course. And just think, Crane will be butchering you today.

Aren’t you the lucky one!’

‘Butchering? You mean operating?’

She chuckles. ‘Yes, yes.’

‘What will happen to me?’ I touch my face.
Katya’s face
. ‘Will I get my old face back?’

‘That’s not my department, Client Cassavetes, but I can assure you that you will be a happy maggot when all’s done.’

‘When do we get to see… Crane? The one who will be doing the operation?’

The nurse laughs as if I’ve said something genuinely funny. ‘Butchers don’t deal with Clients in person!’ She plumps my pillows. ‘They’re far too important
for verbals.’

‘But there are things the surgeon needs to know about me.’

‘Shhh. You’re getting your intestines imbricated over nothing. We’re well aware of your Client history. Why else would you be here with us?’

‘How long, before…?’ I can’t finish the question.

She tucks the blanket covering my legs firmly under the mattress. ‘There, there. Try to repose. It won’t be long now. Shall I bring you some remedies to make you happy?’

‘No, thank you.’

She tries to move her cheek muscles again. ‘Goody good.’ She turns as if to leave.

‘Aren’t you going to check on Katya?’ I say.

‘Who?’ she says brightly.

I point to Katya. ‘The other patient.’

The nurse sniffs and glances at Katya, her face pursed with disgust. ‘Oh, that Donor is fine. We’d know if there were any kark-ups. Now, are you absolutely sure I can’t get you
anything?’

Some answers would be nice
.

‘No. Thanks. I’m fine.’

‘Goody good.’

She smoothes her skirt, shoots me a last stiff grimace, and crackles out.

My stomach is a cold, hard ball. My mouth tastes like rusty iron.

Pre-op nerves. You have to relax. After all, you’re an old hand at this.

Am I really going to go through with it? After the meeting with the suits, it was crystal clear that Farrell’s only interested in Katya’s welfare. He’s willing to go along with
anything, deluding himself that all we’re dealing with is some warped medical screw-up.

The fear twists into a tight fist of anger. But what about me? He’s not the one who’s going under the knife, is he?

I kick the sheet off my legs. Dammit. What can I do, though? It’s not as if I have a choice.

Not true
, the Dr Meka voice says.
You do have a choice, Lisa. You can get up out of this bed, and leave.

And go where? What if they don’t let me leave?

Even Dr Meka hasn’t got an answer for that.

A gurgling sound suddenly erupts out of Katya’s throat. I nearly jump out of my skin. ‘Guuhhh,’ she says.

‘Katya? Katya? Are you awake?’

‘Finkso.’ Her voice is faint and blurry and I have to strain to make out what she’s saying. ‘Firsy.’

‘Firstly?’

‘Firsy. Die.’

Then I get it. She’s thirsty, dry. There’s a plastic cup and straw on the cabinet between our beds. I slither off my gurney and hold it to the slit in her bandages, trying not to
look too closely at the dark hole rimmed with raw flesh, her white teeth revealed all the way up to the top of her gums. My tongue instinctively darts out and touches my lips.
Her
lips.

My hand is shaking, but she manages to suck some of the water onto her tongue. The rest dribbles out, soaking the bandages. I dab at the sodden dressing with the edge of the sheet.

‘Fanks. Wah ah I?’

‘Um… you’re in hospital.’

How can she not remember? Has she blocked everything out? Thank God her eyes are covered. The last thing she needs is another glimpse of her own face staring back at her.

‘Wis hossital?’

Good question.

‘Joburg.’ What else can I say? But Katya seems to accept this vague answer.

‘I cahn see. I bee in a accident?’ It’s getting easier to make out what she’s saying.

‘Um. In a manner of speaking.’

She really can’t remember what happened in that Recovery room. Or, it seems, anything that came before it.

A perfectly normal reaction to shock.

She lifts a shaking hand and touches her face. ‘Bandages.’

‘Yes.’

‘Wha happened? I had this horrible dream.’

‘Did you? That’s quite normal,’ I say, my voice straining with false cheer and sounding horribly like the nurse’s.

‘I feel funny. Woozy.’

‘You’re likely to feel a bit disoriented. Just try to relax.’

You’ve missed your calling, Lisa. Maybe they’ll give you a job here after it’s over.

‘My boyfriend… Josh. I think he was with me. The accident. Is he okay?’

‘Josh is fine.’

‘Are you a nurse?’

‘No. I’m a… patient. Just like you.’

She touches the dressing on her face again. ‘Oh God. Am I burned? My face, it’s…’

‘Yes. This is a burns unit. That’s right.’

Christ. I wish that nurse would return. I press the call button next to Katya’s bed.

Katya coughs. ‘Is it bad?’

‘Um… it’s not too bad, no.’

‘Because my face… I’m a model. I need to look… perfect.’

‘A model?’ I chirp. ‘That must be exciting.’ I’m making myself feel ill.

Why? You’re well versed in the pleasures of self-delusion.

Katya groans again. ‘God. My head hurts so bad. Is my dad here?’

‘You’ll see him soon.’

‘I need my dad. He’ll fix everything.’

‘I’m sure they’ll let you see him soon.’

‘And Josh. Need to tell him…’ Her voice wavers.

‘Katya? Can you hear me?’

‘Sowwy.’

‘What?’

I can hear her struggling to stay conscious. ‘Tell Josh… sowwy.’

‘Sowwy? I don’t understand.’

Yes you do. She’s saying sorry.

She emits a long sigh and her body seems to lose tension. Her breathing is irregular and laboured, and there’s a rattling edge to it.

I touch the back of her hand. ‘Katya?’

She’s out of it.

I can’t stay here listening to her struggling for each breath. She needs help. I press the call button next to her bed again, and head to the door to find a nurse. The corridor outside is
deserted. I pace back and forth, but no one comes.

Hang on, the nurse who brought us here said there was a waiting room at the end of the corridor.

‘Farrell?’ I call.

Tinny voices are floating out of an open doorway at the end of the passageway. I pad towards it and slip inside. Farrell is sitting slumped in an armchair, his head lolling to one side.
He’s fast asleep, his mouth hanging open. I’m about to reach out and shake him awake when my eye is drawn towards the television perched on a stand in the corner. That’s the
source of the voices.

Oh God. A jowly man dressed in a baggy crumpled suit fills the screen. I know that man. I’ve seen him before. He’s standing in the aisle of a shopping mall, hands on his hips, his
mouth down-turned in an over-thetop expression of sadness. A cheesy voice-over is saying: ‘Feeling down and brown? Tired of being a karking grey-boy freak?’

The man nods mime-style. A woman with three breasts barely covered by a fishnet vest stalks past him. She shoots him a look of exaggerated disgust and he drops his head.

‘Why look like an abnormal brown when you can modify?’ the voiceover woman says. ‘At the Wards we can make your modification dreams come true.’

There’s a shot of a gleaming hospital corridor and the camera pans past a group of smiling and waving nurses, and then, oh God, I instantly recognise the next scene. The smiling man with
an amputated arm is lying on the metal operating table. So it wasn’t a nightmare after all. It wasn’t just in my imagination. I’ve seen this exact scene before on the TV in that
room I was in – just before Farrell and I tried to escape.

But this time I know exactly what it is.

A sick giggle burbles out of my throat. I’m watching a twisted homeshopping ad.

The woman with the bulging eyes appears on screen. Oh God, I really don’t want to see this again. The sound was muted when I saw it first and somehow the cheery voice-over makes it even
more disturbing: ‘From simple starving-and-amputation techniques to original custom-designed re-enhancements, we can do it all.’ I know what’s coming next, but I can’t tear
my eyes away. She pulls back the cloth covering the tray, revealing that tentacle thing. ‘There’s a modification to suit everyone!’

Now the man is strolling through the mall’s aisle, a fixed grin on his face. ‘Be the envy of your friends, frenemies and Shoppers.’ The woman with the three breasts stalks past
him, but this time she hesitates, licks her lips and gazes at his tentacled arm with exaggerated admiration.

The man winks at the camera. ‘Book into the Modification Ward now,’ he says. ‘I did. It’s catalogue!’

Then he and the triple-breasted freak stroll away into the distance, the woman’s skinny arm locked around his tentacled limb.

‘All modifications subject to extensive credit checks and or Donordeals. Terms and conditions apply,’ the voice-over says, in the familiar fine-print rush. ‘Modifications are brought to you by the Ministry of Modifications and are subject to unannounced
amendments by Ward Administration.’

The screen goes black. But next up is a flurry of applause. Synthesiser music blares and the caption ‘I Married a Brown!’ is superimposed over a shot of a wildly screaming studio
audience. Most of them appear stagger ingly obese, their faces blotchy and distorted.

Jerry Springer meets
Dawn of the Dead
.

I can’t watch any more of this. I snatch the remote from the side of Farrell’s chair and jab the off button. Farrell snaps awake, wiping drool from his chin. He gazes around in
confusion, flinching slightly when he sees me.

‘Lisa? What are you doing in here? The nurse said—’

‘It’s Katya.’

‘She’s awake?’

‘She was.’

He twitches slightly. ‘Did she say anything?’

‘She thinks she’s been in an accident. She doesn’t remember anything about…’ My hand strays to my face again.

‘That’s a good thing, isn’t it? I mean, it will make things easier when we get home.’

He stands up.

Something shifts inside me. I’m not sure if it’s the mention of the word ‘home’ or the aftertaste of seeing those sickening images again, but I suddenly feel as if
I’m going to burst, that I’ll start screaming, and, if I start, I won’t be able to stop.

‘Lisa?’ Farrell’s voice says. It sounds like it’s coming from far away. ‘Lisa? Are you okay?’

I’m shaking, and I’m not sure my legs will hold me up anymore. Farrell steps towards me and I collapse against him.

He holds me up stiffly, and slowly his arms loosen into a hug. The sobs rocket out of my chest, taking my breath away.

‘Shhh. It’s going to be fine.’

Listen to him, Lisa.

But how can it be fine? Nothing’s ever going to be fine again. I know this with a cold certainty.

But it wasn’t exactly fine when you started, now was it?

‘Shhh,’ he says. ‘We’re in this together.’

‘Are we?’ I say, my voice muffled against his chest.