The operation had begun with a sudden crack, the lights went out, and darkness swallowed the theater. At last the gloom loosened, and a voice cut through the silence:
Miss Eleanor Whitworth, the rescue team, something has blown up over there.
A painful throb pressed a hand against my throat. I strained to part my eyelids; they opened only with great effort. Before me hung a rectangular pendant, its surface etched with zodiac symbols. A woman in a white coat stared at me.
To the theatre, now! shouted a nurse standing right beside me.
My parents had just returned from work in Manchester. Mother tossed herself to the kitchen, peeking into the study where my brother Tom was hunched over his schoolbooks. Father entered, immediately noting the sour look on Toms face.
Whats the matter, Tom? he ruffled the boys hair.
Nothing, muttered the fourthgrader.
Speak up.
International Womens Day is coming. Our teacher kept us after class and told us we must each make a present for a girl.
And the trouble is? my father smiled.
The class is split evenly between boys and girls, and the teacher paired us up. Ive been matched with the plain one, Agnes Harper.
All the girls expect a gift, even the plain ones, my father said, treating Tom as if he were an adult. How did she pair you up? Alphabetically? By zodiac?
By compatibility, apparently, Tom sighed. Agnes is a Virgo, and Taurus is said to suit her best. Im a Taurus.
Thats a good sign, then. Who knows, you might even fall for her.
Me? With Agnes?
Father burst out laughing. Mother stormed in, eyes sharp.
Whats happening here?
Eleanor, go to the kitchen, my fathers tone grew stern. Tom, we need to have a serious talk.
When she left, Tom asked in a gloomy voice:
Dad, what am I supposed to do now?
Make the gift.
What kind?
Ill craft something at work tomorrow for your chosen one.
How can you make a gift? You work at the plant.
I work in the galvanising department. We coat all sorts of metal.
Im not following.
Youll see tomorrow.
***
The next morning my father brought a goldcoloured chain with a rectangular pendant. One side bore the twin engravings of a bull and a maiden; the other side bore a delicate script:
To my classmate Agnes, on International Womens Day. Arthur Whitfield.
The pendant gleamed beautifully, especially when mother slipped it into a thin cellophane pouch.
***
On the day of the celebration the teacher collected the presents, thanked the children at length, and then announced that the boys should present their gifts to the girls. All the lads rushed to their assigned mistresses. Tom approached Agnes, reciting the line his father had taught him:
Agnes, happy International Womens Day! Perhaps destiny will one day unite a Taurus with a Virgo.
He delivered the rehearsed words, returned to his seat, and never noticed his heart beginning to pound for the girl he had once deemed plain.
Soon after, Agness family moved to a different district, and she transferred to another school in her fifth year.
***
I opened my eyes to the white ceiling of a hospital ward. A painful twitch ran through my left arm. I tried to move my legs; only my left hand obeyed.
Where am I? I croaked, unsure to whom I was speaking.
A soft clatter announced a nurses approach. She leaned over the bedside, her eyes kind.
Awake? Youre in the emergency surgery unit.
Are my limbs intact? I asked in a hushed voice.
As far as we can tell, she replied, relief evident. Youre stitched from head to toe.
A doctor entered, his expression gentle.
How are you feeling?
Whats happened to me? I answered, the question looping back.
Nothing threatens your life. Your arms and legs will work again. Only a few small scars will remain, he said, tapping a buzzing phone. Your mother asked me to call you when you woke.
Son, a voice, layered with tears, drifted from the doorway.
Mother, Im fine, I tried to sound as upbeat as possible. They said only minor scars, and Ill be discharged soon.
Im not allowed to stay with you tonight. Ill be back shortly, she whispered, placing a hand on my shoulder.
Thank you, I managed a smile.
A fellow patient, his bandage fresh, leaned over.
What happened? he asked when the nurse left.
Im a rescuer. At the plant a series of gas cylinders detonated, I recalled. We were called in, rushed to the burning hall. Three of us were injured inside. I was the last out. Just as I reached the door, another cylinder blew. I cant recall what followed.
Thats your lot, then, he said.
A colleague, Arthur Gibbons, entered with brisk steps.
Hey, Tom! How are you holding up?
Arms and legs are intact! I replied, waving my left hand.
Can you even shake hands now? he chuckled.
We were pulling each other out when the explosion went off, I explained. Youll see the doctors soon.
They want to nominate us for medals, he said, a smile spreading.
Ill be out soon, I answered.
He left just as a surgeon entered, a man in his forties with a calm demeanor.
Hows our hero today? he asked, standing at the bedside.
All right.
If you can talk, youll live. Let me have a look.
Did you plant a seed? I asked, halfjoking. No, Miss Whitworth, shell be back the day after tomorrow.
***
Two days later I was trying to sit up. The pain in my legs persisted, my right arm was still numb, and bruises dotted my body. I stared at my reflection; the swelling on my face remained.
The doctor was to make his rounds. He had been stitching me for five hours in the operating theatre the day before, and his presence still unsettled me.
She entered a young, sturdy woman in glasses, her white coat fitting her perfectly. Though we were both twentyseven, my marriage had ended six months earlier; wed split due to clashing temperaments and a dispute over my rescueworker salary.
Good morning, she said, approaching the bed.
Good morning, did you operate on me?
I did. Everything went well?
Perfectly! Thank you ever so much!
Let me examine you.
She leaned over, and I saw the pendant with the zodiac signs glinting against my throat.
Eleanor Harper! I exclaimed.
She glanced at my swollen face.
Im sorry! she said, not recognising me.
Im a Taurus, I pointed to the pendant.
Tom Gibbons? her lips quivered. You remember me?
Of course, Eleanor, I said, placing a gentle hand on hers as tears welled in her eyes.
Im sorry, she whispered, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket. I never imagined wed meet again like this.
***
Eleanor never visited my ward again that day, but I understood her schedule matched mine: days, nights, and two days off. I didnt want to appear helpless before her. The next day I shuffled along the ward, using the beds for support, occasionally leaning against the wall before stepping into the corridor.
Evening fell; the dayshift doctor left, and the nightshift staff arrived, their chatter filling the hallways. Suddenly, shrill footsteps echoed as another casualty was wheeled in. Ten oclock passed, the lights dimmed, and the ward fell silent. Past midnight, faint sobs drifted from the corridor. I rose cautiously and slipped out.
At the nurses station, a former classmate, now a nurse, sat with her head in her hands, crying. I placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
Eleanor!
She thrust her face into my shoulder.
I operated on a woman who fell under a car, she choked out, tears streaming. I did everything I could. Shes now in intensive care, but the odds are against her. She has two children; her husband is beside her in this ward.
Rest, Eleanor!
Ive been a surgeon for three years and still cant get used to people dying, she replied. My wife left me, saying I never come home and earn enough. Im forty and still living with my parents, like a child.
Were only twentyseven, we have our whole lives ahead, I tried to comfort her.
No, Tom, were already twentyseven, she said.
Miss Whitworth, her pulse is dropping, a frantic nurse shouted.
Im sorry! Eleanor rushed back to intensive care.
Sleep eluded me that night. In the morning, a nurse gave me a soothing rub.
Did the woman you operated on last night survive? I asked, surprised at my own curiosity.
Shes alive, but her condition is critical, the nurse replied.
***
Three weeks later my wounds had begun to heal. I met Eleanor whenever her shift allowed, and each encounter pulled me closer to her. The emergency surgery ward, however, was no place for intimate talk.
During a routine morning round, the doctor announced:
Today I discharge you, he said with a grin. Youll go to the community clinic, and theyll decide how long you stay in the hospital.
Can I pack my things? I asked.
Of course, take your time. Your discharge papers will be ready shortly.
After the doctor left, I shaved, admired my reflection, and noted that the two remaining small scars added a certain ruggedness to my face. The others were best ignored.
I left the ward, heart racing, thinking how wonderful it would be if Eleanor were there to see me.
A nurse handed me the discharge form.
Farewell, Arthur! Dont be a stranger!
***
I owned a modest oneroom flat, but I chose to return to my parents house. Mother had been waiting anxiously, even taking a few days off work.
My son! she exclaimed, pulling me into a hug.
All right, Mum, as you can see Im alive and well.
Come, Ive made you a meal. Look at you, so skinny now.
Ive missed home cooking!
Youll stay here until youre fully recovered and married, she declared, nudging me toward the kitchen. Wash your hands first!
By evening I visited the barber, collected a few clothes from my flat, and my mother immediately began tidying them. Later, my father arrived from work; we all sat together, as we used to, talking late into the night.
I fell asleep in my childhood bedroom, thoughts of tomorrows clinic visit, then work, then the evening ahead swirling in my mind.
***
The next morning I headed to the community clinic, wandering the corridors before lunch, then returning to my shift at the plant. As evening approached I began packing.
Where are you off to? my father asked.
Dad, do you remember, ages ago, when I was in fourth grade? You made me a pendant as a gift for a classmate.
For plain Agnes Harper? I recall.
You even said, Maybe youll fall in love with her. I remember that too.
And now? he pressed.
Agnes is a surgeon now; she operated on me. She still wears that pendant.
Thats something!
Dad, your words have come true. Im going to see her.
Twentyseven years may not seem long, but its enough time to begin a life with the one you love.
