Woman (13 page)

     "Well, for Christ's
sake," Liz said, her tone still dubious. "You can't
stand
on it?"

     "I don't think
so." David tried again to move his right foot.
"Ooh,"
he said, eyes closing from the pain.

     She came over to the chair.
"Are you going to be all right?" she asked.

     "I suppose," he
said. "I don't think I'm going to be able to go with you though."

     "It's just as
well," she said.

     He looked at her irritably.
"What do you mean?" he asked.

     "Well, you don't really
know Charlie," she said. "Anyway," she cut him off, "you're
supposed to go to that conference this afternoon, aren't you? Are you going to
be able to make that?"

     "Jesus, I don't
know," he muttered.

     She looked at him
indecisively. "Well, maybe—" she began.

     "No, no, go
ahead," he anticipated her remark. "I'll be all right, don't worry
about it. Go see Charlie. And tell him how sorry I am."

     "Yeah," she said,
she looked at him questioningly for another few moments, then moved over and
kissed him on top of the head. "You'll be all right?" she asked.

     "I'll be fine. I won't
be tap-dancing but I'll manage."

     She smiled a little,
"All right," she said, "Just. . .stay off it."

     "I will." He
managed to return her smile.

     "I'll call you from the
hospital to see how you're doing," she told him.

     "Just call to tell me
how Charlie is," he said.

     She nodded and went back
into the bedroom. Wincing and hissing again, David got up and lurched to the
sofa,slumping down on it. He worked his right foot out of its slipper, groaning
softly as he did, then lay back on the sofa, propping his right leg on a
pillow.
"Whoa,"
he
mumbled. He felt like an idiot for doing this. He hadn't sprained his ankle for
years. "Perfect time to do it," he mumbled.

     Fifteen minutes later, Liz
came out of the bedroom, wearing a skirt and a jacket over her sweater.
"I'll come back as soon as possible," she told him. "And I'll
call from the hospital to see how you're doing."

     "Okay." He nodded.

     As she left the apartment,
David leaned back on a sofa pillow he placed under his head.
"Idiot,"
he murmured. He looked
concerned. How could he possibly make that conference now? And he'd canceled
his appearance on the radio, having them play a recording made yesterday.
"Dear God," he complained. "One thing after another." He
closed his eyes. Did he have an ankle brace he could wear? He didn't think so.

     He opened his eyes, hearing
a knock on the door. "What's the matter, did you forget something?" he
called.

     There was no reply. Another
knock. "Is it
locked?"
he asked loudly. "I don't know," he thought Liz
answered. "I
hope
not!" he said. "I can't get over there right now!" The door
opened and Ganine came in, wearing a tweed skirt and a snug beige sweater under
her jacket.

     For several seconds, David
couldn't speak. The sight of her was so disconcerting to him.

     "Ganine, you can't come
in," he told her. "I'm sorry but you'll have to leave."

     She closed the door, looking
at him pleadingly. "Ganine, I
mean
it," he said, scowling. She moved toward the sofa. "Are
you hurt?" she asked. "Ganine—!" He felt angrily frustrated.
"You
cannot
come
in!" Impulsively, he tried to stand but fell back with a cry of pain.

     "You
are
hurt," she said, a disturbed
look on her face.

     "Ganine,
please?"
he asked. He felt helpless
as she crossed the living room. "I
cannot
talk to you now." He felt an undercurrent of uneasiness about
her being there.

     "I can help you,"
she told him.

     "Oh, for God's
sake," he said. "
Ineed to be alone."

     "Please, I can help
you," she said.

     He felt a shudder up his
back.
Now
what was she going
to do? he wondered. He felt increasingly nervous about her, about what she
seemed capable of doing.

     "Did you hurt your
ankle?" she asked. He had the sudden feeling that she'd
made
it happen. That was ridiculous
though. He wouldn't allow himself to succumb to such a childish notion.
"Yes. I did," he said. "Now will you please go? I can't talk
with you right now."

     It was as though he hadn't
spoken. "My father hurt his ankle once and I rubbed it and it got
better," she told him. She kneeled beside the sofa, smiling at him
timidly.

     "Really, Ganine—"
he said, starting to feel strangely helpless.

     He gasped in pain as she put
her hands around his ankle, realizing, at that moment that he was actually
afraid of her. He tried to repress the feeling but couldn't. "What are you
doing?" he asked in a weak voice.

     "Just lie still,"
she told him, sounding like a little girl playing mother.

     "Ganine, that
hurts,"
he said. He didn't like the
feeling of ineffectiveness he could not control.

     Abruptly, he looked
startled. "It feels funny," he said without thinking.

     "I know," she
said. "That's because it's getting better."

     He wanted to contest what
she was saying but was unable to do so. He stared at her small, white hands as
they rubbed, almost caressingly, around his ankle.

     He felt, suddenly,
incredulous. "My God," he murmured. The pain was clearly diminishing.
He wanted to tell her but still felt the same nervous uneasiness about her.

     "It's better, isn't
it?" she said. It was not a question.

     He had to speak.
"Yes," he told her. "It is." Regardless of his continuing
apprehension about her, he felt a surge of physical comfort. "It's
incredible."

     "No, it's not,"
she said. "I can do it all the time."

     David felt that this was the
obvious time to question her about her unusual—some might consider it
miraculous— power. Amazement—and relief at the ending of pain—was now becoming
a need to understand what strange abilities she seemed to possess.
Seemed?
he thought. They were real.

     He didn't know how to start
though. "You've. . .done this before?" he asked.

     "I told you, with my
father," she answered, her expression one of almost smugness. It irritated
him but, somehow, he didn't dare react adversely to it.

     "The pain is gone
now," she told him. "You can walk." She removed her hands from
his ankle.

     "That's. . .it?"
he asked uncertainly.

     "Yes." She nodded,
smiling. "You can
walk
now."

     He hesitated, then had to be
sure that, what seemed to have happened, really had. Tentatively, he started
rising to his feet, putting weight on his ankle gingerly.

     Damn, he thought. It had
really happened. The pain was completely gone.

     "See?" she said.
"I
told
you."

     He walked around a little
bit. "I will be damned," he said, looking amazed. Ganine smiled.
"I'm glad I helped you," she told him.

     "Did you pass my wife
in the hall?" he asked.

     She looked taken back by the
question but shook her head. "I didn't see her."

     He couldn't imagine how that
was possible. But if Liz had seen her, she obviously would have come back and
more likely locked the door. He'd have to accept what Ganine had said.

     It occurred to him then.
"Why did you tell me you lived in this building?" he asked.

     She looked embarrassed.
"I was afraid that, if I didn't, you might not have talked to me,"
she said.

     That didn't make sense to
him but, once more, he hesitated to confront her in any way. "Have you. .
.demonstrated this ability of yours to anyone else?" he asked.

     "No," she said.
"Only you." Her smile was—he could not avoid the
observation—undeniably tender. "I have to like the person."

     Something about the way she
said it made him uneasy again. He remembered what happened to Val, even—as much
as he wanted to avoid the thought—Charlie. Could she do harmful things as well
as what she did for him? He stared at her with no idea what to say.

     "Where did your wife
go?" Ganine asked.

     An involuntary shudder laced
across his back. Why did she want to know? Could he avoid answering her? He
felt uneasy about that too.

     "To the hospital,"
he told her. "A friend of ours is there."

     "The man who fell down
last night?" she said, wincing at her memory of it. "Who had blood
coming out of his mouth?"

     Suddenly, David wanted very
much to get rid of her. Despite what she'd done to his ankle and despite her
obvious—that was almost unnerving as well—
affection
for him, he was totally uncomfortable with her again. There was
something about her. . . some thing
dark.
He could not control the thought. What was it though?

     He realized that, while
thinking all that, he had told her that, yes, it was Charlie in the hospital.
He felt a compulsion to ask her if she'd had anything to do with what happened
to Charlie. He was afraid to ask though.

     "Can you help me
now?" Ganine asked him.

     "Well," he started
awkwardly, "As I told you yesterday-"

     
"Please,"
she said plaintively. "I
need
your help."

     He was going to tell her
again that it was impossible when it occurred to him that Ganine was someone
far out ofthe ordinary. Maybe he owed it to himself to understand her better.
Owed it to—was that ostentatious?—the medical community.

     "Well, I'll try—"
he started, breaking off at her sudden smile of gratitude. He had to keep her
properly informed, not let her believe that he could really help her.