The Girl in the Face of the Clock Read Online Free

was trapped. She’d have to go into the nursing home just to call a cab back to the train station. Resigning herself to the inevitable, she mounted the short steps and walked through the front door.
    It was another world inside. The beautiful May sunshine was replaced by stiff, cold fluorescent light, the azure sky by pea green wall paint. The lobby of Royaume Israel was a small space that smelled of bodily functions and antiseptic. The walls were plastered with official memoranda, government health regulations, and travel posters of Tel Aviv.
    â€œJane Sailor to see Dr. Contino,” said Jane at the reception window, pulling herself together, and becoming—at least on the outside—the confident young woman that everyone who saw her thought her to be. It was amazing what good posture and a strong, clear voice could do.
    Behind glass, a bored receptionist in a shapeless blue jumpsuit picked up a telephone and motioned Jane to a plastic chair to wait. After a few minutes the door next to the reception window opened and a man emerged, apparently direct from an aspirin commercial.
    He was tall, stout, and distinguished-looking, with a theatrical halo of snow white hair, wire-rim glasses, and a jaw squared like a milk carton. He wore a white lab coat in the pocket of which was a pen-sized flashlight. A stethoscope hung from around his neck. As if the studied costume could leave any doubt, he sported a large nameplate over his heart: “Benton Contino, M.D., Director.”
    â€œMiss Sailor,” he said in a smooth, well-oiled baritone, extending a large hand. “Benton Contino. Welcome. Welcome to Royaume Israel. So happy you could join us.”
    â€œHow’s my father?”
    â€œFine, fine,” intoned Dr. Contino. “We’ve taken care of everything. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. I expect you want to see him?”
    â€œThat’s what a good daughter does, isn’t it?”
    He led her through the door down a long green hall, chattering convincingly about the weather and the expert level of care at Royaume Israel. They passed room after room, the doors of some of which were open to reveal elderly men and women. Assisted by white-uniformed young people from a selection of minority groups, the residents ran the gamut of nursing home activities: watching television, eating cost-effective food, staring blankly into space.
    All the way down the hall at the back of the building was a pair of double doors. Dr. Contino opened them and flipped on the lights. Jane found herself in a large, windowless ward with more than a dozen beds, each of which contained a still form. Some had IV lines connected to their bodies, some were attached to respirators, all were fenced in by metal safety gates.
    â€œYou keep them in the dark?” Jane asked, incredulous.
    â€œJust saving a bit of electricity,” said Benton Contino with a nervous chuckle. “One of my little innovations. You know how expensive utilities are on the Island. The patients can’t tell the difference.”
    It was true enough. The room was uncomplaining and silent except for the rasps of labored breathing. There were also faint sounds of words that Jane could not make out, coming from a bed in the back corner. It was to this bed that they made their way.
    It was as Jane had feared. She felt nothing as she gazed down at the expressionless face, which bore only slight resemblance to Aaron Sailor’s. The man who had animated this mask had not returned. The remains of the human being he had been were nearly as Jane remembered. Yet there were two differences now from the last time she had been here: the body bore a white plaster cast on its left arm from knuckles to elbow; and it was speaking.
    â€œNo, Perry, no. Don’t do it, Perry, don’t do it. No, Perry, no.”
    The words came softly in a dull monotone, without inflection.
    â€œIs that what he’s been saying?” Jane