Joanna Langton

Between heaven and earth

Casey Walton had been working at the Bertholdi Corporation for two weeks now and she loved it. Her duties were only to empty the wastebaskets and dust, and since the furniture here was expensive and new, it even gave the girl pleasure. Such cleaning could not be compared with what she had to do in a bookstore - her main place of work. She got a job in the company to save up money, because she hoped that when the owner of the store, Mr. Philby, retired, she would become a full-fledged mistress there.

Only one thing bothered Casey. One of the corporate junior clerks, Jimmy Walker, pursued her with his advances, and she could not properly rebuff him, because she was afraid that he had an approach to superiors and was able to get her fired.

Jimmy didn't let the girl pass quietly by. He did not miss the opportunity to pinch her or stroke her luxurious platinum hair, making greasy jokes, and Casey simply did not know where to go from him.

One of the cleaners, Ruth Howard, who had worked for the corporation for many years, had a fondness for the young employee, and she was already thinking of turning to her for help, but did not know where to start.

And then, finally, an opportunity presented itself.

God! What kind of crow's nest is on your head?

Ruth Howard asked her question as she pressed the call button for the service elevator.

Casey instinctively raised her hand and touched the flowery scarf she had thrown over her lush hair.

I don't want to get dust on my hair...

Since when did you start caring about your appearance?

Taking a deep breath, Casey explained:

This guy on my floor staying up late... Well, you know, he...

What he? It's coming up, right?

Ruth's round face showed indignation, but the situation did not surprise her. Casey, even in work overalls, was a tidbit for any man. The baggy uniform of the cleaner could not hide her foldable figure: her hair, thick and fluffy, shimmered with silver, and her big green eyes, in the shadow of thick eyelashes that lurked under unexpectedly black eyebrows, made an indelible impression!

I bet that he expects to easily put you to bed just because you are a simple cleaning lady. Is he old or young?

Young, - Casey answered confusedly, letting Ruth into the elevator. - He gets on my nerves. Maybe complain to our boss?

Listen to my advice, girl, - she grinned. - Firstly, try to contact your superiors as rarely as possible, and secondly, do not scatter your fans - what if it will come in handy in the future? ..

Well, I don't know, - Casey sighed feignedly. It won't be easy for the little one to handle her, Ruth chuckled to herself. Despite the puppet appearance, Casey can bite like a vicious dog.

Do you want to switch floors? she suggested in a fit of generosity. - He will not immediately figure out where you have gone, and you will get a break.

But I don't have access to the top floor," Casey said uncertainly.

It's okay, Ruth assured her. “You just have to scrub the floors and empty the wastebaskets, and if someone from the security forces decides to check your credentials, just make eyes at him and he will not resist. Just don't go through the big double doors, she warned. - There are real chain dogs. They guard Mr. Bertholdi's office.

She pushed her cart out of the lift on the floor that Casey used to clean, and the girl, smiling gratefully, whispered:

Thank you Ruth...

Now I won't have to listen to Jimmy Walker's double entender jokes and dubious offers, she thought happily.

Casey had never been to the top floor of the skyscraper that housed Bertholdi's empire, but when she stepped out of the technical elevator, she immediately realized that the rooms here were located differently.

Around the corner to the right was a huge, lavishly decorated reception room. All the lights were on, but oddly enough, the massive double doors at the back of the reception room looked dark, even gloomy. Looking around, Casey noticed exactly the same pair of doors on the left and came to the conclusion that this unlit corridor was not included in the restricted area.

She decided to start cleaning from there and move towards the center.

In slippers with rubber soles, the girl moved almost silently. Opening one of the massive doors, she was about to empty the contents of the wastebasket under the desk when she suddenly heard male voices in the adjacent room. Usually in such cases, Casey, following the wise advice of Ruth, tried to make her presence known, but now, realizing that she had come here without permission, she preferred to just quietly disappear. She was not so much afraid for herself as she did not want to let her friend down, who had exchanged with her in violation of the rules.

Then behind her came the heavy footsteps of men. The girl's heart skipped a beat and she ducked headlong through the open door. The footsteps got closer and quieter. Casey held her breath. There was complete silence, and now she could hear every word of the people talking in the next room.

The owner of a low melodious baritone said that on Wednesday he would destroy some Bloomfield, and Casey became really scared. She realized that she was stuck in a story, which would not be easy to get out of, because behind the door is a cart with buckets and rags - material evidence of her illegal presence in the forbidden territory.

And then God heard her prayers - the steps were clearly moving away. Casey took a silent breath and backed away on tiptoe, hoping to disappear unnoticed.

Alas! The doors of the adjoining office opened wide, and the girl was horrified to see a tall male figure in the doorway. Her green eyes went wide and she was petrified. The dark eyes of the stranger rested on her face with suspicion and dislike.

What the hell do you want here? he barked.

I'm leaving now," Casey murmured.

So you were eavesdropping?

Not! Honestly!

The girl was shocked not only by the anger that sounded in the voice of this man, but by his face. It was all too familiar to her.

Below, in the foyer of the skyscraper, hung a huge portrait that made more than one woman's heart shrink from sweet pain. It was Mario Bertholdi, the billionaire head of the company.

Casey realized that she had mixed up the doors and invaded the holy of holies of the company. So now Ruth and I will both lose our jobs, she thought in a panic.

Behind the boss appeared some old man. Looking at Casey with distaste, he muttered through his teeth:

This is not the woman who usually cleans here. I'll call the head of security now.

Please… It's not necessary,” Casey whispered, chattering her teeth in excitement. “I just came in for a routine evening cleaning and had no idea you might still be here. I'm sorry I unwittingly interrupted you. Hearing your voices, I wanted to leave, but...

All this may be so, - grumbled the gray-haired man. But you don't have access to this floor.

Mario Bertholdi stared thoughtfully at Casey with black eyes and said softly:

She was hiding behind the door, Costner.

Look, the girl protested, why should I hide? I'm just a cleaning lady. Of course, I had no right to enter here and I admit it. Excuse me and let me go...

She turned to the door, but a large dark hand wrapped around her thin wrist.

Don `t move. What is your name?

Casey. Katherine Walton, - she answered and immediately exclaimed in fright: - What are you doing ?!

Mario Bertholdi pulled the scarf from her head, and a shock of platinum hair fell on Casey's shoulders.

He towered over her like a tower, and she lifted her head and stared bravely into his impenetrable eyes. And in vain! Her heart sank somewhere, a shiver ran through her body, her legs became like cotton.

How beautiful he is!

You don't look like a cleaner," Mario remarked dully.

And what, you often had to meet with representatives of this profession? - Casey retorted defiantly, reading in his dark eyes the eternal male interest in any pretty female. She hated that expression!

There really is a certain Katherine Walton on the list of cleaners, - came the voice of Costner, - but she works on the eighth floor. Now her boss is coming up here.

Cancel your order,” Mario said authoritatively. - How less people will know that outsiders are hanging around in my office, so much the better. He let go of the girl's hand and pushed the swivel chair toward her. "Sit down, Casey."

Sit! he ordered, and she gritted her teeth and obeyed.

Yes, I broke the rules, Casey rationalized. But I did apologize! I didn't do anything wrong. Why am I being treated this way?

Now explain why you ended up on this floor, went into the office and hid behind the door?

Mario Bertholdi's tone was hardly friendly.

Casey considered. Or maybe tears, this tried and tested female weapon, will soften it? But, once again stumbling upon the inexorable look of the black eyes of the boss, she changed her mind about crying. Since Mr. Bertholdi already considered her a criminal, it was better to tell him everything honestly and without concealment.

I'm having trouble with a guy who works nights on the eighth floor…” she began.

What kind of problems? Costner asked.

Bertholdi took a close look at the well-shaped figure of the girl, lingering on her full chest, tightly covered with overalls, then felt her long, slender legs with his eyes. Seeing a deep blush spread across Casey's cheeks, he smiled carnivorously.

Look, Costner, at this doll, and you will get the answer to your question.

Casey was outraged by the impudence with which the young Italian undressed her with his eyes, but she continued:

That is why I asked the woman who usually cleans here to swap floors with me for one evening. After much hesitation, she agreed and warned me not to enter the office. But, unfortunately, there were two pairs of double doors...

Well, so what? Mario asked more gently.

Apparently, I mixed them up, and when I realized that I was mistaken, I decided to slowly slip away. But then someone's steps were heard, and I hid in fear. I thought it was the security guard. He would have asked me what I was doing here, and Ruth would have been in serious trouble because of me. It seemed to me that he would not notice me outside the door and would pass by. Of course I was stupid...

The guards leave at six,” Costner said dispassionately. “Mr. Bertholdi arrived on this floor ten minutes ago and there was not a soul here.

I don't know whose steps they were, - Casey started up. - This man stood in the doorway for a few seconds, and then left.

Not understanding why her explanations were questioned, she became flustered and her voice trembled.

Exhaling noisily, Mario Bertholdi looked at Costner.

You can go home, old man. I'll handle this matter myself.

I think it’s better for me to stay and help you…” he began, but the boss interrupted him coldly:

Have you forgotten that you have to attend the dinner party? I've already delayed you for forty minutes already.

Costner met his gaze and realized that he would have to obey, but in parting he nevertheless considered it necessary to remark:

Good luck, Mario.

Thanks for the kind word, - he gritted through his teeth and, closing the door behind the assistant, went straight to Casey.

I'm sorry, dear girl, but I don't believe you. You've landed yourself in a very sticky situation when you heard something that wasn't meant for other people's ears.

I didn't hear anything, believe me. I'm not interested in all this at all ... - Casey murmured, but Mario, not listening to her, continued:

I want to ask you just two questions. First: do you want to keep this position?

Still would! I really need money.

His direct question caused the girl's worst fears.

Perhaps you would not like the woman who, in violation of all the rules, let you into this floor, lose her place?

Casey winced and turned very pale.

Please don't touch Ruth. She is not to blame for anything. This is my mistake, I have to answer.

No, she broke the rules,” Mario repeated in an icy tone. So her fault is no less than yours. And assuming that you work for one of my competitors, then both of you should be financially interested ...

Am I an enemy agent?! What are you?! Casey said in a whistling whisper, staring unblinkingly into the swarthy face of the Italian.

You yourself noted the presence of someone else here, - Mario remarked impassively, - and, I think, not by chance. If an information leak is discovered, then you will have nothing to do with it.

I don't understand what you're talking about, - the girl stammered.

Yes, even if I really wanted to, I could not repeat anything of what you said!

Yeah, - Mario grinned, - so you still remember something, but you just swore that you didn’t hear anything at all.

Intuitively sensing how serious the situation in which she managed to get into, Casey decided that the safest thing was to play dumb.

Bertholdi glanced at his flat gold watch and then back at the girl.

I promise you and your friend will stay here, but on one condition. The event referred to here is to take place on Wednesday, which means that you will be under my supervision for the rest of the time.

P-I'm sorry," Casey stuttered, "I misunderstood you.

Don't worry, baby, I'll pay you well for any inconvenience.

Inconvenience?!

Let's start in order. Do you have a passport?

I'm flying to Italy today, and it looks like there's only one way to keep you from contacting someone on the phone and giving away my secrets. I have to take you with me, - slightly annoyed by her slowness, Mario explained.

You're just out of your mind," Casey whispered hoarsely.

Do you live alone or do you have a family? Ignoring her outburst, he asked.

I live alone, but...

Mario smiled in satisfaction.

That's not expected. Where do you keep your passport?

In the chest of drawers, under the linen, what do you care? Casey shook her head.

He went to the phone without answering and dialed a number.

So you're flying with me to Italy, he said over his shoulder. - Of course, it would be easier to lock you up somewhere for a few days and put a guard on, but I will be calmer if you are nearby.

While the meaning of these words reached Casey, Mario had already quickly given some orders into the handset in his native language, repeating her name and surname several times.

But I swore no one would know! Casey exclaimed nervously as he looked up from the phone for a second.

Alas, this is not enough for me,” he calmly objected. “That's why I just instructed one of my people to get a set of keys to your apartment, which is kept in the personnel department. He will bring your passport directly to the airport.

What right do you have to invade my home? I'm not a thief, and you're not a policeman! - the girl was indignant. - I'm not going anywhere with you!

Here's what I'll tell you. - Mario Bertholdi measured the girl with a studying look. “You can walk out that door and go home right now, because I have no right to hold you back. But to fire you and your friend for flagrant violation of the rules internal regulations can. And I will have to do it! - Casey, who was already approaching the door, twitched and froze in place, and he continued: - If you are really innocent, then just spend a few days in my company, and then everything will return to normal.

His eyes warmed, and some unspoken question appeared in it.

It's just crazy," Casey said slowly. - Well, judge for yourself, why should I risk my place by passing on information to your competitors that I didn’t really understand?

Honey, you can't even imagine how much in question. So, let's go?

Where? Casey snapped.

On the roof. A helicopter is waiting there to take us directly to the airport. - Mario quickly crossed the room, with an iron hand hugged the girl by the fragile shoulders and pushed her into the right direction. “By the way, I usually prefer to travel alone,” he said, and opened steel door leading to the roof.

Then he threw his coat over his shoulders and stepped aside, letting Casey through to the helicopter's ramp. A gust of spring wind swept back the girl's hair and outlined her folding figure under the thin overalls. She shuddered from the cold and capriciously stretched out:

I don't have any warm clothes with me.

Mario stopped and started to take off his coat, but that pissed her off even more.

Don't work hard! I will not accept anything from your hands, even at the risk of catching pneumonia!

And she shrugged.

However, when Casey caught the pilot's gaze full of sincere admiration, her mood improved markedly.

They climbed into the helicopter and Mario said:

At the airport, we will have plenty of time until your passport is delivered. We'll buy you some clothes there.

You are very kind.

Casey said these words with such subtle sarcasm that it was difficult to accuse her of harshness or ingratitude. Mario frowned, wondering if he should get involved in another skirmish, but at that time there was an infernal noise of the engine spinning the propellers, and the helicopter soared sharply upwards.

So, I was intimidated, blackmailed, and then kidnapped, Casey chuckled. So what can I do? Nothing! Otherwise, Ruth, who has a disabled husband in her arms, will suffer.

And Casey herself valued this work. She was saving money for a small bookstore where she started working when she was sixteen years old. Its owner wanted to sell it as soon as possible and retire, and Casey lacked quite a bit to pay him the required amount.

And here is that damned paranoid Mario Bertholdi!.. He must have read a lot of spy novels and now he sees an enemy infiltrator in the first comer!

And yet he has no right to kidnap me, she thought. In addition, she was infuriated by his frank undressing views.

Jimmy Walker looked at me the same way, the girl remembered. This presumptuous fool, apparently, did not have a shadow of a doubt that sooner or later I would give in to his harassment. What can we say about this money bag, which, it seems, already considers me its property ...

Soon they were already at the airport.

Pretending not to care in the least about Casey's irritated silence, Mario led her into the store and without hesitation unhooked a translucent dark suit from the hanger. The jacket and skirt were really impeccably elegant. But there were problems with the size, and the saleswoman had to work hard before she found the right one. Mario, meanwhile, picked up matching long gloves and a hat.

The saleswoman, not without surprise, looked at this strange couple. She was used to the ladies choosing things for themselves, and the men who accompanied them only paid for the purchases.

Mark Levy

Between heaven and earth

Dedicated to Kui

SUMMER 1996

The little alarm clock on the light wood bedside table had just rung. It was half past six, and the room was filled with the golden glow that San Francisco unmistakably recognizes dawn.

The inhabitants of the apartment were asleep - Kali the dog at the foot of the bed on a large carpet, Lauren - buried in a duvet on a large bed. Here, on the top floor of a Victorian house on Green Street, an amazing bliss hovered.

Loren's home consisted of a dining room, as is customary in America, combined with a kitchen, a bedroom, a living room and a spacious bathroom with a window. Light-coloured parquet covered the floor everywhere, except for the bathroom, where it was stenciled with paint into black and white squares. The white walls were decorated with old drawings from antique dealers on Union Street, and the ceiling was lined with wood carvings, expertly crafted by a turn-of-the-century craftsman and tinted with Laurent's caramel paint.

Several jute rugs, sheathed with cord, outlined islands in the dining room and in the living room, by the fireplace. Opposite the hearth - a huge sofa, upholstered in a harsh linen, beckoned to get comfortable. The furniture was lost in the light of unusually beautiful lamps with pleated shades; Lauren has been picking them up one after the other for the last three years.

Lauren, accompanied by the hopeless looks of her colleagues, immediately began to distribute the applicants.

With a skill honed to virtuosity, she spent no more than a few minutes examining each patient, attached a tag, the color of which indicated the degree of seriousness of the situation, ordered the first tests and sent orderlies with a stretcher to the appropriate ward. The distribution of the sixteen men brought in between midnight and a quarter past one ended at exactly twelve-thirty, and the surgeons were able to begin operations at a quarter to one.

Lauren assisted Professor Fernstein on two successive surgeries and only went home after being ordered by a doctor to make it clear that when fatigue overwhelms vigilance, the health of patients could be in danger.

Leaving her "triumph" from the hospital parking lot, Lauren at a decent speed went home through the deserted streets. "I'm too tired and I'm driving too fast," she repeated every minute to fight sleep. However, the mere thought of returning to the emergency room, but not backstage, but right on stage, not as a doctor, but as a patient, was enough to keep himself awake.

She opened the automatic garage door and rolled her old lady inside. Passing along the corridor, she climbed the stairs, jumping over the steps, and with relief entered the apartment.

The hands of the mantel clock showed half past three. In the bedroom, Lauren threw her clothes on the floor. Nude, went to the bar to cook Herb tea. Displayed on the shelf glass bottles there were so many with different collections that they seemed to store herbal scents for every moment of the day.

Lauren put the cup on the table by the head of the head, wrapped herself in a blanket and instantly fell asleep. The day that ended was too, too long, and the one that was about to start required me to get up early. Lauren decided to take advantage of the fact that her two free days finally coincided with the weekend, and agreed to come to friends in Carmel. Justifying the accumulated fatigue, one could, of course, sleep longer, but Lauren did not want to give up an early rise for anything. She loved to greet the dawn on the ocean road that linked San Francisco to Monterrey Bay.

Still half asleep, Lauren found the alarm button and interrupted the ringing. She rubbed her eyes with clenched fists and first addressed Kali, who was lying on the carpet:

Don't look like that, I'm not here anymore.

I'm leaving you for two days, my girl. Mom will pick you up at eleven o'clock. Move over, I'll get up and feed you.

Lauren straightened her legs, yawned with a long yawn, stretching her arms to the ceiling, and jumped up.

Running both hands through her hair, she walked around the counter, opened the refrigerator, yawned again, got butter, jam, toast, a can of dog food, an opened package of Parma ham, a piece of gouda cheese, two cans of milk, a can of applesauce, two natural yogurts , cereal, half a grapefruit; the second half remained on the bottom shelf. Kali watched Lauren, nodding her head over and over again. Loren gave the dog terrible eyes and shouted:

I am hungry!

As always, she began by preparing breakfast in a heavy clay bowl for her pet. Then she prepared breakfast for herself and sat down at the writing table in the living room with a tray.

Lauren had only to turn her head a little to see Sossalito with its houses scattered on the slopes of the hills, the Golden Gate Bridge, stretching out as a connecting line between the two shores of the bay, the fishing port of Tybourne, and directly below it - the roofs that ran down to the bay in ledges. She opened the window; the city was quiet. Only the languid horns of cargo ships sailing somewhere to the east mingled with the cries of seagulls and set the rhythm of the morning.

Lauren stretched again and with an appetite healthy person started a light giant breakfast.

The night before, she did not have dinner in the hospital, there was not enough time. Three times I tried to swallow a sandwich, but each attempt ended with the fact that the pager began to rattle, calling for the next emergency patient. When someone came across Lauren and spoke, she invariably replied: "I'm in a hurry."

After swallowing most of the food, Lauren put the dishes in the sink and went to the bathroom.

She slid her fingers along the wooden slats of the blinds, causing them to turn, stepped over the white cotton shirt that had slipped to her feet, and stepped into the shower. Under a strong stream hot water Lauren woke up completely.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around her hips. She grimaced in front of the mirror, put on a little make-up; I pulled on jeans, a sweater, pulled off my jeans, put on a skirt, took off my skirt, and got back into my jeans. She took a tapestry bag out of the closet, threw in a few things, a travel bag, and felt almost ready for the weekend. She assessed the scale of the mess - clothes on the floor, scattered towels, dishes in the sink, an unmade bed - put on a resolute air and declared loudly, referring to everything that was in the apartment:

Everyone be quiet, do not grumble! I'll be back tomorrow early and do the cleaning for the whole week!

Then she grabbed a pencil, a piece of paper and wrote a note, which she attached to the refrigerator door with a large frog-shaped magnet:

Thank you for the dog, the main thing is don't clean anything, I'll do it when I get back.

I'll pick you up for Cali on Sunday around 5 o'clock. I love you. Your favorite Doctor.

She put on her coat, stroked the dog affectionately on the head, kissed him on the forehead, and slammed the door behind her.

She left, she left, - Lauren repeated, getting into the car. - I can’t believe it, it’s a real miracle, if only you were still wound up. You can sneeze once for your own pleasure. I'll put syrup on your engine before I throw it in the landfill, replace you with a car stuffed with electronics, it won't have a starter or whims in the cold in the morning, you understand me well, I hope?

It must be assumed that the elderly four-wheeled Englishwoman was shocked by the arguments of the hostess, because the engine started working. The day promised to be wonderful.

Lauren started off slowly so as not to wake her neighbors. Green Street - beautiful street, framed by trees and houses, here people knew each other, as in a village.

Over six intersections at Van Ness AO, one of the major arteries that traverse the city, Loren shifted to top speed.

In the pale light, filled with color tints every minute, a dazzling prospect of the city was gradually revealed. The car sped through the deserted streets. As if getting drunk, Lauren enjoyed every moment.

Sharp turn on Sutter Street. Noise and tinkling in the steering. Steep descent to Union Square. Six thirty minutes, music blaring from the speakers of the cassette recorder, Lauren is happy for the first time in a long time. To hell with stress, hospital, duties. The weekend that belongs only to her begins, and not a minute should be lost.

Union Square is silent. The storefront lights have already been extinguished, and in some places tramps are still sleeping on the benches. The parking watchman is dozing in the booth. In a few hours, crowds of tourists and citizens will pour onto the sidewalks. They flock to the big shops around the square to shop. Trams will go one after another, a long line of cars will line up at the entrance to the underground parking lot, and in the square above it, street musicians will begin to exchange melodies for cents and dollars.

"Triumph" devours asphalt, the speed of the car is higher. The traffic lights are green. Lauren takes a quick glance in her rearview mirror to better time the turn onto Polk Street, one of the four streets that run along the park. Lauren makes a turn in front of the giant facade of the Masiz store building. The perfect curve, the brakes squealing a little, the strange sound, the series of taps, everything happens very quickly, the taps merge together, mix, crumble into separate sounds.

Sudden crack! The dialogue between the road and the wheels goes astray. All ties are broken. The car moves sideways, it skids on the still wet pavement. Lauren's face contorts. Hands clutching the steering wheel, and the steering wheel becomes too docile, it is ready to spin endlessly in the emptiness that sucks up the rest of the day. The Triumph continues to slide, time seems to relax and suddenly stretch, as if in a long yawn. Lauren is dizzy, in fact, the visible world is spinning around at amazing speed. The machine thought it was a spinning top. The wheels hit the pavement abruptly, the hood, rising and clasping the fire hydrant, continues to reach for the sky. In a final effort, the car turns on its own axis and pushes out the mistress, who has suddenly become too heavy for a pirouette that defies the laws of gravity. Lauren's body, before hitting the front of a large store, soars into the air. The vast display case explodes, shattering into a carpet of shrapnel.

The glass sheet takes on the body of a young woman who rolls on the floor, then freezes, scattering her hair in a pile. broken glass. And the old "triumph" ends his run and career, rolling over on his back, half on the sidewalk. And here is the last whim of the old Englishwoman - steam escapes from her insides, and she emits a farewell sigh.

Lauren is motionless and serene. Linden's features are calm, breathing is slow and even. There is a shadow of a slight smile on slightly parted lips, eyes are closed; she seems to be sleeping. Long strands frame the face, right hand on the stomach.

In the booth, the parking attendant screwed up his eyes. He saw everything. Then he will say: “Like in the movies, but everything here is real.” He jumps up, runs outside, comes to his senses and rushes back, frantically grabs the phone and dials 911. Calls for help, and help leaves.

Canteen at San Francisco Memorial Hospital - a large room with a white tiled floor and yellow painted walls. Rectangular plastic tables are placed along the central aisle, at the end of which is a vending machine for drinks and vacuum-packed food.

Dr. Philip Stern was dozing, leaning his chest on one of the tables, a cup of cold coffee in his hands. A little way off, his partner was rocking back in his chair, staring into space. The pager rang in Dr. Philip Stern's pocket. He opened one eye and, grumbling, glanced at his watch; shift ended in fifteen minutes.

Wow! What do you mean no luck! Frank, call the switchboard for me.

Frank picked up the phone hanging nearby, listened to the message, hung up and turned to Stern.

Get up, this is us, Union Square, code three, it looks like a serious matter ...

Two interns of the ambulance brigade headed for the service entrance, where a car was already waiting for them with the engine turned on and a flashing light. Two short siren signals marked the exit.

Quarter to seven. There was not a soul on Market Street, and the car moved at a decent speed through the early morning.

Paskudstvo, and by the way, the day will be good ...

What are you dissatisfied with?

The fact that I'm exhausted and fall asleep, and good weather will pass by.

Turn left, let's go under the brick.

Frank obeyed, and the ambulance moved up Polk Street towards Union Square.

Come on, press, I see them.

When the interns moved in large area, they were struck by the skeleton of the old "triumph", clasping a fire hydrant.

Wow, he didn’t miss, ”Stern remarked, jumping out of the ambulance.

Two policemen were already there, and one of them led Philip to the remains of the display case.

There, it's a woman, and she's a doctor, apparently from the emergency room. Maybe you know her?

Stern, who was already kneeling in front of Lauren's body, yelled at his partner to run faster. Armed with scissors, he cut through jeans and a sweater, exposing the skin. On the slender left leg, a curvature was visible, surrounded by a large hematoma, which means a fracture. There were no other bruises at first glance.

Give me suckers and drip, she has a thready pulse and no pressure, breathing 48, a wound on her head, closed fracture left thigh with internal bleeding. Let's get two tires... Familiar? From ours?

I saw her, an intern in the ER, working with Fernstein. The only one who is not afraid of him.

Philip did not react to the last remark. Frank attached seven suction cups with sensors from the monitor to the woman's chest, connected each of them with a wire of a certain color to a portable electrocardiograph and connected the device. The screen immediately lit up.

What's on the monitor? Philip asked.

No good, she leaves. Blood pressure 80 over 60, pulse 140, cyanotic lips, I'm getting endotracheal tube number seven ready to intubate.

Dr. Stern had just inserted a catheter and handed a bottle of solution to the policeman.

Hold it up, I need both hands.

Switching for a second from police officer to his partner, he ordered five hundred milligrams of adrenaline to be injected into the perfusion tube and the defibrillator immediately ready. At the same time, Lauren's temperature began to drop sharply, and the signal from the electrocardiograph became uneven. A red heart blinked in the lower corner of the green screen, followed by a short, repetitive beep, a warning signal of imminent fibrillation.

Well, girl, hold on! Somewhere inside is bleeding. What is her belly like?

Mild, maybe bleeding in the leg. Ready for intubation?

In less than a minute, Lauren was intubated, and an adapter was put on the breathing tube. Stern asked for a general reading, Frank replied that his breathing was stable, his blood pressure had dropped to 50. Before he could finish the sentence, instead of a short squeak, the device burst into a shrill whistle.

Done, she's fibrillating, let's go 300 milliamps. Philip grabbed the electrodes by the handles and rubbed them against each other.

Normally, there is a current, - Frank shouted.

Aside, I give an electric shock!

Under the action of the discharge, the body sharply arched its stomach to the sky and again flattened itself.

No, it doesn't work.

Digit 300, again.

Turn it up to 360, come on.

To the side!

The body twitched, arched, and fell again without movement.

Give me another five milligrams of adrenaline and a 360 shock. Out of the way!

New discharge, new spasm.

Still fibrillating! We lose it, make a unit of lidocaine in perfa and another discharge.

To the side!

The body was thrown.

We inject five hundred milligrams of beryllium, and immediately prepare a 380 discharge!

Another electric shock, Lauren's heart seemed to begin to respond to the drugs administered, a stable rhythm appeared, but only for a few moments: the whistling, which had broken off for a few seconds, resumed with renewed vigor.

Heart failure! Frank shouted.

Immediately, Philip frantically began to do chest compressions and artificial respiration.

Without stopping trying to bring the woman back to life, he begged: “Don’t be an idiot, the weather is great today, come back, what have we done wrong to you ...” Then he ordered his partner to prepare a discharge. Frank tried to cool his ardor come on, they say, it's no use. But Stern did not back down; he yelled, demanding that Frank charge the defibrillator. The companion obeyed.

Once again, Philip commanded: "To the side!". The body arched again, but the line on the electrocardiogram remained straight. Philip began to massage again, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He realized that he was powerless, and he despaired of this.

Frank saw that Philip's behavior went beyond logic. Already a few minutes ago he should have stopped and recorded the time of death, but in spite of everything he continued to massage the heart.

Another half a milligram of adrenaline and raise the charge to 400.

Leave it, Philip, it's pointless, she's dead. What are you doing…

Shut up and do what they say!

Frank shrugged, injected a new dose of the drug into the perfusion tube, charged the defibrillator. He set the threshold at 400 milliamps; Stern, without even saying "Away", sent a discharge. Under the influence of the current strength, the chest abruptly broke away from the ground. The line remained hopelessly straight. Philip did not even look at her, he already knew this even before the last time he applied the electric shock. Philip punched the woman's chest.

Damn, damn!

Frank grabbed Philip by the shoulders and squeezed hard.

Stop it, Philippe, you're out of your mind, calm down! Record death, and fold. You're starting to give up, it's time for you to rest.

Philip was covered in sweat, his eyes wandered. Frank raised his voice, wrapped both hands around his friend's head, forcing him to focus his eyes.

He once again ordered Philip to calm down and, since there was no reaction, gave him a slap in the face. Philip obediently accepted the blow. Frank softened his tone: "Let's get in the car, buddy, pull yourself together."

Philip, kneeling and crouching, quietly said: "Seven ten minutes, she died." Then, turning to the policeman, who breathlessly still held the transfusion bottle, he said: "Take her away, it's over, there's nothing more we can do." Philip got up, put his hand on his partner's shoulder and led him to the ambulance. "Let's go, we're coming back."

They moved from their place, poking in different directions, as if they did not understand what they were doing. The policemen followed the doctors with their eyes, watched them climb into the car.

Something is wrong with the doctors! one of the policemen said.

The second looked at his colleague:

Have you ever worked on a case where one of our guys got busted?

Then you won't understand what it's like for them. Come on, help me, pick it up carefully and put it in the car.

The ambulance had already rounded the corner when the police lifted Lauren's limp body, laid her on a stretcher and covered her with a blanket.

Several lingering onlookers dispersed - there was nothing else to look at.

In the car, after a long silence, Frank spoke first:

What's gotten into you, Philip?

She is not thirty, she is a doctor, she is too beautiful to die.

But that's exactly what she did! Well, beautiful, well, doctor! She could be ugly and work in a supermarket. This is fate, and nothing can be done about it, its hour has come ... Let's go back - go to sleep, try to put it all out of your head.

Two blocks behind them, the cops pulled into an intersection just as a taxi decided to skip a yellow light. The enraged policeman slammed on the brakes and turned on the siren, the taxi driver stopped and apologized. Because of the push, Lauren's body slid off the stretcher. I had to fix it. Both policemen got back, the younger one took Lauren by the ankles, the older one by the hands. His face froze as he looked at the young woman's breasts.

I tell you, breathe. Drive to the hospital!

It's necessary! I immediately realized that the doctors are nuts.

Shut up and drive. I don't understand anything, but they'll hear from me again.

The police car swirled past ambulance under the astonished glances of the two interns - they were "their policemen". Philip wanted to turn on the siren and follow him, but his partner began to object, he was completely exhausted.

Why did they get so carried away? Philip asked.

How do I know, - answered Frank, - maybe they are not the same. All in one face.

Ten minutes later, the doctors parked next to the police car, the doors of which were still open. Philip got out of the car and went to the IIOKOTI emergency room. Speeding up his pace, before reaching the reception desk and without even saying hello, he turned to the duty officer:

What room is she in?

Who, Dr. Stern? the nurse asked.

A young woman who has just entered.

In the third block, Fernstein came up to her.

She seems to be from his team.

A policeman came up behind him and clapped Philip on the shoulder.

What do you think?

Sorry?

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but at least a hundred times I'm sorry! What's the point! How could he claim the woman was dead when she was breathing in the police car? “Are you aware that if it weren’t for me, she would have been stuffed alive in the refrigerator?” Nothing, he will not leave this matter like that!

At that moment, Dr. Fernstein came out of the block and, pretending not to pay the slightest attention to the policeman, turned to Philip:

Stern, how many doses of adrenaline did you give her?

Four times five milligrams, the intern replied.

The professor began to scold him, stating that such behavior indicated excessive therapeutic zeal, and then, turning to the policeman, explained that Lauren was dead long before Dr. Stern announced her death.

The medical team's mistake, Fernstein said, was that they were too stubborn in attending to this patient's heart at the expense of other health insurance users. According to him, the injected fluid accumulated in the pericardial area: “When you braked sharply, the fluid entered the heart, which reacted at a purely chemical level and began to beat.” Alas, this does not change anything in the victim's cerebral demise. As for the heart, as soon as the liquid is absorbed, it will stop, "if it has not already happened." He invited the policeman to apologize to Dr. Stern for his completely inappropriate nervousness and invited the latter to come to his office before leaving.

The policeman turned to Philip and muttered; “I see that they don’t hand over their own here either ...” Then he turned around and left. Although the doors of the emergency room immediately closed behind the policeman, he could be heard slamming the doors of his car.

Stern remained standing, bracing both hands on the receptionist desk and narrowing his eyes at the nurse on duty. "What finally happens?" She shrugged her shoulders and reminded that Fernstein was waiting for Philip.

Stern knocked on Lauren's boss's door. Fernstein invited him in. Standing at the desk with his back to the newcomer and looking out the window, the professor was obviously waiting for Stern to speak. And Philip began to speak. He admitted that he did not understand anything from Fernstein's explanations. He cut off Stern dryly:

Listen to me well, colleague .. I told this officer the easiest way to confuse his head so that he would not write a report and ruin your career. What you have done is unacceptable for a person with your experience. We must be able to put up with death when it is inevitable. We are not gods and are not responsible for fate. This woman died before you arrived, and stubbornness could cost you dearly.

But how do you explain the fact that she began to breathe?

I don't explain and I shouldn't. We don't know everything. She's dead, Dr. Stern. Another thing is that you do not like it. But she left. I don't care that her lungs are working and that her heart is beating on its own. The main thing is the electroencephalogram is direct. Cerebral death is irreversible. We'll wait for the rest to follow and send her down to the morgue. Dot.

But you can't do that, look at the facts!

Fernstein's irritation manifested itself in a tilt of his head and a rise in tone. He won't let anyone teach him. Does Stern know the cost of a day in intensive care? Or does Stern believe that the hospital will allocate one bed to keep the "vegetable" in a state of artificial life? He urges the intern to grow up. He refuses to put his loved ones in front of the need to spend week after week at the head of an immobile, mindless being, whose life is supported solely by apparatuses. He refuses to take responsibility for this kind of decision just to satisfy the vanity of one doctor.

Stern was ordered to take a shower and disappear from sight. The intern did not move, he remained standing in front of the professor, repeating his arguments over and over again. When he made the declaration of death, his patient's heart and respiratory activity had been absent for ten minutes. Her heart and lungs stopped functioning. Yes, he persisted, because for the first time in his medical practice he felt that this woman did not intend to die. Philip saw in the depths of her open eyes that she was struggling and trying to swim out. Then he began to fight with her, even if it went beyond the usual limits, and ten minutes later, contrary to all logic, contrary to everything that he had been taught, his heart began to beat again, his lungs began to inhale and exhale air.

“You are right,” continued Philippe, “we are doctors and we do not know everything. This woman is also a doctor.” He begged Fernstein to give her a chance. There are cases when people came back to life after six months of coma, although no one understood anything. No one has ever been able to do what she did, no matter how much it costs to keep her in the hospital. "Don't let her go, she doesn't want to, and she told us that."

The professor paused before answering:

Dr. Stern, Lauren was one of my students, she had a difficult temper, but she had a real talent, I respected her very much and had high hopes for her career, as well as for yours; the conversation is over.

Stern left the office without closing the door. Frank was waiting for him in the hallway.

What are you doing here?

What's wrong with your head, Philip, do you know who you spoke to in that tone?

So what?

The guy you were talking to is a professor, he knew this woman, he worked with her for fifteen months, he saved more lives than you might be able to save in your entire medical career. You must learn to control yourself. Honestly, sometimes you go crazy.

Get off me, Frank, I've already received my portion of moralizing.

Dr. Fernstein closed the office door, picked up the phone, hesitated, hung it up, took a few steps towards the window, and resolutely returned to the phone. He asked to be connected to the operating block.

This is Fernstein, get ready, we'll operate in ten minutes, I'll send the map now.

He hung up the phone carefully, shook his head, and left the office. At the door he ran nose to nose with Professor Williams.

How are you? he asked. - Serve you coffee?

No I can not.

What are you doing?

Stupidity. I'm going to do something stupid. I need to run, I'll call ...

Fernstein entered the operating block; the green robe was too narrow for him at the waist. The nurse pulled sterile gloves over his hands. In a huge room, the operations team surrounded Lauren's body. Behind her head, a monitor pulsed with the rhythm of her breathing and heartbeat.

How are the indicators? Fernstein asked the anesthesiologist.

Stable, very stable. Pulse sixty-five, blood pressure one hundred twenty over eighty. She is sleeping, her blood gases are normal, you can start.

Professor Fernstein used a scalpel to make an incision in the thigh along the fracture. Starting to push the muscles, he turned to the whole team. Calling them "his dear colleagues," he explained that they were about to see a twenty-year-old professor of surgery begin a surgical intervention that was at the level of a fifth-year student: hip repositioning - Do you know why I'm doing this?

Because no fifth-year student would agree to perform a hip reposition on a patient who has been cerebrally dead for more than two hours. For this reason, he asks not to ask questions, things are here for a maximum of fifteen minutes, and he is grateful to them for being included in the game.

Lauren is one of Fernstein's students, and everyone present in the operating room understood the surgeon and were ready to support him.

The radiologist came in and held out the pictures - the results of the scan. The images showed a hematoma in the occipital lobe.

It was decided to do a puncture to relieve the pressure. A hole was made in the back of the head, and a thin needle, the movement of which was reflected on the monitor, passed through the meninges. The surgeon directed her to the hematoma area. The brain appears to have been unaffected. The probe began to suck blood fluid. Almost immediately intracranial pressure began to fall. The anesthesiologist immediately increased the oxygen content of the mixture supplied through the endotracheal tube to increase the saturation of the brain with oxygen. Released from pressure, the cells returned to their normal function, little by little removing accumulated toxins.

Every minute the atmosphere in the operating room changed. It was as if everyone gradually forgot that they were operating on a clinically dead human being. Everyone joined in the work, one polished professional gesture replaced another. The operation was carried out methodically and accurately.

Five hours later, Professor Fernstein clapped his gloves, pulling them off his hands. He asked to sew up the incisions and transfer the patient to the recovery room. Ordered that the ventilators be turned off after the anaesthesia wore off. He once again thanked the team for participating in the operation and expressed his gratitude in advance for their restrained behavior when discussing this case in the future. Before leaving the operating room, the professor asked one of the nurses, Betty, to warn him when she turned off the machines. Leaving the block, he quickly went to the elevators. Passing through the emergency room, he turned to the duty officer and wished to know if Dr. Stern was still in the hospital. The girl answered in the negative: Stern left, completely depressed. The professor thanked her and left, warning her that he would be in his office if needed.

Lauren was transferred from the operating room to the recovery room. Betty hooked up a heart monitor, an encephalograph, and an intubation cannula for artificial respiration. Surrounded by all this equipment, Lauren looked like an astronaut in her bed. The nurse took a blood sample and left. The sleeping patient looked serene, her closed eyelids seemed to outline the world of sleep, sweet and deep.

Half an hour passed and Betty called Fernstein. She reported that the anesthesia had worn off. The professor asked about vital signs. Betty said what he expected - the indicators remained stable. She insistently asked for confirmation of instructions on how to proceed.

Switch off breathing apparatus. I'm going down now.

And the professor hung up.

Betty entered the room, disconnected the tube from the cannula, leaving the patient to breathe on her own. A few seconds later, she removed the endotracheal tube, freeing the trachea. Pulled back a strand of hair from Lauren's forehead, looked at her with tenderness and went out, turning off the light. The room was now lit only green light encephalograph. The line on it remained straight.

After about an hour, the oscilloscope signal faltered, at first only a little. Suddenly, the dot that marked the end of the line rushed up, making a big peak, then rapidly began to fall down and finally returned to a horizontal line.

There were no witnesses to this anomaly; Betty returned to the ward only an hour later. She took Lauren's readings, unrolled a few turns of the recording tape that constantly crawled out of the apparatus, found an anomalous peak, furrowed her brows, and looked at a few more turns. Noting that there were no further peaks on the tape, Betty dropped the tape and did not ask questions. Picking up the phone, she called Fernstein:

It's me, we have a case of deep coma with stable parameters. What should I do?

Find a bed on the fifth floor; thanks Betty. Fernstein hung up.

WINTER 1996

Arthur pressed the button on the remote that opened the garage door and rolled the car. Climbing up the inner stairs, he entered his new apartment. He slammed the door shut with his foot, put down his bag, took off his coat, and collapsed on the couch. A couple dozen boxes piled up in the middle of the living room appealed to his sense of duty. He changed and began to unpack the cartons, placing the books on the shelves. The parquet creaked underfoot.

Much later in the evening, when he had finished, he stacked the empty boxes, vacuumed through the rooms, and finished setting up the kitchen nook. Looked around. I seem to be developing manic tendencies, he told himself.

Going to the bathroom, he hesitated for a second, choosing between a bath and a shower. I stopped in the tub, turned on the water, turned on the little radio on the windowsill next to the closet, undressed, and with a deep sigh of relief climbed into the water. Immediately plunged head first several times, Peggy Lee singing "Fever" on shortwave. Arthur was surprised. The sound was clearly stereo, although the device itself is mono. In addition, listening, Arthur found that the clicking of his fingers that accompanied the melody was coming from the closet. Intrigued, he climbed out of the water and crept up to the doors. The sound became more distinct. He froze in indecision, then took a deep breath and flung both doors open. And he was dumbfounded.

Among the hangers sat a woman dressed in an unpretentious dress, barefoot, her eyes closed. Absorbed by the rhythm of the song, she sang along and snapped her fingers.

Who are you and what are you doing here? Arthur asked. The woman sighed and opened her eyes.

Can you see me?

Of course I see you.

She seemed shocked that he saw her.

After assuring her that he was neither blind nor deaf, Arthur again asked what she was doing there. Instead of answering, the woman said that it was amazing. Arthur didn't see anything "amazing" and repeated the question in a much more annoyed tone: what is she doing in his bathroom at night?

I don't think you quite understand," she said. - Touch my hand!

This puzzled him, but she continued to insist:

Touch my hand. You are welcome!

I won't touch you! What's happening?

She took Arthur by the wrist and asked if he felt her touch. With the air of a man driven to the limit, he assured that he felt when she touched him, and that he could see and hear her wonderfully. For the fourth time, he asked what she was doing in the closet in his bathroom. She ignored the question and very happily repeated how “incredibly great” that he could see, hear and touch her.

Tired after a hard day, Arthur was in no mood to joke.

Enough, miss. Is this my partner's joke? Who you are? A girl as a housewarming gift?

Are you always this rude? Do I look like a prostitute?

Arthur sighed.

No, you don't look like a prostitute, you just hid in my closet at almost midnight.

By the way, you are standing naked, not me!

Arthur winced, grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his hips, and tried to regain his balance. He raised his voice.

Okay, jokes aside. You're going to get out now, go back to your room and tell Paul that this is very average, very, very average.

She said she didn't know Paul and thought it best to tone it down. After all, she wasn't deaf either, it was the others who didn't hear her, but she heard them perfectly.

He replied that he was very tired and absolutely did not understand what was happening. She looks extremely aroused, but he just finished arranging things and wants to be left alone.

Be so kind, go to your room and, by the way, get out of the closet in the end.

Take your time, it's not that easy, I haven't reached absolute accuracy yet, though last days got much better.

What has gotten better in recent days?

Close your eyes, I'll try.

You try what?

Get out of the closet, is that what you want? Well, close your eyes, I need to concentrate. And shut up.

You are completely crazy!

Ugh! Stop arguing, shut up and close your eyes, we won't bicker all night.

Discouraged, Arthur obeyed.

Not bad, too close to the couch, but not bad.

He hurried out of the bathroom and saw a young woman sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. She looked like nothing had happened.

You left the carpets, I love that, but that painting on the wall is disgusting.

I hang pictures however I want, where I want, and I'm going to go to bed, so if you don't want to say who you are, don't. Go away! Get away home!

But this is my home! That is, it was. Everything is so confusing...

Arthur shook his head. He explained that he rented this apartment ten days ago and that this was his house.

Yes. I know you're my posthumous tenant; the situation is funny.

What are you carrying? The real estate agent told me that the owner of the apartment is a woman in her late seventies. And what is a "posthumous tenant"?

She would be pleased to hear - she is already seventy-two, this is my mother, and now she is my legal guardian. The real owner is me.

Do you have an official guardian?

Yes, under the circumstances it would be extremely difficult for me to sign the papers.

Are you being treated in a hospital?

Yes, that's the least you can say.

They must be very worried there. What kind of hospital is this, I'll accompany you.

Tell me, do you really take me for a runaway lunatic?

Well no…

First a slut, now a lunatic - isn't that too much for a first date?

He didn't really care if she was a call girl or a natural lunatic, he was completely exhausted and wanted to sleep.

However, she did not pay attention to his words and continued in the same spirit.

How do you see me? she asked.

I do not understand the question.

What am I? I don't see myself in the mirror, what am I?

Excited. You are very excited.

I meant physically.

Arthur hesitated, then described her: a tall brown-haired long hair, very big eyes, beautiful mouth, gentle face, in contrast to the behavior; mentioned graceful plasticity and thin hands with Mine fingers.

If I asked you how to get to the metro, would you tell me about all the transfers?

I'm sorry, I didn't understand.

Do you always look at women this way?

How did you get in, do you have a duplicate key?

I do not need them. It's so incredible that you see me.

She repeated once again what a miracle it was for her to be seen. Declaring that she liked the way he described her, she invited him to sit next to her.

Arthur realized that he had no choice. And although his only desire was to go to sleep, he sat down next to the woman and listened to the most incredible story of all that have ever been heard.

Her name was Lauren Kline, she was a medical intern and was in a serious car accident six months ago.

Since then I have been in a coma. No, wait, let me explain.

She didn't remember anything about the accident. I came to my senses in the ward after the operation. The sensations were the strangest: she heard everything that was said around, but she could neither move nor speak.

At first she thought it was the effects of anesthesia.

I was wrong, the hours went by, and I could not recover.

She continued to feel everything, but was unable to communicate with the outside world. Deciding that she was paralyzed, she experienced the biggest fear of her life.

You have no idea what I had to go through. To remain a prisoner of your own body for life ...

She tried her best to die, but it's hard to end a life when you can't move a finger. The mother was sitting by her bed. She mentally begged her mother to suffocate her with a pillow.

And then a doctor entered the room, she recognized his voice, it was her professor.

Mrs Kline asked him if her daughter could hear anything when spoken to. Fernstein replied that he did not know, but studies show that people in her position can pick up signals from the outside world, so everything that is said in the presence of the patient should be extremely careful.

Oddly enough, she felt relieved - her body was fine. The diagnosis is not too comforting, but it is not final either.

Complete paralysis is irreversible. And in the case of a deep coma, there is always hope, even the smallest one, - Lauren added.

Week followed week, and each was longer than the previous one. She lived them, eating memories and thoughts about the world around. One night, when Lauren was dreaming about life on the other side of the ward door, she imagined a corridor, nurses running around with armfuls of medical records or pushing carts, colleagues moving from one room to another…

And then it happened for the first time: I found myself in the middle of the corridor, which I represented with such force. At first I thought that my imagination played such a trick on me - I knew the situation well, because this is the hospital where I work. But everything around was shocking with reality. I saw people walking, how Betty opened the closet, took out compresses from there and closed it again, how Stefan walked by, rubbing his head. He has a nervous tic, he always does that.

She heard the noise of the elevator, smelled the food being served by the attendants.

Lauren was not seen or heard by anyone. People passed nearby, not even trying to go around her, completely unaware of her presence. Feeling tired, she returned to her body.

In the following days, Lauren learned to move around the hospital. She thought about the dining room and immediately found herself there, remembered the admissions department - and oops! she's already there. After three months of exercise, she was already able to move away from the hospital complex. So she shared dinner with a French couple at one of her favorite restaurants, watched half a movie at the cinema, spent a few hours at her mother's apartment.

I didn't do it again; it was too hard to be around and not be able to say anything.

Kali felt her presence and whimpered as she ran in circles; it drove Lauren to madness.

Then she came back here: after all, this is her home, and here she felt best.

I live in absolute solitude. You have no idea what it means not to be able to talk to anyone, to be completely transparent, not to exist in anyone's life. Now do you understand how surprised and excited I was when you spoke to me there in the closet, and when I realized that you were seeing me? I don’t know why this happened… But if only this would continue, if only I could communicate with you, I have accumulated so many things that I would like to express!

The feverish flow of phrases gave way to silence. Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. She looked at Arthur, ran her hand over her cheek and under her nose.

Do you think I'm crazy?

Arthur calmed down; the emotion of the woman touched, and the amazing story captivated him.

No, all this is, how to say, exciting, surprising, unusual. I do not know what to say. I would like to help you, but I have no idea what to do.

Let me stay here, I'll be like a mouse, I won't bother you.

Do you really believe in everything you've been told?

Didn't you believe a single word? Do you tell yourself that a completely crazy girl is sitting opposite? Then I have no chance.

Arthur offered Lauren a simple move. If at midnight she found herself nose to nose with an aroused man who was hiding in her bathroom closet and trying to explain that he was some kind of ghost of a man in a coma - what would she think and how would she react?

Lauren's face softened, a smile breaking through her tears. Finally, she admitted that the first thing she would certainly do was yell; so he has extenuating circumstances.

He thanked.

Arthur, I beg you, you must believe me. This cannot be imagined.

Not at all, my companion is quite capable of writing a worse thing.

Finally, forget about your companion! He has nothing to do with it, this is not a prank ...

When Arthur asked how she knew his name, she replied that she had been here long before he moved. So, she saw him during the inspection of the apartment and when he and the real estate agent signed the lease in the kitchen. She was here when the boxes were delivered, and when, unpacking them, he broke the model of the aircraft. In fairness, she must admit that, despite her sympathy, she was then greatly amused by his indignation. She also saw how he hung this mediocre daub.

You are crazy: move the sofa twenty times before putting on the only appropriate place... I just wanted to suggest ... I have been here with you since the first day. All the time.

And when I'm in the shower, and when I'm in bed?

I don't like to peek. But I can say that you are well built. Even very much, if, of course, you do not pay attention to excess fat.

Arthur furrowed his brows. What she said was reassuring. However, it seemed to Arthur that he was walking in circles; the story of a woman did not climb into any gates. Does she want to believe her story? You are welcome. Why should he dissuade her? He's not a psychiatrist.

Arthur's eyes were closed, and to put an end to all this, he suggested that the woman stay for the night - he would lie down in the living room on the sofa, "which he put on with such difficulty Right place”, and she will have a bed in the bedroom. And tomorrow she will return to her place, to the hospital, or wherever she pleases, and they will go their separate ways.

But Lauren disagreed. She stood up, determined to make him listen to her, and in one breath she listed everything she had witnessed in the last days.

She recounted the day before yesterday telephone conversation Arthur with Carol Ann. “Carol Ann hung up immediately after you issued a maxim, by the way, very pompous, explaining why you do not want to return to a showdown. Believe me!"

She was reminded of the two cups he had broken while unpacking the boxes. "Believe me!"

She recalled how he overslept, and then scalded in the shower. "Believe me!"

She also reminded him of how he, furious, had been looking for the keys to the car for a long time. "Yes, trust me, damn it!"

By the way, in her opinion, he is very absent-minded, the keys were on the table at the entrance.

“And when you were eating a salami sandwich, you put a stain on your jacket and you had to change before going out. Now do you believe me?"

Why are you spying on me?

What does “spying” have to do with me, too, Watergate! Maybe you will start looking for "bugs"?

Why not! At least it makes more sense than your story... Really?

Take your car keys!

Where are we going?

To the hospital, look at me.

Now?! It’s almost one in the morning, and I’ll show up at the hospital on the other side of the city and ask the nurse on duty to do the courtesy of taking me to the ward to the woman whose ghost showed up in my apartment. And I’ll add that I don’t know this woman, and that she is very stubborn, and that I want to sleep, and that this is the only way to get rid of her ...

Do you know any other?

What is "other"?

Another way. You still won't fall asleep.

God, why? Why did this happen to me?

You don't believe in God, you yourself said on the phone to your partner when discussing the contract: “Paul, I don't believe in God. If we get this contract, then only because we were the best, and if we miss it, then it will be necessary to figure out and understand where we are wrong. Now, think for five minutes where you could be wrong, that's all I ask. Believe me! I need you, you are the only person! ..

Arthur picked up the phone and dialed his companion's phone number.

I woke you up?

No, it's only one in the morning, and I was waiting for your call to go to bed, - Paul answered.

Why? Should I have called?

No, you shouldn't have called; yes, you woke me up. What do you want?

I want to hand the phone to someone and tell you that your jokes are getting dumber and dumber.

Arthur handed the phone to Lauren and asked to speak to his companion. She could not pick up the phone and explained to him that she could not hold anything in her hands. Paul got tired of waiting and asked who Arthur was talking to. Arthur grinned and, with the look of a winner, pressed the speakerphone button on the device.

Can you hear me, Paul?

Yes, I can hear you. Say what are you up to? I would like to sleep.

I'd like to sleep too, shut up for a second. Talk to him, Lauren, now talk!

She shrugged.

As you please. Hello Paul. Of course you can't hear me...

Okay, Arthur, it's too late to call and keep quiet on the phone.

Answer her.

The person who just spoke to you.

You are the person who just talked to me, and I answer you.

Have you heard anyone else?

Tell me, are you, by any chance, Joan of Arc, who heard voices calling on her to save the king and France?

Lauren looked at Arthur with sympathy.

Arthur shook his head; well, even if the two conspired, it wasn't easy to buy it.

Over the speakerphone, Paul could be heard asking again who Arthur was talking to. Arthur asked Paul to forget about everything and apologized for the late call. Worried, Paul asked if everything was in order and if he needed to come. Arthur assured that everything was in order, and did not forget to thank.

Okay, not at all, handsome; wake me up whenever you want, because of any bullshit and without any hesitation, you and I are partners in joy and in sorrow. So if you have a grief like this, wake me up and we'll share it. So, can I sleep, or do you have anything else?

Good night, Paul.

Both hung up.

Take me to the hospital, we would have been there a long time ago.

I won't take you anywhere. I don't believe in your fantasies. I'm tired, miss, I want to sleep ... So either you have a bedroom, and I have a sofa, or you go home. This is my last suggestion.

Well, you're even more stubborn than me. Go to your bedroom, I don't need a bed.

And what will you do? - Do you care?

Yes, it does, period.

I'll stay here in the living room.

Only until tomorrow morning, and then...

Yes, until tomorrow morning, thanks for your hospitality.

Will you spy on me?

If you really don't believe me, just lock the door with a key. By the way, if you're worried because you sleep naked, then, you know, I've already seen you!

Do you like to peep?

She reminded him that recently in the bathroom and peeping was not necessary, you should just go blind. He blushed and wished her Good night.

Exactly, good night, Arthur, sweet dreams to you.

Arthur retired to the bedroom, slamming the door. “Just crazy,” he grumbled. - Some kind of game. He undressed and fell onto the bed. The green glowing digits of the radio alarm clock showed half past one. He stared at them until two o'clock and eleven minutes. Then he jumped up, dressed himself, and entered the living room without knocking.

Lauren sat on the windowsill. Without turning around, she spoke:

I love this look. Do you like it? Because of him, I was tempted by this apartment. I love to look at the bridge, and in the summer I like to open the window and listen to the cargo ships' horns. I have always dreamed of counting the waves that break on their stems as they pass under the Golden Gate Bridge.

Okay, let's go, - that's all he said in response.

Truth? Why did you suddenly decide?

You ruined my night; what's missing is gone, but it's better to figure it out now, tomorrow I'm at work. I have an important meeting this afternoon, and I should try to get at least two hours of sleep, so let's go. Maybe hurry up?

Come on, I'll join you.

Where will you join?

I say join. Trust me for at least two minutes.

It seemed to Arthur that, bearing in mind the situation, he already trusted her much more than he should have.

Before leaving the apartment, he once again asked about Lauren's last name. She said both her last name, the floor, and the number of the ward where she was supposed to stay - the fifth floor, room 505. And she added: "It's easy to remember - only five."

He saw nothing easy in what lay ahead. Arthur slammed the door behind him, went down the stairs and into the garage. Lauren was already in the back seat of the car.

I don't know how you do it, but it's impressive. You should work with Houdini!

Who is it?

Magician.

You have extensive knowledge.

Move forward, this is not a taxi.

Be at least a little indulgent, but I warned that I still lack accuracy. Backseat - not so bad, I could land on the hood too. Actually, I tried to concentrate on the inside of the car. I assure you, I am making great progress.

Lauren sat next to Arthur. The car started off. Lauren looked out the window, Arthur - at the night road. Then he asked how to behave in the hospital in order to enter the ward at the wrong time. Lauren suggested that Arthur introduce himself as a cousin from Mexico, who, having learned about the misfortune, spent all day and all night behind the wheel, and at dawn should fly away to England for six months. In all honesty, Arthur did not see himself as a typical South American and doubted that anyone would fall for such a bike.

Lauren found his way of thinking unnecessarily pessimistic and said that in case of failure, they would calmly walk into the ward in the morning.

"Saab" entered the territory of the hospital. Lauren ordered to turn right, then to the second alley on the left and advised to stand immediately behind the silver pine. When the car was parked, Lauren pointed to the night call, noting that it was not necessary to call too long.

It makes them angry, she said.

Whom? - he asked.

Nurses, they don't know how to teleport, and you often have to go from the other end of the corridor. Now it's time for you to wake up...

I wouldn't mind, said Arthur.

Arthur got out of the car and made two short calls. A short woman in tortoise-shell glasses opened the door and asked what he needed. He told his story as well as he could. The nurse brought to his attention that there was a routine, and since someone had taken the trouble to establish one, then, of course, in order to comply, therefore, it remains only to postpone the departure and return in the morning.

He begged; recalled that the exception only confirms the rule; pretended to be ready to submit, but to submit with deep sorrow; I saw that the nurse trembled, looked at her watch. Finally she said:

I'm going to bypass, follow me, don't make noise, don't touch anything, and so that in fifteen minutes you won't be here.

Arthur took her hand and kissed it gratefully.

Is everyone like that in Mexico? she asked, smiling slightly. Then she let Arthur inside and told him to follow her.

They went to the elevators and went up to the fifth floor.

I'll take you to your room, make a round and come back. Don't touch anything.

The nurse opened the door with number 505. There was semi-darkness outside the door. A woman lay stretched out on the bed. In the light of the nightlight, she seemed to be fast asleep. From a distance, Arthur could not distinguish facial features. The nurse spoke in a hushed voice.

Come in, she won't wake up, but if you decide to speak, choose your words. When the patient is in a coma, anything can be... At least that's what the doctors say; What I would say is different...

Arthur tiptoed forward. Lauren was already at the window; she called him, "Come closer, I don't bite."

Arthur kept asking himself what he was doing here. He walked over to the bed and lowered his eyes. The resemblance was startling. The motionless woman was paler than her counterpart, who was smiling at Arthur, but other than that detail, their features were identical. He stepped back.

It's impossible... Are you her twin sister?

You are hopeless! I have no sister. I'm lying here, me. Help me and try to admit the unacceptable. This is not a trick and you are not sleeping. Arthur, I only have you, and you have to believe me, you can't turn your back on me. I need your help, you are the only person on earth with whom I have been able to speak in the last six months, the only person who feels my presence and hears me.

Why me?

I have no idea, there is no logic in this.

It's pretty scary.

Do you think I'm not afraid?

As for fear, Lauren could sell it in bulk. She saw her body wither day by day; a body now fused with a urinary catheter and a feeding drip. Lauren didn't have an answer to any of the questions he'd asked and she'd asked herself every hour since the disaster. “I have questions that you never thought of.” How much longer will all this last? Will she be able to return to a normal life of walking on her own feet and hugging those she loves even for a few days? Why did she study medicine for so many years if she was destined to end up like this? How many days are left until the minute her heart stops beating? She was watching own death and she was seized with wild fear.

End of free trial.

The little alarm clock on the light wood bedside table had just rung. It was half past six, and the room was filled with the golden glow that San Francisco unmistakably recognizes dawn.

The occupants of the apartment were asleep—Kali the dog at the foot of the bed on the large carpet, Lauren buried in the duvet on the large bed. Here, on the top floor of a Victorian house in Green Street, there was an amazing bliss.

Lauren's home consisted of a dining room, as is customary in America, combined with a kitchen, a bedroom, a living room and a spacious bathroom with a window. Light parquet covered the floor everywhere, except for the bathroom, where it was stenciled with paint into black and white squares. The white walls were decorated with old drawings from antique dealers on Union Street, and the ceiling was lined with wood carvings, expertly crafted by a turn-of-the-century craftsman and tinted with Laurent's caramel paint.

Several jute rugs, sheathed with cord, outlined islands in the dining room and in the living room, by the fireplace. Opposite the hearth, a huge sofa, upholstered in a harsh linen, beckoned to get comfortable. The furniture was lost in the light of unusually beautiful lamps with pleated shades; Lauren has been picking them up one after the other for the last three years.

Lauren, an intern at San Francisco Memorial Hospital, had to stay much longer than the usual twenty-four-hour shift as the victims of the massive fire began to arrive. The first ambulances arrived at the emergency room just ten minutes before the end of work, and Lauren, followed by the hopeless looks of her colleagues, immediately began to sort out those who arrived.

With a skill honed to virtuosity, she spent no more than a few minutes examining each patient, attached a tag, the color of which indicated the severity of the situation, ordered the first tests and sent orderlies with a stretcher to the appropriate ward. The distribution of the sixteen men brought in between midnight and a quarter past one ended at exactly twelve-thirty, and the surgeons were able to begin operations at a quarter to one.

Lauren assisted Professor Fernstein on two successive surgeries and only went home after being ordered by a doctor to make it clear that when fatigue overwhelms vigilance, the health of patients could be in danger.

Leaving her "triumph" from the hospital parking lot, Lauren at a decent speed went through the deserted streets home. "I'm too tired and I'm driving too fast," she repeated every minute to fight sleep. However, the mere thought of returning to the emergency room, but not backstage, but right on stage, not as a doctor, but as a patient, was enough to keep himself awake.

She opened the automatic garage door and rolled her old lady inside. Passing along the corridor, she climbed the stairs, jumping over the steps, and with relief entered the apartment.

The hands of the mantel clock showed half past three. In the bedroom, Lauren threw her clothes on the floor. Nude, went to the bar to make herbal tea. There were so many glass bottles with different collections on the shelf that they seemed to store herbal scents for every moment of the day.

Lauren put the cup on the table by the head of the head, wrapped herself in a blanket and instantly fell asleep. The day that ended was too, too long, and the one that was about to start required me to get up early. Lauren decided to take advantage of the fact that her two free days finally coincided with the weekend, and agreed to come to friends in Carmel. Justified by the accumulated fatigue, one could, of course, sleep longer, but Lauren did not want to give up an early rise for anything. She loved to greet the dawn on the ocean road that linked San Francisco to Monterrey Bay.

Still half asleep, Lauren found the alarm button and interrupted the ringing. She rubbed her eyes with her clenched fists and first spoke to Kali, who was lying on the carpet:

Don't look like that, I'm not here anymore.

“I'm leaving you for two days, my girl. Mom will pick you up at eleven o'clock. Move over, I'll get up and feed you.

Lauren straightened her legs, yawned with a long yawn, stretching her arms to the ceiling, and jumped up.

Running both hands through her hair, she walked around the counter, opened the refrigerator, yawned again, got butter, jam, toast, a can of dog food, an opened package of Parma ham, a piece of gouda cheese, two cans of milk, a can of applesauce, two natural yogurts , cereal, half a grapefruit; the second half remained on the bottom shelf. Kali watched Lauren, nodding her head over and over again. Loren gave the dog terrible eyes and shouted:

- I am hungry!

As always, she began by preparing breakfast in a heavy clay bowl for her pet. Then she prepared breakfast for herself and sat down at the writing table in the living room with a tray.

Lauren had only to turn her head a little to see Sossalito with its houses dotted on the hillsides, the Golden Gate Bridge, stretching out as a connecting line between the two sides of the bay, the fishing port of Tybourne, and directly below it, the roofs cascading down to the bay. She opened the window; the city was quiet. Only the languid horns of cargo ships sailing somewhere to the east mingled with the cries of seagulls and set the rhythm of the morning.

Lauren stretched again and, with the appetite of a healthy person, began a light giant breakfast.

The night before, she did not have dinner in the hospital, there was not enough time. Three times I tried to swallow a sandwich, but each attempt ended with the fact that the pager began to rattle, calling for the next emergency patient. When someone came across Lauren and spoke, she invariably replied: "I'm in a hurry."

After swallowing most of the food, Lauren put the dishes in the sink and went to the bathroom.

She slid her fingers along the wooden slats of the blinds, causing them to turn, stepped over the white cotton shirt that had slipped to her feet, and stepped into the shower. Under a strong jet of hot water, Lauren woke up completely.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around her hips. She grimaced in front of the mirror, put on a little make-up; I pulled on jeans, a sweater, pulled off my jeans, put on a skirt, took off my skirt, and got back into my jeans. She took a tapestry bag out of the closet, threw in a few things, a travel bag, and felt almost ready for the weekend. She assessed the scale of the mess - clothes on the floor, scattered towels, dishes in the sink, an unmade bed - put on a determined look and declared loudly, referring to everything that was in the apartment:

- Everyone be silent, do not grumble! I'll be back early tomorrow and clean up for the whole week!

Then she grabbed a pencil, a piece of paper and wrote a note, which she attached to the refrigerator door with a large frog-shaped magnet:

Mum!

Thank you for the dog, the main thing is don't clean anything, I'll do everything when I get back.

I'll pick you up for Cali on Sunday around 5 o'clock. I love you. Your favorite Doctor.

She put on her coat, stroked the dog affectionately on the head, kissed him on the forehead, and slammed the door behind her.

“I left, I left,” Lauren repeated, getting into the car. - I can’t believe it, a real miracle, if only you were still wound up. You can sneeze once for your own pleasure. I'll put syrup on your engine before I throw it in the landfill, replace you with a machine stuffed with electronics, it won't have a starter or whims in the cold in the morning, you understand me well, I hope?

ET SI C’ÉTAIT VRAI…

The publisher thanks Anastasia Lester for her assistance in acquiring the rights to this title.

www.marclevy.info

© 2000 Editions Robert Laffont, S.A., Paris

International Rights Management: Susanna Lea Associates

© Genkina R., translated from French, 2001

© Edition in Russian. LLC Publishing Group Azbuka-Atticus, 2017

Inostranka® Publishing House

*********

Marc Levy is a popular French writer whose books have been translated into more than 40 languages ​​and sold in huge numbers. His very first novel "Between Heaven and Earth" struck with an extraordinary plot and the power of feelings that can work wonders. And it is no coincidence that the film adaptation rights were immediately acquired by the master of American cinema - Steven Spielberg, and the film was directed by one of the fashionable directors of Hollywood - Mark Waters.

*********

Dedicated to Louis

Chapter 1
Summer 1996

The little alarm clock on the light wood bedside table had just rung. It was half past six, and the room was filled with the golden glow that San Francisco unmistakably recognizes dawn.

The occupants of the apartment were asleep—Kali the dog at the foot of the bed on the large carpet, Lauren buried in the duvet on the large bed. Here, on the top floor of a Victorian house in Green Street, there was an amazing bliss.

Lauren's home consisted of a dining room, as is customary in America, combined with a kitchen, a bedroom, a living room and a spacious bathroom with a window. Light parquet covered the floor everywhere, except for the bathroom, where it was stenciled with paint into black and white squares. The white walls were decorated with old drawings from antique dealers on Union Street, and the ceiling was lined with wood carvings, expertly crafted by a turn-of-the-century craftsman and tinted with Laurent's caramel paint.

Several jute rugs, sheathed with cord, outlined islands in the dining room and in the living room, by the fireplace. Opposite the hearth, a huge sofa, upholstered in a harsh linen, beckoned to get comfortable. The furniture was lost in the light of unusually beautiful lamps with pleated shades; Lauren has been picking them up one after the other for the last three years.

***

Lauren, an intern at San Francisco Memorial Hospital, had to stay much longer than the usual twenty-four-hour shift as the victims of the massive fire began to arrive. The first ambulances arrived at the emergency room just ten minutes before the end of work, and Lauren, followed by the hopeless looks of her colleagues, immediately began to sort out those who arrived.

With a skill honed to virtuosity, she spent no more than a few minutes examining each patient, attached a tag, the color of which indicated the severity of the situation, ordered the first tests and sent orderlies with a stretcher to the appropriate ward. The distribution of the sixteen men brought in between midnight and a quarter past one ended at exactly twelve-thirty, and the surgeons were able to begin operations at a quarter to one.

Lauren assisted Professor Fernstein on two successive surgeries and only went home after being ordered by a doctor to make it clear that when fatigue overwhelms vigilance, the health of patients could be in danger.

Leaving her "triumph" from the hospital parking lot, Lauren at a decent speed went through the deserted streets home. "I'm too tired and I'm driving too fast," she repeated every minute to fight sleep. However, the mere thought of returning to the emergency room, but not backstage, but right on stage, not as a doctor, but as a patient, was enough to keep himself awake.

She opened the automatic garage door and rolled her old lady inside. Passing along the corridor, she climbed the stairs, jumping over the steps, and with relief entered the apartment.

The hands of the mantel clock showed half past three. In the bedroom, Lauren threw her clothes on the floor. Nude, went to the bar to make herbal tea. There were so many glass bottles with different collections on the shelf that they seemed to store herbal scents for every moment of the day.

Lauren put the cup on the table by the head of the head, wrapped herself in a blanket and instantly fell asleep. The day that ended was too, too long, and the one that was about to start required me to get up early. Lauren decided to take advantage of the fact that her two free days finally coincided with the weekend, and agreed to come to friends in Carmel. Justified by the accumulated fatigue, one could, of course, sleep longer, but Lauren did not want to give up an early rise for anything. She loved to greet the dawn on the ocean road that linked San Francisco to Monterrey Bay.

***

Still half asleep, Lauren found the alarm button and interrupted the ringing. She rubbed her eyes with her clenched fists and first spoke to Kali, who was lying on the carpet:

Don't look like that, I'm not here anymore.

“I'm leaving you for two days, my girl. Mom will pick you up at eleven o'clock. Move over, I'll get up and feed you.

Lauren straightened her legs, yawned with a long yawn, stretching her arms to the ceiling, and jumped up.

Running both hands through her hair, she walked around the counter, opened the refrigerator, yawned again, got butter, jam, toast, a can of dog food, an opened package of Parma ham, a piece of gouda cheese, two cans of milk, a can of applesauce, two natural yogurts , cereal, half a grapefruit; the second half remained on the bottom shelf. Kali watched Lauren, nodding her head over and over again. Loren gave the dog terrible eyes and shouted:

- I am hungry!

As always, she began by preparing breakfast in a heavy clay bowl for her pet. Then she prepared breakfast for herself and sat down at the writing table in the living room with a tray.

Lauren had only to turn her head a little to see Sossalito with its houses dotted on the hillsides, the Golden Gate Bridge, stretching out as a connecting line between the two sides of the bay, the fishing port of Tybourne, and directly below it, the roofs cascading down to the bay. She opened the window; the city was quiet. Only the languid horns of cargo ships sailing somewhere to the east mingled with the cries of seagulls and set the rhythm of the morning.

Lauren stretched again and, with the appetite of a healthy person, began a light giant breakfast.

***

The night before, she did not have dinner in the hospital, there was not enough time. Three times I tried to swallow a sandwich, but each attempt ended with the fact that the pager began to rattle, calling for the next emergency patient. When someone came across Lauren and spoke, she invariably replied: "I'm in a hurry."

***

After swallowing most of the food, Lauren put the dishes in the sink and went to the bathroom.

She slid her fingers along the wooden slats of the blinds, causing them to turn, stepped over the white cotton shirt that had slipped to her feet, and stepped into the shower. Under a strong jet of hot water, Lauren woke up completely.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around her hips. She grimaced in front of the mirror, put on a little make-up; I pulled on jeans, a sweater, pulled off my jeans, put on a skirt, took off my skirt, and got back into my jeans. She took a tapestry bag out of the closet, threw in a few things, a travel bag, and felt almost ready for the weekend. She assessed the scale of the mess - clothes on the floor, scattered towels, dishes in the sink, an unmade bed - put on a determined look and declared loudly, referring to everything that was in the apartment:

- Everyone be silent, do not grumble! I'll be back early tomorrow and clean up for the whole week!

Then she grabbed a pencil, a piece of paper and wrote a note, which she attached to the refrigerator door with a large frog-shaped magnet:

Mum!

Thank you for the dog, the main thing is don't clean anything, I'll do everything when I get back.

I'll pick you up for Cali on Sunday around 5 o'clock. I love you. Your favorite Doctor.

She put on her coat, stroked the dog affectionately on the head, kissed him on the forehead, and slammed the door behind her.

“I left, I left,” Lauren repeated, getting into the car. - I can’t believe it, a real miracle, if only you were still wound up. You can sneeze once for your own pleasure. I'll put syrup on your engine before I throw it in the landfill, replace you with a machine stuffed with electronics, it won't have a starter or whims in the cold in the morning, you understand me well, I hope?

It must be assumed that the elderly four-wheeled Englishwoman was shocked by the arguments of the hostess, because the engine started working. The day promised to be wonderful.

Chapter 2

Lauren started off slowly so as not to wake the neighbors. Green Street is a beautiful street lined with trees and houses where people knew each other like in a village.

Six intersections before Van Ness, one of the major arteries that traverse the city, Lauren shifted to top speed.

In the pale light, filled with color tints every minute, a dazzling prospect of the city was gradually revealed. The car sped through the deserted streets. As if getting drunk, Lauren enjoyed every moment.

Sharp turn on Sutter Street. Noise and tinkling in the steering. Steep descent to Union Square. Six thirty minutes, music blaring from the speakers of the cassette recorder, Lauren is happy for the first time in a long time. To hell with stress, hospital, duties. The weekend that belongs only to her begins, and not a minute should be lost.

Union Square is silent. The storefront lights have already been extinguished, and in some places tramps are still sleeping on the benches. The parking watchman is dozing in the booth. In a few hours, crowds of tourists and citizens will pour onto the sidewalks. They flock to the big shops around the square to shop. Trams will go one after another, a long line of cars will line up at the entrance to the underground parking lot, and in the square above it, street musicians will begin to exchange melodies for cents and dollars.

"Triumph" devours asphalt, the speed of the car is higher. The traffic lights are green. Lauren takes a quick glance in her rearview mirror to better time the turn onto Polk Street, one of the four streets that run along the park. Lauren makes a turn in front of the giant facade of the Masiz store building. The perfect curve, the brakes squealing a little, the strange sound, the series of taps, everything happens very quickly, the taps merge together, mix, crumble into separate sounds.

Sudden crack! The dialogue between the road and the wheels goes astray. All ties are broken. The car moves sideways, it skids on the still wet pavement. Lauren's face contorts. Hands clutching the steering wheel, and the steering wheel becomes too docile, it is ready to spin endlessly in the emptiness that sucks up the rest of the day. The Triumph continues to slide, time seems to relax and suddenly stretch, as if in a long yawn. Lauren is dizzy, in fact, the visible world is spinning around at amazing speed. The machine thought it was a spinning top. The wheels hit the pavement abruptly, the hood, rising and clasping the fire hydrant, continues to reach for the sky. In a final effort, the car turns on its own axis and pushes out the owner, who has suddenly become too heavy for a pirouette that defies the laws of gravity. Lauren's body, before hitting the front of a large store, soars into the air. The vast display case explodes, shattering into a carpet of fragments.

The glass sheet takes on the body of a young woman who rolls across the floor, then freezes, her hair scattered over a pile of broken glass. And the old "triumph" ends his run and career, rolling over on his back, half on the sidewalk. And here is the last whim of the old Englishwoman - steam escapes from her insides, and she lets out a farewell sigh.

Lauren is motionless and serene. Facial features are calm, breathing is slow and even. On slightly parted lips there is a shadow of a slight smile, eyes are closed; she seems to be sleeping. Long strands frame the face, right hand on the stomach.

In the booth, the parking attendant screwed up his eyes. He saw everything. Then he will say: “Like in the movies, but everything here is real.” He jumps up, runs outside, comes to his senses and rushes back, frantically grabs the phone and dials 911. Calls for help, and help leaves.

The dining room at San Francisco Memorial Hospital is a large room with white tiled floors and yellow painted walls. Rectangular plastic tables are placed along the central aisle, at the end of which is a vending machine for drinks and vacuum-packed food.

Dr. Philip Stern was dozing, leaning his chest on one of the tables, a cup of cold coffee in his hands. A little way off, his partner was rocking back in his chair, staring into space. The pager rang in Dr. Philip Stern's pocket. He opened one eye and, grumbling, glanced at his watch; shift ended in fifteen minutes.

- Wow! What do you mean no luck! Frank, call the switchboard for me.

Frank picked up the phone hanging nearby, listened to the message, hung up and turned to Stern.

“Get up, this is us, Union Square, code three, it looks like a serious matter ...

Two ambulance interns headed for the service entrance, where a car was already waiting for them with the engine running and flashing lights. Two short siren signals marked the exit.

Quarter to seven. There was not a soul on Market Street, and the car moved at a decent speed through the early morning.

“It’s a mess, and by the way, it’s going to be a good day…”

- What are you dissatisfied with?

“The fact that I am exhausted and fall asleep, and the good weather will pass by.

- Turn left, let's go under the brick.

Frank obeyed, and the ambulance moved up Polk Street towards Union Square.

Come on, I can see them.

When the interns drove into a large square, they were struck by the skeleton of the old "Triumph", clasping a fire hydrant.

“Wow, I didn’t miss,” Stern remarked, jumping out of the ambulance.

Two policemen were already there, and one of them led Philip towards the remains of the display case.

- Where is he?

- There, this is a woman, and she is a doctor, apparently from the emergency room. Maybe you know her?

Stern, who was already kneeling in front of Lauren's body, yelled at his partner to run faster. Armed with scissors, he cut through jeans and a sweater, exposing the skin. On the slender left leg, a curvature was visible, surrounded by a large hematoma, which means a fracture. There were no other bruises at first glance.

“Give me suckers and a drip, she has a thready pulse and no pressure, breathing 48, a wound on her head, a closed fracture of the left thigh with internal bleeding. Let's get two tires... Familiar? From ours?

“I saw her, an intern in the ER, working with Fernstein. The only one who is not afraid of him.

Philip did not react to the last remark. Frank attached seven suction cups with sensors from the monitor to the woman's chest, connected each of them with a wire. certain color with a portable electrocardiograph and connected the device. The screen immediately lit up.

- What's on the monitor? Philip asked.

No good, she's leaving. Blood pressure 80 over 60, pulse 140, cyanotic lips, I'm getting endotracheal tube number seven ready to intubate.

Dr. Stern had just inserted the catheter and handed the bottle of solution to the policeman.

Hold it up, I need both hands.

Switching for a second from police officer to his partner, he ordered five hundred milligrams of adrenaline to be injected into the perfusion tube and the defibrillator immediately ready. At the same time, Lauren's temperature began to drop sharply, and the signal from the electrocardiograph became uneven. A red heart blinked in the lower corner of the green screen, accompanied by a short, repetitive beep, a warning signal of imminent fibrillation.

- Well, beauty, hold on! Somewhere inside is bleeding. What is her belly like?

“Mild, maybe bleeding in the leg. Ready for intubation?

In less than a minute, Lauren was intubated, and an adapter was put on the breathing tube. Stern asked for a general reading, Frank replied that his breathing was stable, his blood pressure had dropped to 50. Before he could finish the sentence, instead of a short squeak, the device burst into a shrill whistle.

- Done, she has fibrillation, let's three-hundred milliamps. Philip grabbed the electrodes by the handles and rubbed them together.

“It’s okay, there’s electricity,” Frank called out.

- Aside, I give an electric shock!

Under the action of the discharge, the body sharply arched its stomach to the sky and again flattened itself.

- No, it doesn't work.

“Three hundred, one more time.

- Raise it to three hundred and sixty, come on.

- To the side!

The body twitched, arched, and fell again without movement.

“Give me another five milligrams of adrenaline and a three hundred and sixty shock. To the side!

New discharge, new spasm.

- It's still fibrillating! We are losing her, make a unit of lidocaine in perfa and another discharge. To the side!

The body was thrown.

“We inject five hundred milligrams of beryllium, and immediately prepare a discharge for three hundred and eighty!”

Another electric shock, Lauren's heart seemed to begin to respond to the drugs administered, a stable rhythm appeared, but only for a few moments: the whistle, which had broken off for a few seconds, resumed with renewed vigor.

- Cardiac arrest! Frank shouted.

Immediately, Philip frantically began to do chest compressions and artificial respiration. Without stopping trying to bring the woman back to life, he begged: “Don’t be an idiot, the weather is great today, come back, what have we done wrong to you ...” Then he ordered his partner to prepare a discharge. Frank tried to cool his ardor: come on, they say, this is useless. But Stern did not back down; he yelled, demanding that Frank charge the defibrillator. The companion obeyed.

Once again, Philip commanded: “To the side!” The body arched again, but the line on the electrocardiogram remained straight. Philip began to massage again, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He realized that he was powerless, and he despaired of this.

Frank saw that Philip's behavior went beyond logic. Already a few minutes ago he should have stopped and recorded the time of death, but in spite of everything he continued to massage the heart.

“Another half milligram of adrenaline, and raise the charge to four hundred.

- Leave it, Philip, it's pointless, she's dead. What are you doing…

"Shut up and do what they say!"

Frank shrugged, injected a new dose of drug into the perfusion tube, charged the defibrillator. He set the threshold at 400 milliamps; Stern, without even saying "Away", sent a discharge. Under the influence of the current strength, the chest abruptly broke away from the ground. The line remained hopelessly straight. Philip did not look at her, he already knew this even before the last time he applied the electric shock. Philip punched the woman's chest.

“Damn, damn!

Frank grabbed Philip by the shoulders and squeezed hard.

- Stop it, Philip, you've gone crazy, calm down! Record death, and fold. You're starting to give up, it's time for you to rest.

Philip was covered in sweat, his eyes wandered. Frank raised his voice, wrapped both hands around his friend's head, forcing him to focus his eyes.

He once again ordered Philip to calm down and, since there was no reaction, gave him a slap in the face. Philip obediently accepted the blow. Frank softened his tone: "Let's get in the car, buddy, pull yourself together."

Philip, kneeling and crouching, said quietly: "Seven ten minutes, passed away." Then, turning to the policeman, who breathlessly still held the transfusion bottle, he said: "Take her away, it's over, there's nothing more we can do." Philip got up, put his hand on his partner's shoulder and led him to the ambulance. "Let's go, we're coming back."

They moved from their place, poking in different directions, as if they did not understand what they were doing. The policemen followed the doctors with their eyes, watched them climb into the car.

"Something's wrong with the doctors!" one of the policemen said.

The second looked at his colleague:

“Have you ever worked on a case where one of our guys got sacked?”

“Then you won’t understand what it’s like for them. Come on, help me, pick her up carefully and put her in the car.

The ambulance had already rounded the corner when the police lifted Lauren's limp body, laid her on a stretcher and covered her with a blanket.

Several onlookers who had been delayed dispersed - there was nothing else to look at.

***

In the car, after a long silence, Frank spoke first:

What came over you, Philip?

She is not thirty, she is a doctor, she is too beautiful to die.

But that's exactly what she did! Well, beautiful, well, a doctor! She could be ugly and work in a supermarket. This is fate, and nothing can be done about it, its hour has come ... Let's go back - go to sleep, try to put it all out of your head.

***

Two blocks behind them, the cops pulled into an intersection just as a taxi decided to go through a yellow light. The enraged policeman slammed on the brakes and turned on the siren, the taxi driver stopped and apologized. Because of the push, Lauren's body slid off the stretcher. I had to fix it. Both policemen got back, the younger one took Lauren by the ankles, the older one by the hands. His face froze as he looked at the young woman's breasts.

I'm telling you, breathe. Drive to the hospital!

- It's necessary! I immediately realized that the doctors are nuts.

- Shut up and drive. I don't understand anything, but they'll hear about me again.

***

The police car whirled past the ambulance under the astonished looks of two interns - they were "their policemen". Philip wanted to turn on the siren and follow him, but his partner began to object, he was completely exhausted.

- Why are they so rushed? Philip asked.

“How do I know,” Frank replied, “maybe it’s not the same. All in one face.

Ten minutes later, the doctors parked next to the police car, the doors of which were still open. Philip got out of the car and went to the emergency room. Speeding up his pace, before reaching the reception desk and without even saying hello, he turned to the duty officer:

What room is she in?

Who, Dr. Stern? the nurse asked.

“A young woman who has just entered.

- In the third block, Fershtein went to her. She seems to be from his team.

A policeman came up behind him and clapped Philip on the shoulder.

– What do you think?

- Sorry?

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but at least a hundred times I'm sorry! What's the point! How could he claim the woman was dead when she was breathing in the police car? “Do you realize that if it wasn’t for me, she would have been stuffed alive in the refrigerator?” Nothing, he will not leave this matter like that!

At that moment, Dr. Fernstein came out of the block and, pretending not to pay the slightest attention to the policeman, turned to Philip:

“Stern, how many doses of adrenaline did you give her?”

“Four times five milligrams,” the intern replied.

The professor began to scold him, declaring that such behavior indicated excessive therapeutic zeal, and then, turning to the policeman, explained that Lauren was dead long before Dr. Stern announced her death.

The medical team's mistake, Fernstein said, was that they were too stubborn in attending to this patient's heart at the expense of other health insurance users. According to him, the injected fluid accumulated in the pericardial area: “When you braked sharply, the fluid entered the heart, which reacted at a purely chemical level and began to beat.” Alas, this does not change anything in the victim's cerebral demise. As for the heart, as soon as the liquid is absorbed, it will stop, "if it has not already happened." He invited the policeman to apologize to Dr. Stern for his completely inappropriate nervousness and invited the latter to come to his office before leaving.

The policeman turned to Philip and muttered: “I see that they don’t hand over their own here either ...” Then he turned around and left. Although the doors of the emergency room immediately closed behind the policeman, he could be heard slamming the doors of his car.

***

Stern remained standing, bracing his hands on the reception desk and narrowing his eyes at the nurse on duty. "What finally happens?" She shrugged her shoulders and reminded that Fernstein was waiting for Philip.

Stern knocked on Lauren's boss's door. Fernstein invited him in. Standing at the desk with his back to the newcomer and looking out the window, the professor was obviously waiting for Stern to speak. And Philip began to speak. He admitted that he did not understand anything from Fernstein's explanations. He cut off Stern dryly:

“Listen to me well, colleague. I told this officer the easiest way to fool his head so that he would not write a report and ruin your career. What you have done is unacceptable for a person with your experience. We must be able to put up with death when it is inevitable. We are not gods and are not responsible for fate. This woman died before you arrived, and stubbornness could cost you dearly.

“But how do you explain the fact that she began to breathe?

“I don’t explain, and I shouldn’t. We don't know everything. She's dead, Dr. Stern. Another thing is that you do not like it. But she left. I don't care that her lungs are working and her heart is beating on its own. The main thing is the electroencephalogram is direct. Cerebral death is irreversible. We'll wait for the rest to follow and send her down to the morgue. Dot.

“But you can’t do that, look at the facts!”

Fernstein's irritation manifested itself in a tilt of his head and a rise in tone. He won't let anyone teach him. Does Stern know the cost of a day in intensive care? Or does Stern believe that the hospital will allocate one bed to keep the "vegetable" in a state of artificial life? He urges the intern to grow up. He refuses to put his loved ones in front of the need to spend week after week at the head of an immobile, mindless being, whose life is supported solely by apparatuses. He refuses to take responsibility for this kind of decision just to satisfy the vanity of one doctor.

Stern was ordered to take a shower and disappear from sight. The intern did not move, he remained standing in front of the professor, repeating his arguments over and over again. When he made the declaration of death, his patient's heart and respiratory activity had been absent for ten minutes. Her heart and lungs stopped functioning. Yes, he persisted, because for the first time in his medical practice he felt that this woman did not intend to die. Philip saw in the depths of her open eyes that she was struggling and trying to swim out. Then he began to fight with her, even if it went beyond the usual limits, and ten minutes later, contrary to all logic, contrary to everything he had been taught, his heart began to beat again, his lungs began to inhale and exhale air.

“You are right,” continued Philip, “we are doctors, and we do not know everything. This woman is also a doctor. He begged Fernstein to give her a chance. There are cases when people came back to life after six months of coma, although no one understood anything. No one has ever been able to do what she did, no matter how much it costs to keep her in the hospital. "Don't let her go, she doesn't want to, and she told us that."

The professor paused before answering:

“Dr. Stern, Lauren was one of my students, she had a difficult temper, but she also had a real talent, I respected her very much and had high hopes for her career, as well as for yours; the conversation is over.

Stern left the office without closing the door. Frank was waiting for him in the hallway.

- What are you doing here?

- What's wrong with your head, Philip, do you know who you spoke to in that tone?

- So what?

“The guy you were talking to is a professor, he knew this woman, he worked with her for fifteen months, he saved more lives than you could probably save in your entire medical career. You must learn to control yourself. Honestly, sometimes you go crazy.

“Get off me, Frank, I’ve already received my portion of moralizing.

Today, Marc Levy is one of the most popular French writers, his books have been translated into more than 30 languages ​​and sold in huge numbers. His very first novel "Between Heaven and Earth" struck with an extraordinary plot and the power of feelings that can work wonders. One late evening, a beautiful unfamiliar girl appears in the apartment of a lonely architect, who turns out to be ... a ghost, and only he can help her. But he would be powerless before death, if not for love.

The film rights to the novel have been acquired by Steven Spielberg. The film was directed by one of the most fashionable and popular directors in Hollywood, Mark Waters (Mean Girls, Freaky Friday). In the title role - Reese Witherspoon ("Legally Blonde", "Highway", "Style"). Now Russian viewers can also see this film.

Dedicated to Kui

SUMMER 1996

The little alarm clock on the light wood bedside table had just rung. It was half past six, and the room was filled with the golden glow that San Francisco unmistakably recognizes dawn.

The inhabitants of the apartment were asleep - Kali the dog at the foot of the bed on a large carpet, Lauren - buried in a duvet on a large bed. Here, on the top floor of a Victorian house on Green Street, an amazing bliss hovered.

Loren's home consisted of a dining room, as is customary in America, combined with a kitchen, a bedroom, a living room and a spacious bathroom with a window. Light-coloured parquet covered the floor everywhere, except for the bathroom, where it was stenciled with paint into black and white squares. The white walls were decorated with old drawings from antique dealers on Union Street, and the ceiling was lined with wood carvings, expertly crafted by a turn-of-the-century craftsman and tinted with Laurent's caramel paint.

Several jute rugs, sheathed with cord, outlined islands in the dining room and in the living room, by the fireplace. Opposite the hearth - a huge sofa, upholstered in a harsh linen, beckoned to get comfortable. The furniture was lost in the light of unusually beautiful lamps with pleated shades; Lauren has been picking them up one after the other for the last three years.

Lauren, accompanied by the hopeless looks of her colleagues, immediately began to distribute the applicants.

With a skill honed to virtuosity, she spent no more than a few minutes examining each patient, attached a tag, the color of which indicated the degree of seriousness of the situation, ordered the first tests and sent orderlies with a stretcher to the appropriate ward. The distribution of the sixteen men brought in between midnight and a quarter past one ended at exactly twelve-thirty, and the surgeons were able to begin operations at a quarter to one.

Lauren assisted Professor Fernstein on two successive surgeries and only went home after being ordered by a doctor to make it clear that when fatigue overwhelms vigilance, the health of patients could be in danger.

Leaving her "triumph" from the hospital parking lot, Lauren at a decent speed went home through the deserted streets. "I'm too tired and I'm driving too fast," she repeated every minute to fight sleep. However, the mere thought of returning to the emergency room, but not backstage, but right on stage, not as a doctor, but as a patient, was enough to keep himself awake.

She opened the automatic garage door and rolled her old lady inside. Passing along the corridor, she climbed the stairs, jumping over the steps, and with relief entered the apartment.

The hands of the mantel clock showed half past three. In the bedroom, Lauren threw her clothes on the floor. Naked, she went to the bar to make herbal tea. There were so many glass bottles with different collections on the shelf that they seemed to store herbal scents for every moment of the day.

Lauren put the cup on the table by the head of the head, wrapped herself in a blanket and instantly fell asleep. The day that ended was too, too long, and the one that was about to start required me to get up early. Lauren decided to take advantage of the fact that her two free days finally coincided with the weekend, and agreed to come to friends in Carmel. Justifying the accumulated fatigue, one could, of course, sleep longer, but Lauren did not want to give up an early rise for anything. She loved to greet the dawn on the ocean road that linked San Francisco to Monterrey Bay.

Still half asleep, Lauren found the alarm button and interrupted the ringing. She rubbed her eyes with clenched fists and first addressed Kali, who was lying on the carpet:

Don't look like that, I'm not here anymore.

I'm leaving you for two days, my girl. Mom will pick you up at eleven o'clock. Move over, I'll get up and feed you.

Lauren straightened her legs, yawned with a long yawn, stretching her arms to the ceiling, and jumped up.

Running both hands through her hair, she walked around the counter, opened the refrigerator, yawned again, got butter, jam, toast, a can of dog food, an opened package of Parma ham, a piece of gouda cheese, two cans of milk, a can of applesauce, two natural yogurts , cereal, half a grapefruit; the second half remained on the bottom shelf. Kali watched Lauren, nodding her head over and over again. Loren gave the dog terrible eyes and shouted:

I am hungry!

As always, she began by preparing breakfast in a heavy clay bowl for her pet. Then she prepared breakfast for herself and sat down at the writing table in the living room with a tray.

Lauren had only to turn her head a little to see Sossalito with its houses scattered on the slopes of the hills, the Golden Gate Bridge, stretching out as a connecting line between the two shores of the bay, the fishing port of Tybourne, and directly below it - the roofs that ran down to the bay in ledges. She opened the window; the city was quiet. Only the languid horns of cargo ships sailing somewhere to the east mingled with the cries of seagulls and set the rhythm of the morning.

Lauren stretched again and, with the appetite of a healthy person, began a light giant breakfast.

The night before, she did not have dinner in the hospital, there was not enough time. Three times I tried to swallow a sandwich, but each attempt ended with the fact that the pager began to rattle, calling for the next emergency patient. When someone came across Lauren and spoke, she invariably replied: "I'm in a hurry."

After swallowing most of the food, Lauren put the dishes in the sink and went to the bathroom.

She slid her fingers along the wooden slats of the blinds, causing them to turn, stepped over the white cotton shirt that had slipped to her feet, and stepped into the shower. Under a strong jet of hot water, Lauren woke up completely.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around her hips. She grimaced in front of the mirror, put on a little make-up; I pulled on jeans, a sweater, pulled off my jeans, put on a skirt, took off my skirt, and got back into my jeans. She took a tapestry bag out of the closet, threw in a few things, a travel bag, and felt almost ready for the weekend. She assessed the scale of the mess - clothes on the floor, scattered towels, dishes in the sink, an unmade bed - put on a resolute air and declared loudly, referring to everything that was in the apartment:

Everyone be quiet, do not grumble! I'll be back tomorrow early and do the cleaning for the whole week!

Then she grabbed a pencil, a piece of paper and wrote a note, which she attached to the refrigerator door with a large frog-shaped magnet:

Thank you for the dog, the main thing is don't clean anything, I'll do it when I get back.

I'll pick you up for Cali on Sunday around 5 o'clock. I love you. Your favorite Doctor.

She put on her coat, stroked the dog affectionately on the head, kissed him on the forehead, and slammed the door behind her.

She left, she left, - Lauren repeated, getting into the car. - I can’t believe it, it’s a real miracle, if only you were still wound up. You can sneeze once for your own pleasure. I'll put syrup on your engine before I throw it in the landfill, replace you with a car stuffed with electronics, it won't have a starter or whims in the cold in the morning, you understand me well, I hope?

It must be assumed that the elderly four-wheeled Englishwoman was shocked by the arguments of the hostess, because the engine started working. The day promised to be wonderful.