"Whisper of the Wind"

Chapter 6

"Nothing But Questions"

It was difficult waking up Monday morning. I'd burned the midnight oil until after 2:00 a.m. Medical vocabulary and illustrations of body parts felt as though they'd been tattooed on the insides of my eyelids. That … and the image of large blue eyes laced with pain that haunted me wherever I went.

I looked for Billy Travis at breakfast, but he wasn't there. I hadn't expected him to be, but I'd skimmed the room anyway. He hadn't got off shift until 11:00 p.m., and as supervisor he still had an hour's worth of night reports to write up after that. I knew it was unlikely for him to be on campus this early, but I'd had to try. How could I find a way to explain what I felt if I didn't know myself? Billy held the only clues.

The conversation I'd had with him yesterday had bothered me more than I wanted to admit. A few questions to satisfy my own curiosity and concern were in order if I was ever to balance logic with emotion.

Walking through the breakfast line, I ended up with a bagel and a cup of hot tea. A few of my first-year classmates were there also, and I hung out with them until it was time to get over to the teaching hospital to begin the day.

As it turned out, there were about fourteen or fifteen of us trit-trotting across campus looking like a herd of Japanese tourists, our stethoscopes around our necks in lieu of cameras or Zai-Zos. I'm sure the upperclassmen who passed us by must have had themselves a good laugh …

The day in academia dragged by slowly and I felt as though everything was passing me by in slow motion. I was easily distracted, and when I was called upon to offer my thoughts on a simple diagnosis, I couldn't get it together. I ended up entertaining the entire class by getting chewed out as a "student unprepared" by the resident in charge of rounds. After that, I just felt miserable for the rest of the afternoon.

I went back to my room before heading down to Spider Country. I couldn't afford to let Leather see me with my lower lip hanging down to my belly button. He would either make a mockery of it or demand to know what the hell was going on.

I unbraided my hair and let it fall loose. Undisciplined, I know, but if Leather had a different appearance to focus on, perhaps he wouldn't notice that his assistant was wandering around lost inside her own head and walking around like a zombie. After that I stepped into the shower as hot as I could stand it and just let myself lean into the titillating spray. Sometimes appearances were everything.

On the nightstand by my bed stood the old black and white photograph of the two doctors from my misty childhood, who'd been responsible for my wanting to become a doctor in the first place. Tall, gaunt, dark-haired Gregory House still grinned at his colleague with that mischievous gleam in his eye, and the handsome-beyond-measure James E. Wilson smiled back. I often wondered what joke they'd been sharing when the photographer snapped that picture. Whatever it was, it must have been a good one. In spite of my insipid mood, I couldn't help smiling at the two of them myself … just like always.

I pulled on a pair of old jeans and a sweatshirt and crushed a baseball cap over my still-damp hair. If I didn't get a move on, I was going to be late … and a ragging-on by Leather for tardiness, I didn't need. Stuffing my Zai-Zo into a back pocket, I headed for the reference library.

I was still part way down the road, walking fast, when I saw Leather. I wasn't the only one who was late. He came up the sidewalk from the parking area; jeans, tee shirt, sneakers … moving quickly, not quite as lame as usual. His gait was unique. When he walked, his cane was on the right side …in his dominant hand. His injured leg was on the right also. I had been told many times that this was not correct, and that it could damage the muscles and tendons in the arm and shoulder of the person who used the implement on the same side as the injury.

He was easy to spot. There was something vaguely familiar about his measured and rickety movements, but I couldn't quite remember where I'd seen something like it before. It was like a tickle at the fringes of my mind, not quite solid enough to recall. It was a small thing, not all that important.

Leather obviously didn't give a damn how he looked. He did it his way and made the action his own. His left arm was an instrument of leverage, and his left hand jerked upward several degrees with every step. Like a counterbalance. It turned his gait into a lurch, but there was also a lopsided grace to it that was way beyond the limits of logic. He covered a lot of ground very quickly that way.

Grace with ripples.

As I watched, he entered the equipment elevator built into the side of the building and slid the door shut. It would take him directly down to the hub of the Spider Banks. I quickened my pace to enter the library in order to catch one of the regular elevators and arrive right behind him.

The day had been warm for the beginning of October, and the grotto was cool. When I walked in from the elevator at the other side, Leather was at the power console, turning up the fluorescent lights, readjusting the dehumidifier. He looked up and saw me and scowled, but made no comment.

He picked his way over to the old Eames chair and flopped into it, lifting his leg gingerly onto the stool. He had his Zai-Zo out, tapping something into it, checking the readout, tapping something else. He saw me watching him and snapped it closed, stuffing it back into his jeans pocket.

I turned my back on him. It was obvious he didn't want to talk. I pulled one of the big storage boxes out from under the table and lifted a stack of old texts, torn and in dire need of repair, onto the smooth wood surface. Silently I began to spread them out and smooth away the dog-eared edges and removed strands of rotted thread from the bindings.

While I worked, I was aware of his eyes upon me, scowling in something like fierce disapproval. It was difficult to work beneath such scrutiny. Finally, after about five minutes of it, I sighed, laid down a sleeve of plasticene sheets and turned my attention across the room. "What's on your mind?" I asked him.

His eyebrows went up immediately, and the frown was replaced by a look of offended innocence. "Nothin' …" He paused a moment, the facial expression transforming into a squint of reconsideration. "Do you have a black eye or something?"

It was my turn to frown. "What?? No … why?"

He shrugged. "Just wondered. I saw a guy last week … tried to hide a shiner under a hat just like that …"

His Zai-Zo warbled. He pulled it out of his pocket and pushed the activator. "Yeah?"

A deep voice spoke a few words: garbled to me, of course. Those things were engineered for privacy. It was Billy, I figured.

"Never mind, W. T.," he said softly. "I'll talk to you later." He snapped the little instrument shut again and jammed it back into his pocket.

"Not a black eye. Washed my hair, didn't have time to braid it again, that's all."

"Oh. Okay. Never mind."

That was the end of the conversation. I was tired and wished the evening was over, but I went back to work. The next time I looked over at him, he was asleep. His cane was propped half against his shoulder and half against the seat of the chair beside him. His right arm hung down awkwardly over the chair arm.

Something wasn't quite right, but I didn't know what.

We did eventually hang it up early. I was beat from my late night studying … and less than glowing day … and Leather's face had taken on a strained look that was a little scary. His eyes were bleak, and the blue had turned to slate grey. The corners of his mouth turned down, lips parted slightly, as though containing a sigh of deep despair.

I pretended to take my time putting all the rejuvenated text pages away in their plasticene sleeves. Actually I was killing time, waiting for him to make the first move. I wondered if his blue mood was a holdover from his weekend "down east".

Finally he sighed and rose from the Eames chair. He walked slowly across to the panel and set it back to night mode. I could hear the turbines deep in the Earth beneath us powering down.

Without a word, only a slight dip of his chin, he made his way to the elevator and stepped inside. "Later." He said as the doors closed.

I used the rest room and washed my hands, then I left also.

I tossed and turned until after midnight again, even though I was bone tired. My thoughts were with Leather, my mind was in turmoil. It suddenly occurred to me to wonder what he did with his time during the day while I was in class or on rounds. Where did he go? What did he do?

I wondered if he might be up on the wards right this minute, talking with Billy Travis …

"W. T." Leather called him that, and I wondered why.

Questions and more questions. Stuff that was absolutely none of my concern. My curiosity was driving me crazy … along with the desire to know more about the man with the smoky eyes.

I wasn't sure of the truth myself, but I had a strange feeling that I was falling in love with an old man who didn't want my attention. Didn't need my concern. I was a very tiny pebble on his very large beach.

I hoped the problem, if that's what it was, would work itself out, one way or another.

Soon!

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