Being Read Free

it… move move MOVE!!
    I can’t move.
    I breathe in, trying to steady my heart, breathing the taste of gas. Rubber. Gas. Tube.
    Breathe slowly.
    Don’t panic.
    Think about it.
    Think.
    Think.
    Think.
    Listen.
    Concentrate, listen.
    Silence. A background hum. Something ticking. A faint solitary beep. No voices. For a moment, I think they’ve gone… but then, from across the room – snap – a rubbery snap, and the murmur of voices again.
    This is ridiculous, Ryan. I can’t operate without consent. What if he dies? What if –
    I’ll clear it. It’s cleared. I can take care of it. Listen, you’re not doing anything – OK? It’s just a minor emergency operation. You had to do it. These things happen, don’t they?
    Yes, but –
    We have to know. We have to find out. There’s no choice. We have to find out right now.
    I don’t understand –
    Click.
    Do you understand this?
    A threatening silence.
    All right. But only –
    Only an exploration. That’s all we need.
    A heavy sigh. Then another sharp snap, the snap of a surgical glove.
    Put this surgical mask on, Mr Ryan. I’m going to need some help.
    The fear is killing me now, overpowering my mind. I can’t think. I have to think. I have to move. Move move move. I’m trying to move myself – trying, forcing, straining, struggling – I’m doing everything possible to think myself into moving my body. But it’s useless. There’s no connection between mind and flesh. Nothing. My body just lies there, inanimate. It’s just a thing. A container. I’m still conscious of it, conscious of its unconsciousness, but I can’t do anything with it.
    Kamal, how is he?
    Tick tick.
    The same. Steady.
    I need you there, Ryan.
    All right.
    Don’t touch anything, just do what I say. Kamal?
    OK.
    OK.
    A chill tingles my skin as the sheet is lifted from my stomach. I can feel the cold white air. I’m naked. Out in the open. Exposed. I can hear a distant whistling sound inside my head, a scary white noise. The sound of fear. I want toclench something, but I don’t have anything to clench with.
    Membraned hands touch my skin. Soft. Then a little harder. Kneading, probing.
    Words.
    It feels all right… a little unusual. Here, I think. Something… maybe.
    The whistle of fear intensifies, then suddenly stops. All at once my head is soundless. Empty and dead. And in the inner silence, I can hear the inaudible sound of a scalpel being plucked from a silver tray.
    I’m going to cut here.
    No…
    Fingertips… then the flat of a hand on my skin.
    Oh no.
    No…
    The slice of the scalpel is quick and tight. At first I feel nothing, just the silent peeling of skin and fat, opening up like a blood-red smile… then suddenly the pain cuts in.
    It hurts.
    Oh, it hurts…
    IT HURTS.
    So sharp it’s dull, like cold, like ice… burning hot…
    It hurts it hurts it HURTS…
    And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
    Somewhere in the screamless distance, the voices continue.
    Hold that, Ryan, just there. Let me clear that.
    What is it?
    I can’t make it out. Just a second.
    Pain and pressure… pressure and pain…
    I don’t understand it.
    What’s that brown stuff?
    Hold that away.
    Look at that. Jesus!
    There’s some kind of… like a shell. Hard, pliable. A plastic. I think it comes up to about here.
    A sudden searing pain rips through my belly… it’s too much too much too much too much…
    What’s in there? What’s underneath it? Is that liquid?
    Wires? They look like moving wires.
    This … I can’t get through it. It has – look – patterning. Like bone structure. Outlines. It could be some kind of shield. That might explain the X-rays.
    A shield? A body shield?
    Perhaps…
    Get in underneath it.
    I can’t without –
    Just prise it up, for Christ’s sake.
    Pass me that.
    It was then, just as the tip of a broad-bladed instrument touched something under my skin… it was then that I felt my fists clench. Out of sight, beneath the sheet… I felt them clench.
    And