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20
Danny opened his door. In the bright sunshine the figure was outlined in deep shadow and at first Danny couldn’t see who it was. Then he recognised Jenny from the main keying group. He was surprised to see her; they didn’t know each other that well and not many people knew where he lived.
“Hello Jenny, what can I do for you? Do you want to come in?”
Her face sort of crumpled. “Oh Danny, I’m so sorry”, for a moment as she spoke he tried to think who he was close to that might have died, “it’s Bert, he’s had a terrible stroke and they think he’s going to die. They asked us to tell everyone we knew . . .” her voice broke and she started to sob. Danny reached out to touch her and then drew her to him and hugged her. He was shocked – he’d only seen Bert a day or so before and he had seemed his usual self – but he didn’t feel grief struck; perhaps that would come later, although he had never felt particularly close to Bert. They were very far apart in age; in fact now he thought about it, he realised he had no idea how old Bert actually was. These days anyone over fifty was regarded as being in the final waiting room, and Bert could easily be sixty or more.
“What do they want us to do?” Danny asked. “Well, tell anyone you know, I suppose. And we were going to meet at the church for a keying session this afternoon. We thought that would give everyone a chance to say what they felt, and we could let everyone know how Bert is and what’s going on . . .” Jenny’s voice trailed off.
“What about you? Will you be OK?”
“Oh yes, I think so, I just feel terribly emotional, it’s such a shock. I only saw him yesterday, and he seemed so well, and happy. And I’ve always been very close to him, ever since we started the whole keying thing, he’s been very kind to me.” Jenny continued “Danny, if you could just let the people you know about this and about the meeting this afternoon . . .”
“Yes of course – when is it?”
“Three o’clock, and please ask them to be on time. You know what a stickler Bert’s always been about starting on time, and not being interrupted by latecomers – if only out of respect for him, we should try and do that. Look, I’d better get on, I’ve got quite a few people still to tell, and I want to give them all as much time as possible to pass on the news.” Jenny turned to go.
“You sure you wouldn’t like a quick cup of tea or something?” Danny asked.
“No, thank you Danny, I’ll be fine, I just want to get this over with and go home and lie down for a bit before the meeting.” Jenny gave him a wan smile, and trotted off up the road to her next call.
Danny shut the door and went back into his small flat. He’d lived here since he’d been elected onto the Town Council in 2042. It was a sort of grace and favour place, let to him at no cost by the council, so he had somewhere to conduct his constituency surgeries. He was now in his second term as a councillor, and had begun to become quite attached to the flat. It was in a quiet back street, and he’d managed to fix it up, so it was comfortable and functional. Also it wasn’t too far from the labs, so he could walk to work in fifteen minutes or so. The front room he had made into a combination study and surgery, with a desk and his computer, and bookshelves, and a couple of comfortable if rather battered looking old leather armchairs. To the rear was a small kitchen cum dining area, a shower, and his bedroom off to the left, with French windows leading out to a small paved garden area, facing west.
He sat down at his desk and started making a list of the people he should tell about Bert. There were his fellow councillors, the staff at the lab, friends like Fred, although he expected a lot of them would have heard by other means in any case. Cambridge was still a very small place.
He sat for a few moments longer at his desk, mentally working out the best route to take to get to all the people he needed to see. Fortunately he’d mended his bike the day before – as he didn’t need it to get to work, he’d left off fixing the puncture for a couple of weeks, but he’d been filled with an urgent need to clear all his outstanding chores yesterday, and the bike was one of them. Then he thought about what impact Bert’s death might have on them all. Bert was one of the founder members of the keying project, way back before Danny had even arrived at Cambridge and he was certainly an elder statesman for them all. But although he had a fairly high profile, he wasn’t an egotist – he led more by example and a certain quiet confidence, and he was one of a group of five or so, who if anyone could have been described as “the leadership” they would have. So Bert was not indispensable, but it would undoubtedly be a shock. As so many of the keyers were relatively young, many having started like Danny when they were undergraduates at the university, this would be the first death of someone significant that they had had to deal with. He wondered how many people would be at the church that afternoon.
By lunchtime he had managed to tell pretty much everyone he had put on his list. One or two were out of town, and for a couple of others he left messages with a colleague or neighbour. His last appointment was with Fred, whom he’d agreed to meet up with for lunch at the pub. He had told Fred the news straight away of course, but they hadn’t seen each other for a while, and it seemed like a good way to spend the time until the meeting at the church started.
The pub wasn’t far from the church, and he cycled there after he had left the lab. Pretty much everyone was there that he wanted to tell, and the two or three who weren’t were expected back before the meeting was due to start, so they would hear about it in time.
He parked his bike, wondered whether he should lock it, and decided he didn’t need to bother, and stepped into the cool and dark of the snug bar. He looked around but saw no sign of Fred. The pub was very quiet – he wondered if that was because of the news about Bert. Bert was well known in the town, and popular, not just with keyers. He had spent time on the Council, and was usually involved with anything significant that affected the community. He would be missed, Danny thought.
He walked through to the back, and then out into the small garden.
“Hi Danny” Fred waved at him from a bench at the back of the garden.
“Hi Fred” Danny waved, “can I get you a beer?”
“No thanks, I’ve got one here, and one for you” Fred replied.
Danny walked over to Fred’s table. “Do you want anything to eat? I thought I might get myself a pork pie or something” Danny asked.
“Some of their crisps would be nice, thanks” Fred said. Danny walked back into the back bar to get the food.
He came back a few minutes later and sat down at the table, gave Fred his crisps, and took a long pull at his beer. They didn’t speak for a while. Fred had taken up smoking a pipe, which he filled with some horrible herbal concoction. He’d offered it to Danny to try once, but Danny thought it was revolting, and couldn’t understand why Fred bothered. Fred said it relaxed him and gave him something to do with his hands. Danny wondered what the herbal concoction actually was. Fred filled his pipe, and lit it, and started puffing furiously to get it going (the herbs did not actually seem very flammable and it took a lot of ‘management’ by Fred to keep the thing alight – which was perhaps what he enjoyed about it). Although actually smoking the pipe Danny found deeply unpleasant, he rather enjoyed the aroma of whatever weeds Fred was burning in it.
“Bit of a shocker” Fred said, between puffs.
“Yes, particularly as I only saw him a day or two ago, and he looked right as rain” Danny replied.
“Do you think it’ll matter? Make much of a difference?” Fred asked.
“You know, I just don’t know. Bert seems to have a finger in an awful lot of pies, and everyone respects and likes him. The thing is, he’s so good at reconciling different points of view . . . there’ve been so many times when if it hadn’t been for Bert I think all this might just have blown up in our faces. And he’s been brilliant the way he’s got the council involved with the keying and got us involved with them too. There are still a lot of people on the council, and working for it, who don’t really understand what keying is about, and some of them are positively hostile, but Bert has always seemed to be able to keep them onside, or at least prevent them from derailing what everyone else has agreed to do. I suppose there are other people like him, but if there are, I don’t know who they are” Danny concluded.
“Yeah” said Fred “I know what you mean. Although this might be an opportunity, y’know, to get some fresh blood in. If you think about it, the “leaders” – I know they aren't really, but the people who stand up and facilitate and get things moving, and chair stuff and so on, well they’re all pretty much the same generation as Bert.”
“Yes, that’s true” said Danny. “Still, let’s not write Bert off just yet – he may be with us for a while longer. Jenny didn’t really seem to know a lot about what had happened, and I think she was in such a state, she probably wouldn’t have taken in what anyone told her in any case. She’s very fond of Bert.”
“Weren’t they together at one point?” Fred asked.
“I don’t think so. If they were it’s news to me” said Danny.
They continued to talk, and after a while, Danny went in and got them fresh pints.
At half past two, they left the pub. Fred had walked, so Danny pushed his bike, and they walked towards the church. They got there at ten to three and went inside. The church was already, seemingly, full to capacity. Danny spotted Beccy and Lee on the far side of the octagon and Beccy waved and pointed to a gap on the benches beside her. They walked round the back and made their way to where Beccy and Lee were sitting. The church was filled with a low murmur of voices, and an atmosphere of calm expectancy.
At three o’clock, as the church bell struck, the large heavy oak doors were pulled shut. A warden was posted outside to make sure no late arrivals tried to enter the church.
Someone Danny recognised as a colleague of Bert’s but whose name he didn’t know, stood up in the centre of the octagon and struck the gong. Almost immediately, everyone fell silent.
“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Anne Langland, Bert’s partner.” She was a tall, slim, impressive woman, attractive in an understated way, with short bobbed grey hair. Danny was genuinely surprised – he had had no idea Bert was in a relationship. Anne seemed remarkably calm – not controlled, just relaxed and centred. “I know many of you must be very shocked by the news of Bert’s stroke this morning. I certainly was, and surprised – Bert was the last person I would have suspected would have a stroke, not least because I’ve always been very careful about what he eats” – she said this with a faint smile.
“We thought it would be best if I gave you an update on what has happened, and how Bert is, and what the prognosis may be, and then we thought we would have a keying session, and afterwards, if any of you have any questions or would like to say anything, we can have an open session” Anne continued.
“Bert had a stroke soon after he woke up this morning, at about six fifteen. I was downstairs making us some tea, and I heard a thump from the bathroom. I called out but got no reply so I rushed upstairs, and found Bert on the bathroom floor, unconscious. He was breathing, but very faintly. Fortunately our neighbours are also early risers, so they went off to get help while I stayed with Bert. As you can imagine, I was very frightened. Anyway I made him as comfortable as I could, and put him on his side and the ambulance arrived very quickly and took us both to the hospital. We were there before seven. He’s had the best of care since. His vital signs are good, and improving, but he seems to be in a deep coma, and of course we just don’t know what sort of state he’ll be in when or if he comes round. For the moment all we can do is pray and keep our fingers crossed. The best the doctors can tell me is that they know he had a major episode affecting the right half of his brain. They’ve managed to draw off blood and fluid which they hope will help. The risk now is that he may have another stroke but they are doing everything they can to mitigate against that. I’m sorry, but that is really all I can tell you at this stage.”
Anne smiled and looked around at everyone on the benches.
“I’d just like to say how much I appreciate that you are all so concerned and that you are here – it is a real comfort to me. Thank you.” With that she turned around and walked back to where she had been sitting at the start of the meeting.
Another woman then came forward and started to read a passage from a book by Thomas Merton. She struck the gong when she had finished and returned to her seat.
As usual, the keying session lasted for thirty minutes. It concluded with another gong being struck and a short prayer for Bert’s safe and speedy recovery, or for an easy end to his life.
The question and answer session was facilitated by a young man whom Danny recognised from the Town Council. One or two people had general questions about stroke, its causes, treatment and likely outcomes. A doctor from the hospital, although not himself a keyer, had agreed to attend the meeting to answer technical questions. Several people stood up to give tributes to Bert. One or two wanted to know what gaps in the administration would be left by Bert’s absence and what succession plans were in place to fill them.
After about half an hour, Anne Langland stood up again.
“Thank you everyone, again. I think everyone” she looked around the building as she spoke “who wants to has had a chance to speak or ask questions. Is there anyone who hasn’t?” She waited, for what to Danny seemed a long time, but she was clearly in no hurry. “No, good. Well if you do have any questions, I think most of you know where to find me. Obviously I expect to be spending a fair bit of my time at the hospital with Bert, at least until we know a bit more, but if you leave me a note I’ll try and get back to you, or ask someone else to do so. In the meantime, please keep Bert in your thoughts – he’s fairly cynical about that sort of thing as some of you I’m sure will know, but it can’t do any harm.” As she said this, Danny heard the faintest catch in her voice, but she smiled and turned away, and a man got up from next to where she’d been sitting, and took her arm and walked with her out of the main door of the church.
The crowd then started a murmured hum of conversation and began to stream out into the late afternoon sunshine. Danny said goodbye to Fred, Beccy and Lee, and went out to collect his bicycle and headed for home.
* * *
There was no further news for another thirty six hours, other than that Bert was stable and had not deteriorated further. Danny heard subsequently what then happened. On the morning of the second day after his stroke Bert regained consciousness. Anne Langland was at his bedside, drinking a cup of tea. Bert groaned. He said later that he’d actually tried to say “Good morning” but what came out was a groan. Anne nearly dropped her teacup. Bert gave her a crooked smile and groaned again. Anne told him to stay quiet and called for the nurse, who in turn called for the doctor on duty. While he was unconscious he’d been being given fluids intravenously, but his mouth was very dry, so they offered him a glass of water. He spluttered a bit but managed to swallow most of it, and then tried to speak again.
“How long have I been away?” he said, faintly, with a slightly slurred voice, as if he was a bit drunk.
“Two days, darling” Anne told him. “But you’re OK, they think.”
“What happened? The last thing I remember was walking to the bathroom . . .” Bert said, as if fishing around in a deep pool of memories a very long way down.
“You had a stroke, and a fall in the bathroom” Anne replied.
“Something extraordinary has happened to me . . . I can’t explain it . . . I want them to test my brain chemistry . . .” Bert said faintly.
“What is it? Are you all right?” Anne asked.
“I’ve never felt better” said Bert, which seemed odd in the circumstances. He then appeared to pass out again. The doctor stepped forward and checked his vitals, and confirmed that he thought Bert had just succumbed to exhaustion, which was entirely to be expected.
“What was that he said about his brain?” the doctor asked.
Anne replied “He said he wanted you to test his brain chemistry – can you do that?”
“Well, I’m not sure we need to – we drew off a lot of fluid after he came in and we’ve kept it in cold storage. I don’t think I’d like to stick another needle into his head at this stage, unless there was a good clinical reason for it” the doctor responded.
“Well, can you test the fluid?” Anne asked, almost testily.
“Yes, of course. But is it urgent?”
“Well Bert seemed quite keen that you do it, so yes, in my book, I think it is urgent”. Anne was calm, but very firm, and was clearly not interested in negative responses.
The doctor was much younger than Anne, and shorter too. He was intimidated, not so much by her manner, which was perfectly polite, but by a certain incontrovertible steeliness, a determination not to be frustrated in this request from her partner.
“Look, I’ll see what I can do – we can send a sample of the fluids up to the labs for a full spectrum of tests – we ought to have results back within an hour or so” the doctor stammered, and turned and left the room. Anne smiled and sat back down next to Bert’s bed and picked up her cup of tea. Bert appeared to be soundly asleep and snoring gently. The early morning sunshine poured across the linoleum covered floor through the open window of the ward.
When she had finished her tea, Anne went out to look for the nurse.
“Hello, sister, I’m just going for a walk, if that’s all right. Do you think someone could stay with Bert, in case he wakes up again?” she asked.
“Of course, Ms Langland, I’ll be happy to do it. There’s no one else on the ward that needs me at the moment. How long do you think you’ll be?” the nurse asked.
“Oh, twenty minutes I should think. I just want to stretch my legs and get some fresh air” Anne replied.
“OK, then, see you soon” the nurse said brightly and went in to sit beside the still gently snoring Bert.
* * *
An hour and a half later, the young doctor returned. Anne was again sitting by Bert’s bedside, reading aloud that day’s paper, which she’d bought when she went out for her walk.
She looked up as the doctor came in to the ward. “I thought it might help if he could hear a familiar voice” she said “is that OK?”
“Yes, yes, excellent idea. It’s good to try and stimulate him as much as you can – this early phase is much the most critical in making a good recovery from a stroke” the doctor replied, nodding enthusiastically.
“You seem very cheerful” Anne said.
“Well, startled anyway” he answered. “I’ve got the results from the lab of the analysis of the fluid from Bert’s brain.”
“And . . .” said Anne questioningly.
“Well . . . they’re very interesting, and” he hesitated “quite frankly, very odd. Do you mind if I ask you some questions first?”
“No, please, go ahead, anything you like” Anne replied.
“OK, well here goes. Was Bert taking any medications, of any kind, that you’re aware of?”
“No, nothing at all – he’s always been rather anti drugs actually.”
“And, errmm, no recreational drugs, funny herbs, mushrooms, nothing of that sort?”
“No, definitely not. He has a very occasional drink, and I mean very occasional – other than that, as far as I know, he’s never taken anything.”
“Good, well that eliminates that then” said the doctor, although he didn’t seem to be any less perplexed.
“So . . .” Anne asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
“Well, it’s really quite extraordinary – his cerebral fluid sample is awash with an opiate like brain hormone. It’s similar to ones we’re familiar with, but subtly different. The lab technicians say they’ve never seen it before, or, if they have, only in such tiny quantities that they would probably have ignored it.”
“Could it have caused his stroke?” Anne asked.
“No, the technicians were very clear about that. They did explain to me how they could be so sure, but I’m afraid I couldn’t follow the detail, but they were absolutely positive – the hormone had been produced by Bert’s brain after he had had his stroke. Remember that we didn’t extract the fluid until at least two hours after the episode occurred, when we’d got him to the hospital and done his initial assessment.”
“. . . and could this hormone be doing him any harm?” Anne asked, quietly.
“Well we don’t think so. Actually the reverse. The lab technicians said they noticed signs of tissue damage repair in the fluid sample itself, which they thought the hormone was in some way responsible for.”
“What, you mean Bert’s curing himself?” Anne almost laughed.
“Well, it’s early days, but yes, that does seem to be what’s been happening. Which perhaps explains why he’s in such good shape this morning. I mean, we won’t know of course, until he comes round properly and we can do some proper tests . . .” the doctor trailed off.
“Should we wake him up? Can we?” Anne asked.
“No, this is quite normal – stroke is very debilitating and he’s sleeping soundly – he might stay like that for another twelve hours, longer, before he regains consciousness. I think we should just keep him under observation and see how he gets on.”
“Well, that seems sensible to me” said Anne. “Do you have any idea why he might have produced this flood of brain hormone?”
“None at all, I’m afraid. The human body’s a very strange thing of course. He’s a keyer isn’t he?” the doctor said.
“Yes, has been for some years. Are you?” Anne replied.
“No, no, definitely not. I’m afraid I find the whole keying business a bit spooky. I like things I can lay my hands on and understand – sorry, don’t mean to hurt your feelings” the doctor said, a little sheepishly.
Anne laughed. “Oh don’t worry, you couldn’t do that, and you’re not the only one who feels that way. Still, that brain hormone’s something to lay your hands on, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, and to be honest, that’s what bothering me most about all this. If keying can produce a massive physical effect like this, what else might it be able to do? I mean if Bert is effectively repairing his own brain while he’s just lying there, what else could keying be able to do – cure cancer?” The doctor looked almost embarrassed.
“Well that would be nice, wouldn’t it?” said Anne with a smile. “Look, would you mind if I went home for a while? I’d like a bath, and a change of clothes, and something to eat, and actually a rest wouldn’t come amiss either. Could someone sit with Bert while I’m gone, in case he wakes up again?
“Yes, yes, of course, that’ll be no problem. I’ll get one of our student nurses to come in and sit with him. They can always call me or the ward sister if anything happens – take as long as you like. If anything happens, I’ll make sure you’re told straight away” the doctor said.
“Oh, thank you so much. I’ll be back by teatime, then, to see how he is.”
With that, Anne gathered up her things, and walked out of the ward.
* * *
Bert slept the rest of that day and through the night. The hospital brought in a cot for Anne so that she could sleep by his bedside. She woke with the dawn chorus and the early morning sunshine filling the little side ward where Bert had been placed. She got up and stretched and went to make herself a cup of tea. As she came back into the ward with her cup, she saw that Bert was lying in bed, with his eyes wide open, smiling.
“Hello, my love” he whispered. Anne’s face lit up, and then her eyes filled with tears. She put down her cup on the table beside Bert’s bed, and bent over and kissed him on the lips, her tears splashing onto his cheeks.
“Heyy, heyy” Bert murmured, and tried to lift an arm to put round her shoulder, but the effort was too much and he let it drop and let out a deep sigh. “Don’t cry, it’s all right my love, I’m all right. Just very tired and weak” he whispered again.
“Are you sure?” she said, straightening up. “We thought you were going to die.” She bit her lip, to stop herself from crying again.
“Honestly, I feel fine . . . just very very tired, and weak. But very happy.” Bert looked up at her and smiled. Anne noticed that it wasn’t crooked today, as it had been when he smiled the first time he had woken.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.
“You’ll probably have to spoon feed it to me, but yes, please” Bert said, smiling again.
Anne went out into the corridor and saw the ward sister at her desk. “He’s awake, and wants a cup of tea – is that all right?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. I’ll tell Doctor Howard” the ward sister answered, and picked up her phone.
Half an hour later, Doctor Howard was standing beside Bert’s bed.
“Well you certainly look in better shape” he said. “Are you up for a few tests? We’d just like to try and assess what impairments you’ve suffered and work out a treatment plan – we find the quicker we get started the better the outcome.”
“Do I have to do anything?” Bert asked. “I’m absolutely washed out.”
“No, not really – just answer questions, do a few simple physical things – nothing too taxing at this stage” the doctor replied.
The tests took about forty minutes. Anne sat quietly in the background while Doctor Howard prodded, asked simple questions, checked Bert’s eyesight and hearing, asked him to move various parts of his anatomy. Eventually he sat back in his chair.
“It’s quite extraordinary” he said “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. You’re obviously very weak, and tired, but as far as I can tell, you’ve suffered no damage at all. And yet we know you had a massive stroke. Most of us thought you were lucky to be alive when we brought you in. I can’t understand it. I guess it must be those thingummies we found in your cerebral fluid yesterday.” The doctor smiled.
Bert looked questioningly at Anne. She explained briefly what Doctor Howard had told her the day before.
“So you think I produced this hormone or whatever, after I’d had the stroke?” Bert asked the doctor.
“I don’t know what to think, but that’s what the lab technicians are saying, yes” Howard replied.
“Doctor” Bert asked “you don’t key do you?”
“No – did Anne tell you that?”
“No, but I can usually tell. Can you keep a secret?” Bert asked, with a wink.
“Yees” Howard replied, a little uncertainly.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing terrible, I’d just like it kept under your hat for a while, but it might be important. Is that OK?”
“Yes, of course – doctor patient confidentiality and all that” said Howard.
“Well, I think I had what’s called an NDE when I had my stroke. Do you know what that is?”
“A Near Death Experience?” Howard looked uncomfortable.
“Yes, that’s right. I’ve read up quite a bit on them over the years, you know, the theories about what causes them, the change in brain state near to death with the loss of oxygen to the brain and so on. What’s intriguing of course are the reports of out of the body experiences, which appear to be quite authentic, and the changes in attitude reported by some survivors after an NDE. You know, suddenly feeling the world is a loving place and that they want to live the rest of their lives as altruistically as possible – that doesn’t just seem to be about a change in brain chemistry, that seems like a real effect, that needs explaining. Are you with me?”
“Yes, those aspects have puzzled me too. I mean, I couldn’t understand what the point of an NDE was, from the organism’s point of view, or from evolution’s for that matter. I’m afraid I’m a committed materialist when it comes to theories of mind, so yes, these things do bother me a bit . . . y’know, the implications . . .” Doctor Howard trailed off.
“Well there were one or two things about my experience that didn’t quite fit with most of the accounts I’ve heard or read about” continued Bert. “First of all, I had no sense of being drawn towards the light – people talk about wanting to go on, to meet their dead relatives and so on, to go into the tunnel of light, and then they have this feeling of being dragged back to mundane reality, and of feeling terribly sad. Well I didn’t have that at all – it felt more as if I had been parked in some sort of waiting room while something got sorted out. And then I got this tremendous rush – I’ve read about people taking heroin and their descriptions of what it feels like immediately after they’ve injected themselves – that’s as near as I can get to describing what this felt like. And I think that was some part of my brain producing this hormone you’re talking about – that that is what I was experiencing. What do you think?” Bert looked up at Doctor Howard.
“I just don’t know. I mean obviously physical events in the brain will have correlates in consciousness. As you say, look at the effect of hallucinogenic or narcotic drugs on people’s perceptions. Or the effects of brain chemistry imbalances on depressives or psychotics. So, yes, if your brain did, or indeed is still producing this hormone we’ve found in your cerebral fluids, then yes, one would expect you to experience something, consciously. Was it pleasant?”
“That would be a very considerable understatement” laughed Bert. “I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven – only I knew I was very much alive. In fact, I felt I was much better than just alive. I seemed to be full of energy and, well, love, I suppose.”
“And how do you feel now?” Doctor Howard asked.
“Wonderful. Tired and weak, but just intensely alive. Really glad just to be here, and especially to have Anne here with me”. Saying this Bert looked across at Anne. Both their eyes sparkled with tears. Doctor Howard looked away, embarrassed, yet curiously jealous at the same time, but of what, he couldn’t say.
“Doctor, could you do something for me?” Bert asked.
“Well, that depends . . .”
“Could you let our bio techs have samples of my cerebral fluid? I’d like them to try and culture it, and isolate the active ingredients . . . I think we might be able to do something quite important with it, particularly if we can work out how I produced it, where it came from . . .”
“I can’t see why not, in principle. It is your fluid after all, and this would be part of official University research . . . wouldn’t it?” Howard answered hesitantly.
“Yes, of course. Everything the bio techs do is under the auspices and supervision of the University. . . and we’d get the OK from the Ethics Committee of course. I just don’t want that stuff being tipped down the ‘loo!”
“Good grief, there was never going to be any question of that” Howard almost snapped at Bert. “I can see how important this might be. Maybe it was a freak of nature, maybe it’s not reproducible, maybe you’re some sort of miracle cure and a complete one-off, but there’s no way I was going to let this go without really investigating it first.”
“Good. That’s great, in fact. Perhaps you and your lab technicians would like to work with us on this one?” Bert asked, smiling again.
“That sounds like an excellent idea. But now, if you don’t mind, I think you need to get some rest. Would you like a sedative?”
“No thank you Doctor, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble going back to sleep again. To be honest, all this excitement has rather taken it out of me” said Bert, yawning as he did so.
“Anne” Dr Howard said, looking at her “do you want to stay here again tonight? You’re more than welcome.”
“That’s very kind of you Doctor, but I think I’d like to sleep in our own bed tonight” Anne replied, looking down at Bert, who was now snoring softly between them. “I think he’ll be safe in your hands for tonight” she said, looking up at Howard and smiling.
“Of course he will. See you in the morning?”
“Yes, I’ll come in after I’ve had breakfast, if that’s OK with you.”
“That’s fine. Well, I’ll tell the ward sister, and . . . see you in the morning – have a good night.” With that Doctor Howard left the room and went off to look for the sister. Anne bent down and kissed Bert on his forehead and walked quietly out of the room herself.
* * *
It took the biochemists six months to isolate and purify the new hormone and then to successfully culture it to produce a sufficient quantity to start conducting tests. They used mice and dogs to do basic toxicity tests, with no apparent ill effects. The mice may have appeared a little less frantic in their treadmill and the dogs perhaps wagged their tails a little more often, but that aside, they appeared quite unaffected by the drug. Even if they had had access to higher primates to do further tests on a closer relative to human beings, no one would have been happy with the ethical implications of giving a potentially mind altering drug to a conscious animal whom they could not explain the implications to, and who would be quite unable in turn to tell the biochemists what if anything the effects had been. So the biochemists experimented on themselves. They were all keyers, which may have helped, but their responses were uniformly positive. Most described experiences similar to that which Bert had had. Over the longer term, they felt less anxious about themselves and their own concerns, more focused on the needs and interests of people around them. In one particularly dramatic case, the subject had suffered for years from mild to moderate bi-polar disorder. After taking the drug their symptoms completely disappeared. It seemed that the drug stabilised and re-ordered disturbed brain chemistry and was especially helpful for anyone with mental disorders linked to imbalances in their brain chemistry. Soon an extensive treatment programme was being offered to depressives and schizophrenics with often remarkable results.
At first it seemed as if the drug would be of benefit to everyone, keyers and non-keyers alike. A decision was made to offer the drug to anyone who asked for it. As only a single dose was required – once ingested the drug seemed to enable the brain to continue producing the hormone on its own – there was no problem with supply. However it soon became apparent that individuals had very different reactions. They seemed to fall in to one of four categories. The first and most troubling were the deaths – it seemed that some people, experiencing the NDE state, simply preferred to walk in to the light and not come back. Once they had taken the drug, they went in to a deep coma like state, and then after in some cases a few minutes, in others after several hours or even days, their heart simply stopped beating. After the first few such incidents, a halt was called to offering the drug and a group was set up to examine each of the deaths. In almost every case, friends and relatives confirmed that the recipients had suffered some deep emotional trauma, often the loss of a partner or child. Others had had a long term depression, a sort of world weariness, and had often been heard to talk about ending it all, or looking forward to their deaths.
It was decided that before anyone was given the drug they receive a period of counselling and analysis so that potential outcomes could be explained to them. If they still wanted to take the drug, they were then allowed to do so.
It was particularly helpful for people with terminal end stage diseases or serious disabilities. There was little enough that doctors could do to help them in any case, apart from offering pain relief. Ironically one effect of the drug was actually to prolong the time the patients were prepared to go on suffering from their disease or disability; knowing that there was a way out of their pain and discomfort, and also becoming more detached from the immediate physical consequences, and intensely interested in life going on around them, enabled them to carry on sometimes for years.
A second more problematic reaction in some recipients was a complete loss of motivation. These people appeared to have rather weak or undeveloped egos and once they had taken the drug, they smiled seraphically but became a sort of vegetable. They no longer cared for themselves, would not eat, get dressed or do anything other than just wander around the town smiling at people. They needed constant care. As the counsellors grew more experienced and skilled at recognising the type susceptible to this sort of reaction, they insisted that before receiving the drug, if they still wished to go ahead, they appoint someone to care for them, if necessary. And that someone of course had to agree to the not inconsiderable burden of looking after the recipient.
Others had a very negative reaction – their attachment and identification with their ego was so powerful that they were unable to separate from it, and descended in to a kind of hell, divided against themselves. They experienced the NDE as something entirely negative and in some cases became extremely disturbed and even violent. In the most severe cases, they had to be placed in secure accommodation for their own protection and that of their neighbours. Surprisingly some experienced keyers had this reaction – powerful egos could key for many years as a prop to their own self image; far from weakening the hold of their ego, they actually seemed to strengthen it. Danny recalled reading stories about the Desert Fathers in Egypt, whose greatest fear was succumbing to spiritual pride, the final barrier to achieving union with the godhead. And there were also accounts of religious people suffering from “scrupulosity” – an intense preoccupation with their own sinfulness and the state of their soul. So that people who appeared outwardly to be pious and unselfish were in reality self obsessed narcissists – whited sepulchres, desperately concerned with outward appearances and the impression they made on others.
Again, counselling and analysis helped to identify most in this group, but in a way, the worst cases were often undone by the domination of their ego; they could not accept what the analyst told them and demanded the drug anyway. Others were able to accept the advice, and some were able to return after months or years for another round of analysis and had by then made sufficient progress in keying and work on themselves to react positively when they finally took the drug. If the analysis indicated someone fell into this group, they would be taken to meet and see others who had reacted badly and that was often enough to make them think again about insisting on being given the drug. And of course many people in this group had absolutely no interest in a near death experience and could not imagine why anyone would want such a thing.
Danny was recruited as a counsellor and analyst fairly soon after the programme began. He was not himself sure he was ready to take the drug himself and in some ways that was a good qualification. Someone who had taken the drug and had a positive experience might have been less able to be objective when advising someone else.
He had been planning a trip back to the village for some time, to see Sally and to see if he could persuade her to come and live with him in Cambridge. Before he left he requested a batch of pills from the university pharmacy. As he explained to Bert, many of the people in the village would never come to Cambridge and it seemed unfair not to offer them the same chance to receive the drug as everyone in Cambridge had had. Bert simply asked him to be careful and not to let his affection for his friends cloud his judgement. Danny promised that he would do so.
* * *
The journey back was relatively uneventful. The weather was kind, and he was able to travel by flicker bike as far as Bury St Edmunds, where he borrowed a horse, leaving the flicker bike as security until he returned. It took him another two days to reach the village. He crossed the Stour at the ford at about five in the afternoon and rode straight to the Chisholm’s house. He had not seen Sally for months – she had managed to make a trip to Cambridge, for the first time, after the last harvest was in and Daisy was able to spare her for a few weeks.
He spurred his horse into a gallop across the last field before the house, and clattered into the cobbled farmyard. As he slid out of the saddle, the back door opened and Daisy came out. She looked old and grey and sad.
“Oh hello Danny” Daisy said “it’s been a long time since we’ve seen you here. Was the journey difficult? How long can you stay? Sally will be really pleased to see you, she’s been missing you terribly.” She bustled up to him and gave him a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Hello Daisy, it’s good to be back. No, the journey was fine, thanks. I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you I was coming – can you put me up?”
“Don’t be so silly Danny, of course we can. Do you think Sally’s going to let you out her sight now you’re here? How long can you stay?”
“Well, I made no promises when I left, so I should be able to stay for at least a couple of weeks, maybe a bit longer. I’m sort of between projects at the moment, so I won’t be missed” Danny answered. “Where’s Sally?”
“Oh, she went to Bures this morning to see an old friend, but she should be back soon. Come in and have a drink of something and we can have a chat.” Daisy turned and went back into the house, suddenly not seeming so sad and grey any more.
Daisy gave Danny a beer, and they sat down at the table in the kitchen. She told him the news from the village – a few more deaths, several families moving away up to Cambridge and Newmarket. “I don’t know how long the village will survive really” she said “every year there are fewer and people here, and it gets more and more difficult, especially to get help with the harvest and the jobs around the farm. And Johnny’s getting restless, he hardly has any friends of his own age now.”
“Yes, it must be hard for him. But I bet he’s useful on the farm now – how old is he?”
“He’s eighteen now, and he’s strong and willing enough, when he’s here!” Daisy laughed.
“Has he been going to school?” Danny asked.
“No, the school’s been long shut, once we lost the teacher. Sally teaches Johnny what she can, and he learns all the practical things on the farms here – as much as he’s ever likely to need to know anyway. And he’s a very good hunter – always bringing something home for the pot.”
“Has he got a gun then?”
“No, I haven’t been able to get cartridges for Geoff’s old gun for a long time. He’s made a very good longbow. Bought down a fallow deer last week, at a hundred metres. He was very pleased with himself.” Daisy laughed again.
“What about your news? What’s been happening in Cambridge?” Daisy asked.
So Danny told her about the NDE pill.
“That sounds fascinating Danny” Daisy said when he’d finished. “Have you taken it?”
“No, I’m not in any rush; it’s nice to know it’s there, and I’ll take it when I feel ready. I’ve bought some with me, by the way. I thought maybe some people in the village might like to try it. I know Dad would have done, when he got to the end.”
“I know, poor man, he was in such a lot of pain those last few months, and there was so little anyone could do for him” Daisy replied. “And yes, there are a few in the village in that sort of state, who might appreciate the chance to try it. But it sounds like it’s not for everyone, from what you say.”
“No, but I’ve had quite a lot of experience now, talking to people about it, and assessing them. It’s usually pretty easy to see whether it’s right for someone or not, and actually they often know themselves.”
“You know what” Daisy said “I think I’d like to try it. I’ve been so wretched since Geoff died, just being wanting to follow him really. If it hadn’t been for Sally and Johnny I think I would have done, years back . . . I miss him so much . . .” Daisy’s voice trailed away.
“Well, let’s talk about it some more” said Danny “and see how you feel about it. We’ve got plenty of time before I have to go back.”
Just then they heard a hallo from the yard. Danny leapt up from the table and saw Sally through the window. He ran to the door and took her in his arms. She was laughing and crying at the same time as she was kissing him.
“Oh Danny, it’s so good to see you, it’s been so long, and I’ve been missing you dreadfully these past few weeks” Sally whispered into the nape of his neck. Danny just hugged her even more tightly than before, if that were possible.
About half an hour later, Johnny came through the kitchen door, swinging two plump rabbits by their back legs. Daisy was delighted and said she would cook them for their supper.
Over supper Danny told Sally about the pill, and all the other developments and progress in Cambridge. Daisy said again that she wanted to take it, at which Sally got very upset.
“But Mum, what if something goes wrong? What if you don’t come back, or get even more unhappy than you are now” Sally almost shouted. “And what about Johnny and I? We need you, you’re all we have.”
Johnny piped up “I don’t see where’s the harm. You know how sad Mum’s been without Dad all this time, and if she did go, we could manage OK on our own.”
“I know, Johnny, but I’m not sure I’d want to” said Sally, sadly.
“Hey you two, no need to go assuming the worst” said Danny “Daisy and I are going to talk about it tomorrow – let’s see how she feels about taking it after that. Would you like to do that Daisy?”
“Yes, please, that’d be nice. And then we’ll see . . . now, I don’t know about you lot, but I’m ready for my bed.” So saying, Daisy got up from the table, and kissed each of them good night, and went up the stairs to her room.
“What about you Johnny? You ready for bed?” Sally asked.
“No way – it’s a full moon tonight, I’m going out hunting with the Bramwells – they think they’ve spotted some wild boar over Assington way” said Johnny.
“Oh, do be careful Johnny, you know what boar can be like if they’re cornered” Sally said.
“Don’t worry sis, it’s not as if I haven’t been on a boar hunt before. Anyway, Charlie’s got a decent gun and he knows how to use it.”
Danny remembered Charlie, one of George Bramwell’s younger brothers, who was about the same age as Johnny.
“How come the Bramwells are still here?” Danny asked. “I thought they’d all moved up to Cambridge somewhere.”
“Yeah, they did, three or four years back. But George’s brothers didn’t like it, so as soon as they were old enough, they came back here to live on the old family farm. Don’t do much farming, mind, they mostly go hunting and trapping, but they do OK” Johnny answered.
“How is George?” Danny asked. “I haven’t seen him since Dad died.”
“He’s fine I think. He came back with Charlie and Jack, to help them sort out the old farmhouse. They found an abandoned farm, somewhere near Mildenhall, I think, which they took over. From what George said, things are going really well for them. And Joan and he have two children now.”
“Johnny, where are you meeting the Bramwells tonight?” Danny asked.
“Up at the pub – they said they’d be there soon after ten, give the moon a chance to get reasonably high in the sky” Johnny said.
“Will you give them my best, and tell him I’ll come and have a beer with them before I go back to Cambridge?”
“’course, tho’ why don’t you come to the pub with me and tell them yourself?” Johnny asked.
“Sally and I have things to discuss” Danny said. Johnny smirked and got up to go. “Johnny, could you ask Charlie for George’s exact address? I’d like to get in touch with him.”
“Yeah, sure Danny. Sis, don’t wake me in the morning, please. I don’t know how late we’ll be out tonight, so I’ll probably sleep on late tomorrow” Johnny said as he walked out of the house.
“All right, and just you be careful” Sally called after him.
Then she turned to Danny, and took his hand, and led him upstairs to her room.
* * *
The next morning, Sally had errands to run around the village, so after breakfast, she left Danny and Daisy alone in the little sitting room to talk. He began by carefully explaining again what the drug was, and what it did, and what the possible outcomes were. Then mostly Daisy talked, with Danny asking an occasional question. She talked about her beliefs – she was still a regular church goer – and her life with Geoff and her deep and abiding depression after his death eight years before. She talked about Sally and Johnny, and her little girl, Rachel, their youngest sister, who had died of a fever five years before, which had only deepened her depression. Danny asked her about her faith and if it had helped her at all, but she said only that it gave her the determination not to give up, at least until Sally and Johnny were settled in some way or another.
It was early afternoon when they finally finished talking.
“What do you think, Danny? I mean about me taking the pill” Daisy asked him.
“Well, I think one of two things may happen – you might not want to come back, and no one could blame you for that, but you’d be leaving Sally and Johnny on their own. Or, and I think this is just as likely, if not more so, you’ll see that your life is still worth living; that you’ll get from this experience what you haven’t been able to find in church. But there’s no guarantee, I’m afraid.”
“I understand that, Danny. It’s just I’ve felt so desperate lately, I’ve come very close to just trying to end it anyway. At least this way, I might have some chance of getting through it . . .” Daisy said.
“Well, why don’t you talk it through with Sally and Johnny, and see how you all feel about it . . . I think they both understand how tough it has been for you without Geoff . . . I’m sure they’ll both support you whatever you decide” Danny said.
Later that day, after Johnny had surfaced and Sally had returned, Daisy asked them both to come in to the sitting room. Danny went off for a walk and to go back and look at his old home. After Frank Stearman had died, Danny had collected up the few things of sentimental value, and Frank’s papers, and then asked everyone in the village to come and help themselves to anything they wanted. No one wanted or needed the house at the time, so Danny closed it up as best he could and left the keys with Peter Burrows, the village council chairman, asking him to let anyone have the house in the future who needed it. In the event, no one ever did, as the village steadily depopulated, and now the house was in a sorry state. It saddened Danny to see it, but he knew he would never have any use for it now. He had thought at one time he and Sally might live there, but his life was in Cambridge now. He just hoped it would not be too long before Sally could come and join him.
He walked down into the valley bottom, and went for a swim in the river. He got back to the Chisholms’ about two hours after he’d left Daisy and her children talking. He called out as he stepped in to the kitchen and heard an answering hello from the sitting room. He went and knocked on the door and Daisy told him to come in.
“Have you been talking all this time?” Danny asked.
“Yes” said Daisy “and it’s been very helpful . . . I think we’re all agreed” she looked at Johnny and Sally for confirmation, and they both nodded.
“So, what have you decided then?” Danny asked.
“I’d like to take it, please” Daisy replied.
“When? Would you like to sleep on it?” said Danny.
“No, I’d like to take it now, please. I don’t want to wait any longer.”
“All right, if you’re sure . . . I’ll just go upstairs and get one.” Danny left the room and went up to Sally’s bedroom, hoping he was doing the right thing, but also knowing that it was precisely for the heartache that Daisy had borne so long that the pill existed.
He came back downstairs and went back into the sitting room. Sally was looking anxious, Johnny, if anything, excited. Daisy seemed very calm. Sally got up and went to get a glass of water from the kitchen and gave it to Daisy. Danny gave her the pill.
“I don’t want to frighten you” said Danny “but have you said goodbye? Daisy may not come back . . .”
“We know, that’s what we’ve spent most of the afternoon talking about” said Sally “remembering Dad, and the good times we’ve had together . . . we’re ready if Mum is.”
Daisy looked up at Danny. “I’m ready” she said, in a calm firm voice.
“OK, well let me just explain how this usually works” Danny said. “You take the pill, and usually people just feel very sleepy, and then they go to sleep, sometimes for several hours. Do you want to go up to your bed? Or you could lie down here on the sofa.”
“I think I’d like to stay here. Will you all stay with me?” Daisy answered.
“Of course we will” Sally said, a break in her voice. Danny could see how hard she was trying not to cry.
Daisy got up and walked over to the sofa. She popped the pill in her mouth and took a sip of water. “How long before I fall asleep?” she asked, looking up at Danny.
“Five minutes or so, usually” said Danny.
They all sat there, feeling a little foolish and self conscious. Daisy picked her feet up and lay down full length on the sofa and closed her eyes. Within a minute or two, they could hear her softly snoring. They got up and tip toed out of the sitting room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
In the kitchen, Sally said “Danny, do we need to keep a watch on her?”
“No, but one of us at least should stay here . . . if she wakes up, she may be rather disorientated at first.”
“Will you stay? You’re the only one who knows anything about this, after all” Sally asked.
“Of course I will. I want to be here when she wakes up.” Danny replied.
“If she wakes up . . .” Johnny said lugubriously. Sally gave him a furious look.
“I’m sure she’s going to be fine” said Danny, with more confidence than he felt.
Every so often, one or other of them popped their faces round the door of the sitting room. Daisy appeared to be sleeping soundly. At about nine o’clock, when Danny looked in, he saw she seemed to be smiling broadly, with tears streaming down her face. He assumed that she must have woken up, and whispered her name, but she did not answer. He went back into the kitchen.
“We’ll need to take it in turns to stay with her through the night – she might stay asleep for hours” said Danny. “Shall we say two hours each?”
“Make it three” said Sally “that way we should only have to do one shift each.”
“OK” said Johnny “bags I the first shift then, from now till midnight.”
Sally and Danny looked at each other and smiled, but it made sense – of the three of them Johnny was much the most likely to fall asleep himself in the small hours of the night.
At three in the morning Sally shook Danny gently awake. He was in the middle of a beautiful dream but by the time he was fully awake he had lost it completely.
“How is she?” he whispered.
“Sleeping like a baby – I think she must be dreaming, she keeps muttering, but I can’t make out what she’s saying” Sally whispered back.
Danny got up and went downstairs to the kitchen to make himself a hot drink, and then went in to the sitting room. Daisy appeared not to have stirred since he had last looked in on her at nine the previous evening.
Danny settled himself into a comfortable old armchair. In his right hand he held a pebble above a large plate which he’d got down from the old dresser and placed on the floor. As he had hoped, his stratagem worked like clockwork. He must have nodded off after about an hour. His hand relaxed, and the pebble hit the china plate with a loud clatter, enough to wake him up. He looked over at Daisy in the moonlight filled room. She was staring at him. He got up from the armchair and walked over to the sofa, and knelt down beside her.
“Hello Daisy” he said in a low voice.
“Hello Danny” she answered, faintly.
“Are you all right?” Danny asked.
“I think so” she replied. “I nearly didn’t come back . . . it was so lovely to see Geoff again, to hold him . . . so hard to leave . . .”
“Why did you?”
“Because I knew it was going to be all right . . . that Geoff will always be there, waiting for me . . . that that light is always there . . . the love . . .” Daisy’s voice faded away in the moonlight.
“How do you feel now?”
“Oh Danny, so deep deep down happy, I can’t describe it. I just don’t want to forget it, to forget what it was like to be with Geoff again . . . and little Rachel was there too, just the same . . .”
“I don’t think you will, that’s not how it seems to work” said Danny. “But I think keying helps, it sort of takes you back to that same place.”
“Can you teach me how Danny, before you leave? Please?” Daisy asked.
“Of course I will – it’s not difficult, you just need to practice and do it regularly. Would you like something to drink?”
“I’d love a nice cup of tea” Daisy said, getting herself up into a sitting position. “What time is it?”
“About four, I think. Sun’ll be up soon. I’ll go and make you that cup of tea. Will you be OK for a few minutes?”
“Oh yes” said Daisy “I’ll be fine . . . I think I’ll be fine forever” she beamed.
Danny went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea for the two of them. He brought it back into the sitting room, on a tray, with cups and milk and sugar.
“You’ve been asleep for quite a while. Can you remember anything else?” he asked. “But don’t talk if you don’t want to . . .”
“It’s funny – it feels like I literally took the pill two seconds ago, but also like I’ve been away for years . . . I sort of re-lived my whole life, right back to when I was a little girl. And they were all there, not just Geoff and Rachel, but my Ma and Da, my brothers and sisters, friends from my whole life, you know, the good friends, the real friends . . . and I sort of understood why they were my friends, what it was about them that was important to me . . . and so many things which used to hurt me, that I felt bad about, my sins I suppose, just sort of washed away – not that they didn’t happen, but that I understood why they happened, and just felt forgiven, forgave myself really . . . oh Danny, it’s so beautiful” and saying this, Daisy looked around the room, gazed at the tea things on the tray, looked at the moonlight washing across the faded carpet, and out of the window at the garden. Just then the first bird song of the dawn chorus started up, and Daisy started to cry, quietly, and all the time, smiling.
* * *
Danny stayed in the village for another three weeks. Daisy went out and told all her friends, well in fact the entire village, about the pill and her experience. Several people approached Danny and asked if they could take the pill. Danny talked to them all and in the end, only one person changed their mind. This last was a relief to Danny, as he was quite sure the man would have reacted badly to the pill. Of those that took it, one person did not come back. She had lost her husband a few months before and was herself crippled with arthritis. A few hours after taking the pill, she gave out a deep sigh and simply stopped, with a gentle smile on her face.
The next day, her daughter came up to Danny on the road and thanked him for “letting Mum go” and asked if she could take the pill as well. Danny was a bit concerned at how she would react so soon after losing her closest relative but the woman was very clear and determined. She wanted to experience whatever it was that her mother had seen, so convinced as she was that it was something overwhelmingly positive. In the event, she was fine.
For all of those who had taken the pill, Danny led a keying session in the old village church. Most of them continued keying after he left the village to return to Cambridge. One or two told Sally they simply didn’t feel the need to, that the light was with them all the time in any case. Others introduced keying to other people in the village. Danny left the unused stock of pills with Daisy for her to give to people at her discretion. He felt she understood enough about the potential hazards to make as good a judgement as he could have done of who was ready to take it.
* * *
The day before he left, Danny and Sally went for a long walk in the valley, across the water meadows. They swam off the footbridge at Wiston and made long, slow love in the hay meadow beside the river. He promised he would be back before the year’s end. Other than that, they didn’t discuss the future. As long as she had Daisy and Johnny to look after, and the farm, Sally wasn’t going to leave the village, and she didn’t want Danny to give up his life in Cambridge either. She promised that if she could, she would come and see him in Cambridge before too long.