“Hold the wire.... Long distance.”
Faint buzzing, piercings of sound poured with the night into my ear.
“Hello.” “Yes.” “Doctor John Mark?” “Yes.” “Is this Doctor John Mark?”
“Yes.”
“Please hold the wire, sir. Huntington, Long Island ... wishes to
speak to Doctor Mark.”
“This is Huntington Hospital.”
“This is Doctor Mark.” I spoke to the night. “What is it?”
“This is Dr. John Mark?” A pause.
“Doctor, there has been an accident. An automobile accident. Your
parents----”
“Are they at the hospital?”
“Yes, doctor.”
“Are they----”
“Better come out, sir,” said the night. I rang off.
* * * * *
... _What are you doing now?_ Mrs. Lansdowne’s voice.
... _Your will, what is it touching?_ The horror of Doctor Stein.
* * * * *
A train was pulling out. I caught it. I had no sense other than this
full immersion in the night. And in consummation. And all of it still
a Threshold.... A taxi rushed me to the hospital. A tall interne with
gentle eyes came to me.
“Are you Doctor Mark?”
I nodded.--I am this night! What monstrous irony is this, calling me by
a name that brings to gentle eyes commiseration and respect?
“We did what we could.”
“Both of them?” I spoke low, fearing an echo in the empty hall.
He bowed his head and shut his lips against the anatomical details that
urged them.
“And Fergus, the chauffeur?”
“He is not in danger. He was thrown free through the windshield.
Contusions. Lacerations. A simple fracture in shoulder and arm. _They_
were pinned in. Windows shut. It was raining hard. Do you ... do you
... want to see them?”