"Ha, ha!" Dr. Radhakrishnan said. "You are astonishingly perceptive." No point in denying it, now. "How could you possibly have known that?" Maybe this woman had deeper connections than he had supposed.
"I am not an anatomical expert," Lady Wilburdon said, "but as I cast my eye over the gentleman, I see that you have sawed off the top of his head and extracted a large gray sort of thing that I take to be his brain."
"Of course, you are right."
"And I have taken the liberty of assuming that the distinguished director of this institute would not bother personally to perform a detailed autopsy on a patient who had expired of causes that were merely incidental."
"Infection," Dr. Radhakrishnan said. "His surgical wounds became infected with a nosocomial microbe, which is to say, a bug that he picked up in the hospital."
"I am familiar with the terminology," Lady Wilburdon said, and exchanged an amused look with her female companion.
Finally Mr. Salvador had recovered sufficiently to weigh in.
"Infections are always a terrible problem in brain surgery," he said.
"That is why we operate out of these buildings," Dr. Radhakrishnan lied. "Because they are not hospitals per se, the chance of nosocomial infections is greatly reduced."
"But we still must perform all of the surgical procedures at AIIMS," Mr. Salvador said.
"And this is where he picked up the fatal organism," Dr. Radhakrishnan concluded. He and Mr. Salvador exchanged a triumphal look, trying to shore each other up.
"Then I shall be extremely careful to wash up," Lady Wilburdon said, looking at her bloody hand, "now that I too have been infected with this very deadly pathogen."
"Yes. We should all probably do that," Dr. Radhakrishnan said, "before we spread the infection to Mr. Singh or any of the other patients." This phase of the lying process was known as backfilling.
The backfilling process continued as Dr. Radhakrishnan and Lady Wilburdon scrubbed themselves in the sink that had been set up at one end of the building. Mr. Salvador and the lady's companion, Miss Chapman, washed their hands too, for good measure, to ensure that the fatal infection did not spread through the ward. Lady Wilburdon obviously knew a thing or two about washing up and threw herself into the process at a frighteningly vigorous pitch, running a stiff plastic brush back and forth under her fingernails with the speed of an automatic paint shaker, spraying a fountain of pink suds into the air. She scrubbed herself all the way to elbows, like a surgeon.
"You must forgive us for handling your visit so awkwardly and discourteously," Mr. Salvador ventured, "as this is the first time that anyone has ever come to visit any of our patients." "Ooh, how terribly sad," said Miss Chapman. "I shall relay news of this situation to the Lady Wilburdon Organisation for the Visitation of Destitute Invalids here in Delhi," Lady Wilburdon said. "Arrangements can be made-" "Oh, we really couldn't ask-"
"Emotional factors are terribly important. Loneliness can kill just as surely as nosocomial infections."
"No," Dr. Radhakrishnan said. He had to draw the line somewhere. "You are very generous. But I must rule it out on medical grounds. Later, when we have the permanent facility constructed, perhaps we can arrange for routine visitation."
Mr. Salvador cringed visibly. Lady Wilburdon got just a bit sniffy. "Well," she said, "I count myself fortunate that I was able to come in and have a lovely visit before this very strict policy was imposed."
"As you will understand, we did not have to impose a policy until now."
Mr. Salvador was trying to patch it all up. "But if you can provide me with a forwarding address in England, I will keep you apprised of our progress."
"England?" Lady Wilburdon said. "Oh, no. We shall be here in India for another month at least."
"Oh. Well, that's delightful news. Delightful." "Of course, we will be all over the subcontinent, but sooner or later we always come back to Delhi."
"Then I shall look forward to dinner with you on at least one occasion," Mr. Salvador said weakly.
"When does the next fellow, Mr. Singh, have his operation?" "We have it scheduled for Wednesday."
"Four days from now," Miss Chapman said. She took an oversized appointment calendar, a desktop model, from her tote bag, and opened it up. "Mr. Singh has his brainwork done," she mumbled to herself, penciling it in.
Meanwhile, Lady Wilburdon was reading over her companion's shoulder. "Tomorrow we leave for Calcutta, to inspect the Lady Wilburdon Institute for the Rehabilitation of Syphilitic Lepers." Both men drew sharp breaths.
"Can they be rehabilitated?" Mr. Salvador said. He seemed astonished, verging on slightly amused.
"Syphilitic lepers are easy," Lady Wilburdon said, "compared to spoiled boys."
Mr. Salvador turned red and shut up, leaving Dr. Radhakrishnan all alone to terminate the conversation. "Feel free to phone when you return to Delhi," he said. "Telephone?"
"Yes. No visitation, remember."
"But Mr. Singh will be having his operation in the new facility, will he not?"
"Oh. Yes, that's right. It should be ready by then." "So he will recover in the new facility as well." Dr. Radhakrishnan could only nod.
"See you in a few days," Miss Chapman said, snapping her appointment book shut and beaming at them cheerily. The two women bustled out and climbed into a waiting car.
Mr. Salvador spun on his heel, went straight across to Building 1, and pulled a bottle of gin out of his desk. He and Dr. Radhakrishnan sat down across from each other, wordlessly, and began to drink it, straight, from paper cups. After a minute or two, Zeldo came over and joined them. This was a little troubling in and of itself, because Zeldo was some kind of a puritanical health freak. Drinking straight gin from a paper cup was not his style at all.
"What was that?" Dr. Radhakrishnan finally said, when he and Mr. Salvador, or Bucky, or B.M. as he was called by his school chums, both had a few ounces of ethanol pumping through their systems.
Mr. Salvador threw up his hands. "What could I possibly say to you verbally that would add to the impression you have already received?"
"She knows you."
Mr. Salvador sighed. "My father was Argentine, of German and Italian ancestry. My mother was British. One of our homes was in England and that is where I went to school. Once or twice a year, she would come seeping through the place to inspect it. She would sit in the back of a classroom for a few minutes and watch. Made all the teachers nervous as hell. Students too. She even made the custodians nervous."
"You had dealings with her then?"
"None. Never. How she could possibly remember my name is a complete mystery to me. She must have a photographic memory. She is a freak of nature," he finally concluded, belaboring the obvious.
Dr. Radhakrishnan said nothing. He had the feeling that Mr. Salvador lied to him quite a bit. But this seemed a particularly obvious lie. Mr. Salvador had been extremely upset. Lady Wilburdon was more than the titular head of his old school; she must have some power over him. And the idea of someone actually having power over the all-powerful Mr. Salvador was certainly interesting.
"What killed Mr. Easyrider is still mysterious," Dr. Radhakrishnan said, "but I have high hopes for Mr. Scatflinger."
"I don't," Zeldo said. It was the first time he had spoken since he had taken to drinking.
"Why not? Everything's going perfectly with him."
"Once we get his chip trained," Dr. Radhakrishnan said, "presumably he will become a bit more versatile."
"We can't train his chip. His chip is dead," Zeldo said.
"If it were really dead, he wouldn't even be able to say wubba wubba."