Ripped (103 page)

'It
wasn't
anything
to
do
with
Irene,'
Murray
said.
'She
was with
me.'

Suddenly,
he
realised
that
he
had
spoken
aloud
and
glanced
down
at
his
brother
with
a
reflex
like
an
acknowledgement
of
guilt.

'Mother?'
Malcolm
whispered.

As
if
it
were
moved
by
a
separate
intelligence,
and
one
not
willing
to
deceive
itself
any
longer
with
weakness
or
Murray's
questions,
Malcolm's
left
hand
crept
out
from
under
the
covers,
passed
across
his
body
and
felt
down
his
right
side.

'Mother?'

I want this hurt to go away.

Given
three
wishes,
in
the
child's
world
of
mysterious
powers what
was
wrong
could
be
set
right.

In
slices,
catching
the
corruption
as
it
ate
its
way
upwards,
the
surgeons
had
exchanged
Malcolm's
right
arm
for
his
life.
He
would
live,
but
there
was
no
kiss-and-make-better
to
return
what
was
gone.
The
last
operation
had
taken
the
arm
off
at
the
shoulder.

With
a
convulsive
spasm,
he
half
raised
himself
and
fell
back.

'You
didn't
tell
me.'

'You
knew,'
Murray
said.
'It's
just
that
when
you
wake
up
you don't
want
to
remember.'

The
doctors
had
been
impressed
by
him
,
not
enormously
though,
since
hospitals,
all
things
considered,
witnessed
astonishing
amounts
of
courage.
Malcolm's
had
been
of
the
male
stoical
kind.
Now
he
stared
up,
hopeless
and
afraid
and
full
of
hate;
but
it
was
all
right
to
be
yourself
with
family.

'You
should
have
looked
after
me,
Murray,'
he
said.
'Mother thinks
you
should
have
looked
after
me.'

Malcolm's
glance
showed
how
much
he
discounted
that
possibility,
and
yet
its
bitterness
was
unreasonable
as
if
his
weakness
had
drawn
him
into
the
child's
world
of
belief.

'No
more
operations,'
Murray
said.
'I've
spoken
to
the
surgeon.
They'll
give
you
an
arm
–
prosthesis,
it's
called.'

'A
prosthesis
,
'
Malcolm
mocked.
But
went
on
with
a
change
of
tone,
'You're
telling
me
they'll
hang
a
lump
of
tin
and
plastic
on
me.'

'They'll
fix
it
so
you
can
work
it
with
the
muscles
of
your
back.'

'Oh,
God,'
Malcolm
groaned
and
shut
his
eyes.

Be
grateful
for
it,
Murray
thought,
and
that
you're
not
a
manual
worker.
And
for
six
months
full
pay,
and
six
months
half.
The
benefits
of
a
steady
job.
He
listened
to
the
sound
of
his
own
breath.
It
went
in
and
out
so
quietly
that
it
was
only
when
he
forced
it
gently
on
the
out
breath
that
he
heard
it
sigh
in
his
nose.
It
was
a
little
noise
but
in
the
stillness
he
heard
it
as
his
own,
not
lost
in
the
rasping
snore
of
the
crippled
man.

'Is
it
true
she
was
dead?'

Murray
thought
for
a
moment,
then
said,
'When
you
were
tied
to
her,
she
was
dead.'

'I
thought
she
spoke
to
me.'

'With
the
wounds
she
had,
she
was
dead.
The
ones
in
front
were
enough
to
have
killed
her
-
and
you
were
covering
those
.
'
A
spasm
of
coughing
shook
the
man
on
the
bed
.
It
went
on
until
he
began
to
choke.
Murray
held
him
up
and
gradually
the
fit eased.
He
slumped
in
the
support
of
the
cradling
arm.

'I
feel
my
elbow
itching.'

'I'll
scratch
it
for
you.'

'If
you
can
find
it.'

It
took
a
moment
to
recognise
the
thin
squeezed
note
as laughter.

'It's
in
the
other
arm.
My
God,
I
can
feel
an
itch
in
the
arm
that
isn't
there.'

Murray
laid
him
down.
'That
happens.'

'Will
it
happen
once
I
get
my
prosthesis?
Will
the
elbow
of
my
prosthesis
itch?'
Malcolm
asked
contemptuously.

'Maybe.'
Murray
stood
up
and
stretched.
He
rubbed
his
neck where
it
had
gone
stiff.
'I'll
get
somebody.'

'You
want
to
know
what
I
regret
–
really
regret?'

With
his
hand
on
the
door,
Murray
hesitated.
Through
the
glass,
he
saw
his
mother
accompanied
by
a
nurse
coming
towards
the
room.
She
was
moving
very
slowly.
In
all
her
long
life,
until
this
time
when
Malcolm
had
been
hurt,
she
had
not
needed
the
aid
of
a
stick.