Free The Jigsaw Man by Gord Rollo Page A

felt it was important to have
    this talk today."
    "Are you saying you're going to remove our different
    parts like we'd agreed, set them up on those machines
    to keep them healthy, then reattach them to us?" Bill
    Smith wondered aloud. "I'm actually going to walk out
    of here looking j u s t like I do now?"
    There was a giimmer of hope in his voice and my
    thoughts were racing too, but the look on Dr. Marshall's
    face made it clear our hopes were in vain.
    "No, Mr. Smith," the doctor said. "I'm afraid that's
    not going to happen. I have other plans in place. I'm sorry,
    but I've already promised your limbs to someone else."
    " W h o ? " all four of us asked, speaking in quadstereo.
    Dr. Marshall seemed to shrink even further into his
    chair and with a heavy sigh, whispered, "If you remem¬
    ber, I mentioned that I had a personal reason for thank¬
    ing you. Well, that personal reason is my son. I'm
    planning on giving your arms and legs to him."
    C H A P T E R N I N E
    "I'm going to attach your arms and legs onto the body
    of my son," Dr. Marshall repeated, but even though I'd
    heard him say it twice, I was still having trouble grasp¬
    ing what he was telling us.
    "I don't understand," I said, my confusion obviously
    shared by my companions. "You can't be serious. Your
    son, he needs all four of o u r . . . I mean ... he doesn't
    have any of his own ..."
    I couldn't even finish the sentence. Jesus! H o w could
    I ask this man if his kid was n o t h i n g but a torso? Maybe
    I had this situation all screwed up. His son might have
    both his arms and legs intact, but something was wrong
    and he j u s t couldn't use them. That sounded more like
    it—for a minute there my imagination got away from
    me. I apologized to Dr. Marshall for my callousness,
    then decided to shut the hell up before I put my foot in
    my m o u t h again.
    "No need, Mr. Fox," he said. "Actually, your assess
    ment of my son's situation was right on the money. At
    least for the moment, he has no arms or legs. He's con¬
    fined to one of my hospital beds upstairs."
    The doctor was looking directly at me, seemingly
    expecting a response. His tone of voice had been light
    but the way he was looking at me was anything but
    friendly. Then again, I could be reading him wrong. I
    was trying to imagine what it must be like to He in a bed
    day after day without being able to move, but I couldn't
    comprehend it. The doctor was still staring at m e —
    really staring—and I felt a chill envelop me as I strug¬
    gled to come up with something to say. Unable to come
    up with anything that might change the subject, but
    feeling like I should say something, I asked, "How did
    your son lose his Limbs? Was it an accident?"
    "No, no accident," he said. "I cut them off him my¬
    self, about three weeks ago."
    For a moment, his eyes stayed locked on mine and I
    can honestly say I'd never seen such cold, penetrating
    eyes before. They were like dark marbles, almost rep¬
    tilian in appearance, but then he laughed, and all traces
    of maliciousness were instantly gone. Might not have
    been any to begin with.
    "That came out a little more sinister sounding than
    I'd intended." The surgeon smiled. "I did have to remove
    my son's arms and legs, but that was only in preparation
    for his operation in the near future. Let me explain.
    "My son's name is Andrew, Andrew N a t h a n Mar¬
    shall, and I love him with all my heart. He's had a fairly
    happy life but it's also been a difficult one. He's been
    severely disabled since birth and every pain-filled day
    he's endured has been my fault. It was me who caused
    his disabilities and I've never forgiven myself for it. N o w
    I'm hoping to finally make it up to him.
    "I was a y o u n g man back in the early 1960s, a prom¬
    ising doctor and surgeon who thought he knew it all.
    W h a t I was, was a first-class fool. My wife, Julia, was
    pregnant with our first child and was having a terrible
    time with m o r n i n g sickness. M e , being