Free The Magician by Sol Stein

cop’s face. A nostril gushed red blood as a moaning sound went through the student audience, suddenly all on its feet, with the chief yelling into the microphone, “Sit down! Sit down!”
    Urek hoisted himself, first a knee, then altogether, up onto the windowsill, then turned, framed against the window light, shouting, “Let me alone!”
    The hurt policeman wiped blood from his nose, cheek, and lip. The other three policemen were beneath the window ledge, looking up. One reached for his pistol.
    “Put that away!” commanded the chief.
    The policeman returned the weapon to the holster. Clearly, none of the three dared to try hoisting themselves onto the window ledge.
    Mr. Chadwick whispered in the chief’s ear. “Shall I clear the auditorium?”
    “No,” said the chief, “we’ll lose the other three. This’ll only take a minute.” Then to the back of the room, “Somebody bring a ladder or a chair.”
    There was a bustling in back of the room as a chair from an adjoining classroom was brought down the side aisle by a faculty member.
    “Now, you come down,” the chief said to Urek.
    “Fuck you!” screamed Urek. “Fuck all of you!”
    The tallest policeman was on the chair, grabbing for Urek’s leg. Urek stomped at the cop’s hand, which was quickly withdrawn. Another chair was brought down the side aisle and placed on the other side of the window ledge, and mounted by another policeman. With a signaled nod, both policemen reached for Urek’s legs at the same time, figuring he couldn’t stomp at both at the same time.
    Urek kicked out at one, then the other, hitting neither. Then he started losing his balance. One of the cops grabbed at his ankle, throwing him further off balance, and Urek went crashing against the window, his shoulders breaking the glass as girls screamed and a shout filled the auditorium. For a moment it seemed that Urek was falling backward out the window, but the quick policeman was up on the ledge, sitting, grabbing the flailing feet, holding on as the second policeman hoisted himself to the large sill, and together they pulled with all their strength, sending Urek pitching forward into the room. There was a rush of people toward where Urek fell, the chief abandoning the stage and the microphone, rushing up the aisle, yelling, “Give him room!” He thought Urek was unconscious, some bone broken, or his spinal cord snapped.
    But in an instant he knew otherwise, because as the chief leaned over, Urek reached up and grabbed his collar. Before Urek could do any harm, a mass of hands had seized his arms and legs and held him pinioned beyond need, breathless, yelling, “Lemme go!” A minute later he was being led from the auditorium, his hands handcuffed behind his back, while the principal tried to restore order and get everybody to sit back down.
    Monday in the early evening, Ed was moved out of the intensive-care unit because of hospital rules: as more-serious cases came in, less-serious cases were moved out.
    The doctors thought Ed probably should be in a private room. Mr. Japhet’s Blue Cross coverage provided for a semiprivate. Ed was put into a semi-private room which was otherwise unoccupied.
    Ed was glad to get away from the other people in the intensive-care unit whose grim state led some of them not to another room but to the morgue.
    The overhead light hurt his eyes until it was turned out by the nurse. A floor lamp in the corner cast a yellowish glow. A television set was rigged five feet up on the far wall, its potential less interesting to Ed than the telephone at his bedside, which he could not yet use because of the orange tube in his nose that went down into his throat and stomach. But it was a connection with the outside world he welcomed.
    Now that he was no longer doped up, he could feel the dull pain of his bruised throat. If he breathed deeply, his rib cage ached, but instead of a hurt bundle of pain sleeping fitfully, he now began to feel alive again.
    Though it