"Are you planning to keep me here by force?"
He glared at me. "I could, you know. A man in your state, I could have you committed for your own good."
"You'd have to strap me to the bed, Doctor."
He studied my face, gauging my seriousness. He didn't like what he saw. He rolled his lower lip between his teeth as he pondered how to convince me to reverse my foolish decision.
"Look at you," he said. "Your fever has shot up."
I didn't need to see a thermometer to know it was true. I could feel it. Kulaski's punch had rattled my body, thrown it off-kilter. As though his fist had injected pollution into my blood vessels, and my body was frantically fighting to kill the poison by burning it up.
"You can give me something for that, can't you?"
"Such a fever, such injuries; you need to stay under observation. It's malpractice to let you leave."
"I'll take full responsibility, Doctor."
He snorted, but utterly without humor. "Yes, I can see you're the responsible sort." I made no comment, and he continued, "You think that will help me sleep better at night if you drop dead from your injuries?"
I hadn't considered that side of things. I was moved by his concern. "I'm not going to die, Doctor. I've survived worse."
His eyes twitched toward my left forearm. He had also seen my number tattoo; he knew what it signified. He rubbed a finger across his mouth, thinking furiously. "I hope you have a damn good reason for leaving," he finally said.
"I need to be in Tel Aviv."
"Can't it wait a few days?"
"I'm afraid it can't."
"How about tomorrow? Surely it will hold till tomorrow."
"It won't, Doctor. I wish it would."
"Is there no way I could prevail upon you to remain here?"
I shook my head. "None."
"How about I list the potential risks you face if you walk out of here in your condition?"
"Please don't. My mind's made up."
He nodded, removed his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked as worn-out as I felt. Returning the glasses to their place, he said, "I hope you won't take this the wrong way, Mr. Lapid, but you're a damn fool."
I half-smiled. "An accurate diagnosis, Doctor. Unfortunately, it's a chronic condition."
He didn't smile back. "I hope you know what you're doing. I really do."
I didn't answer. What was there to say?
He sighed. "All right. I'll tell Rona to fetch your clothes and get your discharge form ready."
He left but returned a minute later with a syringe. "For the fever," he said before plunging the needle into me. Rona appeared with my clothes. There was no hat. I asked her about it, and she said I hadn't been wearing one when I was brought in. I took this in without comment. Two hats in the space of a week. Had to be closing in on a record.
Rona gave me a discharge form. I signed it.
"Who's picking you up?" Dr. Aboulker asked.
"No one."
"How do you plan to get to Tel Aviv?"
"By bus."
"By..." He didn't finish the sentence. He and Rona exchanged a stunned look. Both thought this another layer of my madness. The doctor squeezed his forehead, blew out air. "I understand," he said, though his tone expressed the exact opposite. "My shift just ended. I'll drive you to the bus station."
"I have to get my things from my hotel first," I said.
"All right. I'll drive you there and then to the station. At least I'll make sure you're fine part of the way."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me, Mr. Lapid. I'm doing this to appease my conscience. I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing by letting you leave."
"It's my decision, Doctor."
"I hope it won't be your funeral as well." He turned to Rona. "When he's ready, bring him to my office, okay?"
Then he was gone, and Rona was helping me out of my hospital clothes and into my own.
