Monkey Games
By Vince Coyner
Chapter 6. Darkness
In the world of Formula One racing, spectators eventually grow accustomed to the 120-140 decibel level and can carry on civilized conversations without even noticing the cars roar by. Alex was watching the F1 Tour de Paris in the French President’s box with the President’s press secretary Philip Angshotz. Alex was only marginally interested in racing but he was very interested in a new piece of legislation that had to do with the tax status of offshore research facilities. The French government was considering taxing the revenue generated by facilities who leased the rights to their intellectual property to for-profit companies. As the supporting research was being used to generate profits for companies not based in France and therefore not subject to French taxes, the idea was that as some of the research was likely done in France, some portion of those profits should be taxed by France. Essentially the government was saying that because the data upon which some companies relied to generate revenues and profits was developed in France, that the government should have the right to tax their profits. That was essentially the same as saying that because the Wright Brothers were the first to fly, that the American government should have the right to tax profits on businesses worldwide that had anything to do with flight, regardless if there was any connection the United States at all. A Turkish airline. A German overnight air shipping company. A Chinese company manufacturing plane seats. It was a ludicrous idea and Alexander knew that such a tax would stifle the willingness of companies, including Alexander Resources, to license their research to for-profit companies and would instead have to set up dummy non-profits to act as middlemen. In addition, they would stop doing research in France all together. The increase in tax revenue to the state from these transactions would be inconsequential relative to the losses due to shifting of research and development jobs. Knowing this, Alex was meeting with Philip in hopes that he would speak with the president during their daily briefings. While it was well known that Alex had a very good relationship with the President and could easily pick up the phone and reach him, he decided on this matter he would rather work through Philip. Given the direct impact the law would have on Alexander Resources, Alex concluded he would have more success if he let the President appear above the specifics of the fray. Besides, Philip and Alex had been friends for years and they loved to bet on just about anything that moved. On this race they had a 10,000 Euro bet going, not on something as straightforward as who won the race, but rather something far more difficult, an over/under as to what the average speed of the winner would be. If the winning driver averaged over 225 KPH on the long and meandering track, Alexander won. If the winners’ average speed was below 225 KPH, Philip won.
Standing in the box next to Alexander and Philip was Marta Allera, a 35-year-old ex-supermodel from Sweden who had been staring at Alex since he arrived two hours before. Alex decided to excuse himself and walked over to speak with Marta. “Hello” she had said in perfect English and a smile that radiated. “Hello” said Alex, extending his hand. Just as he clasped her hand and pulled it toward him as he bent to kiss it, they both heard a high pitched gush of air coming from just beyond the box. It was being generated by the wheel and axle of from what used to be René “Le Pistol” Pistolero’s car. The wheel and axle were tumbling end over end as they headed over the wall. Out of the corner of his eye Alex could see something coming towards them. Instinctively he picked up his feet and let gravity do its work just as a batter might do if an inside curveball forgot to curve. Alex was able to get below the bulk of the mass flying at him. Marta, her hand still in Alex’s, was not so lucky and was dead before her body hit the floor. Alex was struck by the axle and everything turned black. For much of the next three days he drifted between conscienceness and unconscienceness and couldn’t really tell the difference between the two. Every day was a never-ending montage of abject darkness, brilliant, blinding light and distant childhood memories. Sounds were muffled but he could hear his own voice as clear as a bell, yet he somehow knew he had not said a word.
On the fourth day he awoke to discover that his spinal cord had been severed and that he had lost the use and sensation of everything below his chest. Luckily there was no major internal organ damage beyond the spine. The doctor, his doctor, was David Smith, an American and the de facto leader of the “Group of Eight.” He was perhaps the foremost neurologist in the world and his “day job” was as the head of Neurology at Johns Hopkins. Although David had known Alex for over 20 years, and had known him to be a man of few outward emotions, he still found himself startled by Alex’s lack of reaction when given the bad news. It was not that the situation didn’t trouble Alex, because it very much did. Rather, he was not surprised because somehow Alex seemed to know the diagnosis before David told him.
Alex wasn’t sure how he knew it himself. He didn’t know if it was because he overheard someone talking while he had been drifting into and out of conscienceness or if it was something more visceral. The only thing he knew for sure was that the moment he picked up his feet at that race everything turned black. Three days later, as he slowly contemplated opening his eyes, the only images he could remember having seen clearly involved his brother Josh. He saw himself and Josh playing at his parent’s house in Greenwich and his grandmother’s museum-like home on Cape Cod. Interspersed with those happy childhood memories was the vision of the life literally being crushed out of Josh’s lungs. However long he was unconscious it was too long because the one thing he had not been able to escape was the look on his brother’s face.
The most difficult thing of all however was the knowledge that everything he had worked for over the last three decades would be lost. He had made his singular goal in life the pursuit of immortality. Now, when he was at the final stage of that pursuit, it seemed that he might pull defeat out of the jaws of victory. He was so damn close after all of these years. He was so close he could smell success, and now this. The one element in his plan that could not be dealt with was a catastrophic accident like the one he had just experienced. As he laid there he knew that if he ceased to breathe everything he had worked for over the last 30 years would all be for naught. The money didn’t matter. The company didn’t matter. The power didn’t matter. They were all simply tools that gave him the power to pursue his goal. Life was the brass ring and it seemed as if he might have just lost his chance to hold onto it.
A couple of times he felt like he could see a light at the end of a tunnel beckoning him forth. It was Heaven. He could tell because his brother and parents were there. They were standing just outside of the bright doorway telling him to come with them. He remembers taking a few steps and then stopping. No, he could not go, he did not want to pass through that door. Funny, he had never believed in Heaven and here it was, beckoning him. Nonetheless, it might be a trap. He was not stepping through that door. He wasn’t going to take another step. He stopped in his tracks. He had almost achieved his life’s ambition and there was no way he was going to be pulled off of the track now. He turned to run. He felt like he was on a moving sidewalk. As he tried to run away from the light, the moving sidewalk kept moving towards it. It took every ounce of strength in his body to run against the force of that moving sidewalk. After what seemed like hours of running he could finally see the end of the sidewalk. At the end he could see, of all things, a welcome mat. One of those thick brown ones made of some kind of prickly straw. It was sitting at the beginning of the sidewalk that was moving so fast against him. As he was running in the wrong direction, trying to break free of what was no doubt a demon sidewalk, he approached the mat from above. He could read the words on the mat upside down. They said “Welcome Alex.” He had obviously somehow passed over it when he stepped onto this sidewalk that led inexorably to the light. He didn’t remember crossing it the first time but he knew he was going to get back over it now. Just when he was approaching the end of the sidewalk and almost stepped onto the mat that undoubtedly signaled escape from this journey he had no desire to take, the sidewalk quickened its pace and pulled him farther away as if it were taunting him. “No” he said to himself, this could not happen now! He could not let it happen now. He would not let it happen now. So he ran as fast as he could and leapt with all of his might towards the beginning of the moving sidewalk. He landed squarely on the welcome mat, which indeed proved to be made out of that prickly straw stuff. As his body crashed onto the mat he was filled with a rush of both exhaustion and the thrill of success. He knew he had just barely avoided the siren of death.
In the South Centre room in which Alex lay, David Smith and the phalanx of assembled doctors were at a loss to explain his rapid breathing and sweating, particularly as the room temperature had been set to 23 degrees C (70 F). Suddenly David could see Alex’s hands tighten into a grip. His arms moved in a slight backward and forward motion, pumping against the bed. Finally his hands clinched once more then unclinched and stretched out. A moment later Alex’s hands relaxed and he opened his eyes and smiled. He knew that he had won and he was out of immediate danger. He looked up at David and smiled “Did Philip say who won our bet?” David was taken aback, not having a clue what Alex was talking about. Shaking his head and realizing David knew nothing of the waggish bet he and the late Philip had made on the race, Alex said “Never mind.” Turning serious he then asked “What was that? What happened?” All he knew was that one minute he was standing talking to the beautiful Marta and the next minute he was hitting the ground. Then blackness. David explained everything about the accident and that he had been in and out of a coma for three days. David told him that he was very lucky to be alive. Not only because he had been the only person in the box to survive, but also because had the axle been two inches lower as it flew into the grandstands, he wouldn’t be alive today. “Where is Albert?” Alex asked. “I’ve just called him. He went down to get some coffee. He’s on his way back up.” Albert came bursting through the door. “Alex!” he yelled, smiling. “How are you feeling?” “Well, I’ve been better?” Alex replied with a slight smile, “but I’m not complaining.” “Well, I’m glad to see that you are alive. We just weren’t sure which way you’d go for a while.” As Albert walked over and began to reach out for Alex’s hand he looked up at David for approval, not wanting to inadvertently do any damage. David nodded and Albert took Alex’s hand in both of his and said, “Glad to have you back my friend.” “It’s good to be back of course. But I wish you had brought me something from the cafeteria. I’m starving!” “No problem. What do you want?” asked Albert. “Believe it or not I could go for a steak right now. I don’t know what it is about running a marathon, but it certainly makes me hungry. David, do they have steaks here?” Albert and David looked at one another, neither understanding the marathon reference. David spoke, “Yes, I’m certain they have some and in answer to the question you haven’t asked, the answer is no.” “Unfortunately for you, you suffered such severe trauma that you won’t be able to handle any solid foods for quite some time. I’m sorry Alex, but you are going to have to be satisfied with lots of liquids and Jell-O.” Alex closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them with a look of resignation, “All right then, have it your way, but the Jell-O had better be chocolate!”
Alex looked over at the female technician who was adjusting the frequency on the heart monitor that was producing a strong and steady signal now. He nodded towards the woman who had her back to the three men. Taking his cue, David said “Nurse Thomas, can you give us a few moments please?” “Yes doctor” she replied. All three men’s heads turned as they followed the hourglass shaped technician as she walked out the door. As soon as the door closed Alex looked up at David and said “Does this change the plan?” “No, other than moving up the timetable, it really shouldn’t. Although I must tell you, with the trauma your body has experienced, there is a high risk of cardiac arrest or embolism. We’ve looked, and we have you on a blood thinner, but with that kind of damage, the possibility that there is a blood clot that we can’t see is significant.” Understanding exactly what David was telling him, Alex knew that time is of the essence. “When can we move? How long will prep take?” David looked over at Albert and then answered Alex, “We can move you in two days and we can be ready to go on La Playa Arena in 96 hours.” “Good, then let’s start the wheels moving.” Alex said looking up at Albert.
Albert wasted no time. He went out and called Laura. After hanging up on her he called the other members of the “Group of Eight.” An hour later he returned to Alex’s room. “Done” he said as he closed the door behind him. “Laura’s leaving immediately and the rest of the team will leave for La Playa Arena tonight. We’re leaving for South Centre right now and we’ll fly out to La Playa Arena on Saturday.” Alex creased his forehead for a moment as if thinking and then he said, “I don’t even know, what is today?” realizing he was not exactly sure how long he had been in that bed. “Thursday” Albert and David said simultaneously, David having come through the door just before the question. He had pushed a wheelchair into the room and explained to Alex, “Although you’ll be laying down on the plane, we’ve modified this wheelchair so that you can sit up without putting pressure on your spine.” Looking at the chair Alex said “Thanks.” After a moment of silence he asked: “How long will it take?” knowing both would know exactly what he was talking about. “Well,” David responded and then hesitated, looking over at Albert for approval. Albert nodded then David continued “We’ll have to wait until we arrive on La Playa Arena to know for certain, but we should be able to get started in less than a week.” He added, “Don’t worry Alex, we’ll have you walking again very soon.”
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