Newsworld

Chapter 3 Arise and Walk, Christopher Reeve

37 I first heard the news from William, gardener for the Reeve family, as we sat on my back porch drinking port wine from the small glasses my wife Edna liked to save for orange juice. William was a tall, thin man, his hair as black as mine was gray, and was in the custom of wearing overalls even during the warm summer months. He was a little drunk, as was I, and had a toothpick set in the corner of his mouth. We sat, quietly watching the moon hover like an ornament above the Collinses’ wooden gazebo, when he turned to me, his expression set in such a way I knew he wanted to convey information of some importance. “They’re going to do it,” he told me, “those doctors. He talked them into it.” “What are you talking about?” I asked. “Mr. Reeve,” he explained, removing the toothpick. “All that stuff with the lab rats, it’s true. How they can fix up the spine. They’re going to try it on humans, and he’s the first.” He leaned toward me conspiratoArise and Walk, Christopher Reeve 38 rially. “You can’t go telling anyone else, but I thought Edna would want to know.” “Edna? Edna’s the last person I’d tell. You’re just drunk, Will.” “Say what you like, but you understand what I’m talking about.” It was true. I did. I was not a particularly well-educated man. I’d been brought up in an age when boys either prepared for college or for a trade. I’d trained to be gardener and caretaker. I’d learned the basics of plumbing and woodworking, as well as how to cultivate the plants that grow in this part of the country. But over the past few years I’d taken an interest in current events. I wanted to know things about this world before I left it. I followed Time magazine and read the newspaper each night. So I understood what William had told me, that our neighbor and William’s employer, Mr. Reeve, might receive some special treatment with cells that could help mend his body. Stem cells, I believe. It was illegal to use these in our country, and because of this I thought William had got his facts turned around. “You go on, Will,” I told him. “You’re just trying to stir up gossip. No one loves a good tale as much as you.” “Honestly. I thought Edna would want to know. Otherwise why would I tell you in the first place?” I offered him a look, then divided what remained of the port between our glasses. He changed the topic to pruning but appeared visibly disappointed I hadn’t indulged his story. He left quietly that night, walking up an Italian flagstone path I’d laid ten years ago, before continuing onto the moonlit road that would take him to a similar cottage he occupied down the hill. I stayed on the back steps for a long time, enjoying the quiet. I looked at the Collinses’ house, a house I’d helped maintain for some thirty years, and beyond it to the Reeves’ estate. Mr. Reeve owned a traditional Berkshire home centered on a large parcel of land, a long white house with an octagonal bedroom at one end, a living area at the other. 39 He also owned a barn, which once housed three horses but was now empty except for William’s gardening tools. For many years, Edna had taken pride in living so close to a man as famous as Mr. Reeve. She’d followed his movies and kept track of his comings and goings. But all that ended a few years ago. Around midnight I retired to my cottage, finding it dark except for the kitchen. I proceeded to do what I did each Sunday. I counted out the week’s pills into daily boxes. I gave us each a multivitamin and a small red pill for blood pressure, but Edna also received white hormone tablets and blue caplets for her memory. We both understood what these blue caplets meant. They were designed to put off inevitable loss, but following her lead, I’d stopped talking about them some months ago. I found Edna as I’d left her in bed, her hair a graceful veil, her face untroubled, her hands gently turned around...