Staff Nurse in the Tyrol (14 page)

“Danke! Danke! Igls? Bitte,
”
she said breathlessly.

The driver smiled at her and reaching behind him passed her a large bunch of sweet grapes.
“Si, si, Igls.
”
Only then did he take heed of the outburst of hooting horns behind him and ease the heavy truck into gear.

Sonia ate her grapes and thought how much nicer they were than the ones in the shops. She glanced at her two companions and smiled.

“Bella grappa
!”
She wondered if she had used the right endings, but it didn’t seem to matter.

They beamed at her and handed her another bunch.

“Grazie.”
She hoped they didn’t think she was being greedy.

In the distance she could see Igls. It seemed no time at all before they were passing the little church at Vill and beginning to follow the winding road that she and Stefan had walked the night they missed the cable car.

She made the driver understand that she wanted him to stop around the next bend. She fumbled in her pocket for her purse and took out a handful of Austrian
Schillings. “Per favore. Cigaretto
...”

But they only laughed at her, shook their heads, and filled her hands with grapes after helping her down from her perch.

“Grazie ... arrivederci!”
She stood watching them until they were out of sight.

As she turned to walk up the driveway toward the hospital she could see a figure approaching her rapidly. As it came closer she saw that it was Michael. For a moment she wished that she could escape. She was aware of how hot and dusty she was.

“Sonia! What on earth are you doing here?” Michael sounded cross. “How did you get here? Don’t tell me you walked in this heat.”

“Oh no, I haven’t walked, at least not coming back. I had a lift in—”

“Sonia, for the love of Mike, you don’t take lifts in strange cars,” he said in exasperation.

“It wasn’t a car. It was an Italian fruit truck, and they were awfully nice.” Why did he always have to put her on the defensive? She held out her hands. “Have some grapes, Michael. They’re lovely.”

He made a sound between a groan and a sigh. “Sonia! You’re absolutely impossible.” He took a bunch from her and then looked at her sternly. “Well, are you going to do what I asked?”

“No, Michael. I’m staying.”

He nodded a little sadly, as if he had not had much hope of her doing anything else. “I might have known it. Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Has the child polio?” she asked.

For a moment he stared at her as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Yes, he has, and I’m very much afraid he will be the first of many,” he said grimly.

He stared toward the valley below to where Innsbruck shone whitely in the still-lingering sunshine. “Unless the weather breaks and turns cooler it’s going to be awfully rough. Sure you won’t be sensible and go while the going is good?”

Sonia set her face against his pleading. “I’m not running away.”

“Since when is being sensible running away?” he demanded angrily.

“Let’s not argue about it, Michael. Can’t we agree to differ?” If he realized how difficult it was for her to hold her ground she knew she would be lost.

He shrugged his shoulders as if it no longer mattered to him whether she left or not. That gesture of indifference hurt her more than anything else.

Michael glanced down at her. “See you later.”

He strode off without a backward glance, and Sonia followed at a discreet distance. Had he spotted her from one of the wards and come down to see what she had been up to? But she was too hot and weary to wonder for long. She would have a nice
leisurely bath. After she had changed she would get a snack at the little cafe. She didn’t feel like going to the dining room, and she didn’t want a hospital meal when she was so tired.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Frantic days followed as the full horrors of a polio epidemic broke upon them.

All the children well enough to be discharged had been sent home or transferred to convalescent homes. The babies had been tucked away in a corner of the new medical block out of harm’s way. The once-happy wards and side rooms, that had been so full of life and of children clamoring for their stories, now echoed with the fretful cries of small patients struggling against the frightening illness that robbed them of the power to move or even to breathe. Nurses moved swiftly from bed to bed, adjusting the
splints that supported muscles too weak to do their work, trying to soothe the unbearable aches that tormented the helpless little bodies, and watching for the signs of the upward creep of the paralysis that might rob the children of life itself.

Sonia straightened her aching back and adjusted the mirror so that the child could catch glimpses of a world that held a little of normality. Her hand smoothed back the hair from the hot little brow until presently the eyelids drooped, and the blissful touch of sleep pushed back some of the haunting terror.

“Sonia, can you give me a hand? We have some Salk vaccine. It’s been flown in.”

She turned with a start. She had been too absorbed in her task to notice Michael’s approach. How utterly weary he looked. Her hands longed to smooth away the worry, and the overwork that had put lines of fatigue in his face.

She glanced at the tall figure walking beside her. His face was preoccupied. Already his brain was marching ahead, planning for eventualities that she knew nothing about.

“Michael, are we getting anywhere?” she ventured with a timidity that startled her.

He looked at her blankly for a moment as if wondering who she was and how she had got there. “It’s too soon to tell.” He shrugged his shoulders. “If the weather would
break ...
if we could get enough vaccine .
.
. if we had more
equipment ...
more nurses ... more beds. As it is we can only struggle on and hope and ... pray,” he added savagely.

He held open the door for her and Sonia went through into the impromptu children’s ward that had been set up. Some of the smaller children looked ridiculously tiny as they sat up in the very large adult-size beds. The broad tapes of their restrainers fastened to the edges of the bedsprings kept them safely tethered.

There was a chorus of delight as they saw Michael. “Doktor Michael! Doktor Michael! Tell us a story!”

She watched him lose some of his grimness as he smiled at the children, and mixed his story-telling so skillfully in with the injections he had to give that there was scarcely a whimper. Sonia swabbed arms with antiseptic, refilled syringes, changed needles and moved with him from bed to bed in a daze of happiness that she knew she would awaken from all too soon. But for the moment she didn’t care.

“
There aren’t any more, Sonia. You can put that one away.”

She became aware that he was regarding her with amusement, and she looked down at her syringe in bewilderment as she realized they had completed the circuit of the ward. Her fingers trembled a little as she recapped the vial of vaccine and put the syringe into the dish on her tray. In a moment she would have to go back to her own ward, and Michael would disappear into the welter of admissions, emergencies, tracheotomies, decisions as to which child needed the spare equipment the most. She would have to content herself with glimpses of him that she would be too utterly exhausted to appreciate.

“How long since you had any time off, Sonia?” he asked.

She stared at him blankly for a few seconds. “No one is taking any off-duty,” she reminded him.

He looked angry. “It isn’t good enough. You’ll be cracking up.”

Sonia smiled a little, like a mother trying to reassure a child. “I’m stronger than I look. You haven’t had any decent rest either.”

He rubbed his hand across his eyes as if trying to erase a fatigue that was almost overwhelming. “I’m tough, but I don’t mind admitting I’d give an awful lot for a single night in bed ... even half a night.” He straightened up. “I’m going to tell Sister Therese that you’re to have some time off.”

“You’re to do nothing of the sort! I’ll never forgive you if you do!” Sonia said with a fury that surprised them both.

“Why is it that you quarrel?” said a somewhat amused voice from the doorway.

They looked sheepishly toward Greta. Sonia had time to notice that the other girl was looking as if the fact pleased her.

“Did you want me for something, Greta?” Michael said briefly.

She pouted. “It is not that I want you this time. It is the Professor who wishes word with you.” She hesitated. “Perhaps afterward you would have a word with Stefan also. I think he is
not ...
well.”

There was a note in Greta’s voice that drew Sonia’s attention sharply, but the other girl didn’t meet her eyes.

“All right, all right,” Michael said irritably. “Tell the Professor I’m on my way and I’ll take a look at Stefan. I expect he’s just damnably tired like the rest of us.” He glanced in Sonia’s direction. “Thanks for your help. I’ll deal with Sister Therese later.”

He had gone before she could raise a second protest, and Greta followed him after giving Sonia a half-pleading, half-defiant look that puzzled her. She lingered for a few minutes listening to the children’s excited chatter. It was such bliss after the frightened frettings of her own ward.

She departed with their
“Auf Wiedersehen, Schwester!
”
ringing in her ears like an echo of forgotten pleasant music. She came out of the comparative coolness of the new medical block into the heat of the courtyard. Only a few cars belonging to the medical staff were parked in the doubtful shade of the parched-looking trees; the usual throng of visitors’ cars had dwindled to a trickle since the epidemic began. Idly, she noticed one car drawn up near the exit archway. Its engine was running, and a man was leaning against the hood as if waiting for someone, but there was a tenseness in his attitude that drew her attention. Perhaps he was waiting for news of one of the patients. To her astonishment he stood up as she came closer, staring at her as if she were someone he knew ... someone he was expecting. Did he want to ask for some information? Uneasily, she shifted her tray from one hand to the other and attempted to ignore his steady gaze. She avoided looking at him directly but wasn’t quite sure why.

As she came abreast of the car the man touched her arm and almost made her drop the tray. “Mam’selle! Mam’selle Sonia! It is imperative that you come with
me ...
at once!”

The hand on her arm had tightened its hold and was drawing her toward the car, forcing her to get in. She found herself obeying, caught in the grip of an inexplicable terror ever since she had had a glimpse of the man’s face—one she had never forgotten since that night in the cellar ca
fe
.
It could only be Otto. Where was he taking her? They were crossing the bridge over the Sill, and no sound of the rushing river reached her over the echo of her wildly-beating heart. The streets of Innsbruck were closing around them as the tall buildings blurred before her eyes. Otto was driving rapidly, turning right then left through a maze of narrow streets, his eyes always watching the mirror. Finally, with a jerk that threw her against him, he drove the car into a narrow alley that had no outlet and stopped abruptly. He was peering back over his shoulder with a nervous intensity that alarmed her and yet reassured her. Was he expecting to be followed by someone who might conceivably rescue her? She knew a moment’s hope before his hand closed on her arm again in a painfully tight grip.

“Mam’selle, it is necessary that you come with me quickly. There is no time to be lost.”

She fought down panic. Perhaps if she went with him quietly, she would have the chance to escape later; her acquiescence now might disarm him. She could do nothing else at the moment. The little alley was deserted and only the blank walls of the houses looked down on it. Otto was pulling her toward a door in the shadow of an ancient tower that was crumbling into decay. He pushed it open and led her up a narrow flight of stairs. She brushed against the wall; it felt damp and slimy against
her shoulder, and she repressed a shudder. It felt as if it had been accumulating mold through the centuries.

“In here, mam’selle.” Otto opened a door and ushered her into a large room.

For a moment the sudden influx of light blinded her, and then as her vision cleared she saw a small boy lying on a couch near the window. A woman was kneeling beside him, one hand holding the child’s and the other wielding a large fan with quiet desperation. Sonia stared at the child’s face, the pinched anxious expression, and the widely flaring nostrils as the boy strained for breath.

She looked accusingly at Otto. “Surely you knew what was wrong! Why didn’t you bring the child to the hospital?”

All the desperate defiance that had so frightened her seemed to have been drained from him. He held up placating hands. “We could not be sure. It happened so swiftly. One hour he is well, and now you
see...”

“You must call an ambulance at once,” she said briskly.

She waited impatiently for Otto to move toward the door, but he only stood there. His expression had taken on something of the hopelessness of the boy’s mother.

“It is not possible,” he said slowly.

“You mean you haven’t the money?” She tried to remember what Greta had told her about the various hospital services.

Otto shook his head. “That is not the reason.”

Sonia began to get desperate. She could hear the boy’s breathing becoming more and more distressed. “But the boy will die if you don’t get an ambulance at once.”

Otto’s face whitened, but he on
l
y said quietly, “It is not safe for an ambulance to be called. There will be too many questions.”

“Not safe? Don’t you care more for the boy than for your wretched skin?” Sonia was almost beside herself.

“He is my only son, but it is not my safety. It is that of others who are very important to my country.”

The sad desperation in his voice pulled her up sharply. So this was what Stefan meant when he talked about his country ... this all-embracing devotion that beggared description, that put concern for self and family very far down the list of important things.

“You mean they are here ... in hiding?” she asked gently. “Do they know?”

He shook his head. “I do not think so, and I would never consent to their being endangered. The ch
o
ice is not theirs or mine,” he added simply.

The child made a small choking sound and Sonia turned swiftly. It didn’t need the warning tinge of blueness to tell her what was happening. She bent over the couch and raised the boy to a sitting position, his body resting limply against her encircling arm. It took but a second to reach her decision, but would she be able to persuade Otto?

“We must take him to St. Anton in your car. The police or whoever you are afraid of won’t pay any attention to a car with a nurse in attendance. Quick! Minutes count.”

She watched dazed acceptance of the inevitable give way to dawning hope on the parents’ faces.

“You
mean...?”
Otto couldn’t complete the sentence.

“It’s the only chance,” Sonia said crisply. “Pick him up and carry him as upright as you can. Have you got a flashlight?” She didn’t want to face that dark passage without a light again.

She got into the back seat of the car, and Otto passed the child in to her. The increasing blueness was alarming. She would probably have to start artificial respiration before they reached the hospital.

“Bitte, Schwester.
”

She saw the mother’s anxious face as she handed Sonia the forgotten tray. She took it with a feeling of bitterness. If only the child had come to them sooner the small remaining amount of Salk vaccine might have protected him against
this...

Sonia tapped Otto impatiently on the shoulder. “Drive as fast as you dare!”

He gave her an appealing look as if to beg for the assistance of her own strength, but as he put the car into motion she forgot him. There was too much to do if the child was ever to reach hospital alive. She crouched on the floor beside him and moved his arms rhythmically up and down, forcing the air in and out of his lungs. The journey seemed to be taking far longer than the inward one. Perspiration poured down her face as she struggled on and on. In spite of the air that rushed in through the open windows, the interior of the car seemed to be getting hotter and hotter.

Then she realized that the car had come to a
standstill ...
that someone was opening the car door.

Dazedly she lifted her head, her hands never ceasing their task. She could see Stefan staring at Otto with a sort of cold, accusing horror and then glancing at her as if she was responsible for bringing him into danger.

“Sonia! For the love of God, why have you brought them here? You must be mad! The
risk...”

She found strength to speak. “The child is dying. That’s reason enough. Don’t just stand there preaching patriotism at me! Get a trolley ... oxygen ... an iron
lung...”