The Furies (22 page)

‘Ah. I think I see it.' She dropped her head, rotated her wrist, strained for position. ‘Damn, it's wedged against the pericardium…must have passed through the cardiac notch in the pleura.'

He saw her wrist bob in time with the soldier's heart-beat and knew her hand was touching the outer lining of the heart. This, he realised, was the critical moment of the operation. He saw Monica's head jerk forward slightly, saw furrows appear on Lydia's forehead. Aurelia stood motionless beside him. Everybody seemed to be holding their breath. Everyone that is, except for Elspeth, who by contrast appeared calmly absorbed in the procedure, still dipping her head, still scrunching her eyelids, still twisting her arm.

‘Oh…wait a minute…I think…' She slowly removed her hand from the wound, and Gabriel saw a black, jagged, triangular piece of iron, the size of an arrow head, held delicately between her thumb and index finger.

‘Och, will you look at that,' Lydia said, and Aurelia and Monica burst out laughing, causing the tension in the room to dissipate in an instant.

‘
Very
well done,' he said with emphasis, studying the wrinkles around her eyes, which told him she was smiling with satisfaction.

An elbow nudged his side and he turned to see Monica holding a large metal syringe. ‘Sterile saline,' she told him. He grinned behind the mask as he took it from her and flushed the pleural space, washing out as much pus and debris as he could. Then he peered into the hole.

‘The lung and pericardium seem undamaged. That piece of shrapnel must have ricocheted off a rib and lain undisturbed for months before declaring as an abscess.'

She was also looking inside the cavity. ‘Yes, I think we're done,' she said, placing a rubber tube into the wound and then unclipping the thumb screw on the Tuffier to allow the ribs to spring back into place around the drain. After removing the Tuffier, Gabriel began to stitch the wound, securing the tube in place with a purse-string suture. Elspeth placed the other end of the drain through a hole in the lid of a half-filled glass jar on the floor by her feet. Gabriel recognised it as a standard underwater seal for chest drainage, and the bottom of the tube began to bubble as the re-expanding lung displaced air from the soldier's pleural space. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Gabriel saw that the operation had taken only thirty minutes. It had been fast, skilled work. This team, this woman; they knew their stuff.

There were another eleven cases on the list to be done that day. Five of the cases were minor procedures – draining abscesses, closing fistulas, debriding wounds – but the remaining six were more challenging: skull wounds, amputations, abdominal and chest explorations. They stopped briefly for bread and soup at lunchtime but continued to work through the afternoon and into the early evening. And suddenly they were on the final case.

‘This last patient will be interesting,' Elspeth said. ‘He's a bit of a brigand, a member of a Cheta, one of the irregular units supporting the Serbian army. We've treated a number of Chetniks; they're a hardy lot and pride themselves on their resilience, but this poor chap's got a bullet in his liver. Unless we get it out there's a real chance he won't pull through, although when I saw him first thing this morning he wasn't at all keen on an operation.'

‘That doesn't surprise me,' Gabriel said. ‘We treated a few Chetniks in my field hospital. They hate us Austrians and it took a great deal of persuasion before they would let us even touch them.'

Elspeth nodded. ‘This one's a rather large man and the roentogram shows a bullet in the upper right abdomen, possibly in his liver. He was shot by another member of his Cheta in an accidental discharge two weeks ago, and in Valjevo they tried conservative management without improvement. He has a swinging fever and probably has an abscess between the liver and diaphragm.'

Gabriel furrowed his brow. ‘I normally would leave a bullet embedded in the liver alone. This type of surgery can be very high risk you know.'

‘Well, of course I know, and I'm not keen on operating on him either,' she replied. ‘But after two weeks of doing nothing, he is going downhill. I think an operation may be his best chance, but I'd be interested to hear your opinion.'

At that moment the door opened and Gabriel stepped back as two more stretcher-bearers – grunting and gasping with effort – slowly backed into the room. The man on the stretcher was huge and both orderlies strained to lift him and deposit him on the operating table. As they walked away, Gabriel stepped forward and the man turned his head towards him: it was a large head, the pallor of his face offset by a heavy growth of black beard, but Gabriel immediately recognised the eye-patch across the man's left eye.

‘Luka,' he said with surprise and quickly turned to Elspeth. ‘What an odd coincidence,' he said to her. ‘I know this fellow. I've treated him before.'

The big bearded Chetnik had also recognised Gabriel and was waving his right hand at him. Gabriel stepped forward and saw that Luka looked ill, a grey pallor underneath his good right eye and a light sheen of sweat across his broad forehead. ‘I thought I told you to stay away from trouble,' Gabriel said to him in German.

Luka grinned, then flinched and clutched the right side of his abdomen. ‘I pleased see you,
Hirurga
,' he replied in pidgin German. ‘Not Austrian bullet. Stupid boy in Cheta…his rifle shoot by accident.'

‘First a Serbian grenade, now a Serbian bullet.' Gabriel said, then tutted, shook his head, smiled.

Luka fixed his gaze on Gabriel. ‘You operate me?' he asked.

But Gabriel didn't immediately reply. Instead he pulled back the surgical gown and placed a hand on Luka's grossly distended abdomen. He saw the blood-encrusted bullet hole, glanced at the Chetnik's anaemic complexion, and then felt the heat of fever in the man's brow. After two weeks like this, he knew that an operation was the Serbian's best chance of survival. Elspeth's opinion was good and he looked across at her and nodded; then he turned back to Luka. ‘Yes,' he said in German. ‘Dr Stewart is right. You need an operation.'

Luka looked at Elspeth first and then at Gabriel. ‘
Skotski damé
: she operate me also?'

‘Yes. Dr Stewart is a good surgeon and you're a two-man job.'

‘But she no man – she
damé
.' Luka paused. ‘
Damé
is good
hirurga
?'

‘Yes, Luka. The lady is a very good surgeon.'

Luka looked doubtful. ‘
Damé
should be home, have babies…' Then he paused and Gabriel saw a look of comprehension came over his face. ‘Ah.' He nodded his head sagely, as if he only now understood. ‘
Skotski damé
is
Virginesh
.'

Virginesh
? Gabriel frowned, but then heard Aurelia stifle a giggle and turned to see a look of amusement on her lips. Elspeth, like him, appeared puzzled at the word. ‘What does he mean by that?' she asked Aurelia.

‘He thinks you're a
Virginesh
, Dr Stewart,' Aurelia replied.

‘A
what
?'

‘A sworn virgin.'

Elspeth blushed, but Aurelia quickly smiled. ‘Oh, it's not what you think. A sworn virgin is a woman who has taken a vow of chastity and chosen to live her life as a man. It's a well-known tradition in all the Balkan countries.'

Elspeth looked across at Gabriel. He shrugged at her. ‘Maybe he thinks you Scots have a similar tradition?' he said.

Elspeth turned to Aurelia. ‘Is that what he thinks…? That I'm one of these…people?'

Aurelia spoke to Luka and after a rapid exchange of words with him, she turned back to Elspeth ‘Yes, Dr Stewart. There are no women doctors in Serbia, let alone any women surgeons, and with your short hair, and manner—'

‘Yes, alright, Aurelia,' Elspeth interjected and Gabriel saw her look of irritation. ‘Just tell him no, I am not one of these creatures. I am a woman through and through and have no need to pretend to be a man.'

While Aurelia spoke to Luka, Gabriel turned to Elspeth. ‘You're not offended by his assumption, are you?' he asked her.

She shrugged. ‘It is frustrating to know that he thinks in order to practice surgery, a woman has to adopt the garb and manner of a man. But at least he acknowledges that some women are capable of doing all the things men can do—'

‘I think,' Aurelia interrupted, ‘that whatever I say to him, in his own mind he still sees you as a sworn virgin. It's the only way he can understand the concept of a woman behaving like a man. But I think he's beginning to come round to the idea of letting you operate on him: he says there is a sworn virgin fighting in his Cheta that he would trust his life with.'

Gabriel looked down at Luka but could still see a shadow of doubt on the bearded Chetnik's face. ‘Dr Stewart is a very good surgeon, Luka,' he said. ‘You're lucky to have her operating on you. Trust me.'

‘Trust?' The look on Luka's face was scornful. ‘I no trust Austrians.' Then his face relaxed. ‘But you,
Hirurga
…you I trust.' He looked at Elspeth and then back at Gabriel again. ‘Alright: you and
Virginesh
operate me.'

Gabriel turned to Elspeth. ‘He's agreed to have the operation.'

‘Oh good; what did you say to him?'

‘That he is lucky to have you operating on him.'

‘Well, let's hope I don't let him down.'

‘I know you won't.'

***

The operation was difficult due to his immense girth. But with Gabriel's help, Elspeth made an incision over the entry wound in his abdomen. He watched her as she dissected down and found a bullet wedged between the ribs and capsule of the liver. And then as Elspeth had predicted, she found a sub-phrenic abscess tucked up high between his liver and diaphragm. He helped her drain the pus from it and then began to close the wound. It would have been a tricky operation under ordinary circumstances, made more difficult by his size. But he saw how confidently and expertly she had dealt with the problem and all had gone smoothly. Finally, after inserting the last stich, they were finished.

It was late now, but the day had gone well, Gabriel thought, as he stripped off his gown and gloves, then thanked the three nurses for their help. From the genuine warmth in their smiles as they congratulated him on his work, he knew that they shared in the same sense of accomplishment as he and Elspeth did.

‘It's been a real pleasure working with you today,' Elspeth said as they left the theatre and stood in the corridor. ‘If you don't mind, I'd like you to stay with us until Dr Soltau and Dr Chesney have recovered.'

‘I am happy to help for as long as you need me.'

‘You'll have to sleep in the same room as the other Austrian orderlies.'

‘I expect no special treatment.'

She nodded and walked him past the top of the staircase and a little further along the corridor until they came to another classroom. A number of hospital beds were arranged around the walls and in the middle of the room, several school desks and chairs had been pushed together to make an improvised dining table. Four Austrian prisoner orderlies were sitting there, smoking and chatting. One of the men looked vaguely familiar to Gabriel; this orderly looked up at him with surprise, and then quickly stood to salute him.

‘Captain Bayer,' Sergeant Huber said. ‘I'm very glad to see you've made a full recovery.'

‘Ah, Huber,' Gabriel replied, recalling the sergeant's smallpox-scarred face and gap-toothed grin.

‘I heard Dr Stewart was being assisted by an Austrian doctor,' Huber continued, ‘but I didn't realise it was you, sir. So now you know what a wonderful surgeon she is.'

‘Yes, she certainly is,' Gabriel replied, and saw the pink in Elspeth's cheeks as she smiled shyly to allay her embarrassment.

‘Well, I can see you're amongst friends here, Captain,' she said. ‘I'm sure Huber will get you some supper before you turn in. I'd like to see how the post-ops are doing first thing, so perhaps you might join me for an early-morning ward round before we start in theatre.'

‘Of course. Good night, Dr Stewart.'

‘Good night, Captain Bayer.'

***

As she left the school hospital and walked back to the women's villa later that evening, Elspeth reflected on a busy day's work. After operating on eleven complex cases, she would normally have expected to feel tired, possibly exhausted. But she was exhilarated: she had learnt most of her surgery by assisting experienced male surgeons in Edinburgh and London, and previously had always been required to follow their lead, in much the same way that a female dancer would follow the lead of her male partner.

But with Gabriel it had felt very different.

She had set the pace of their work in such a way that it had taken on a definite rhythm – almost like a surgical tango – dictated by her. She had felt remarkably relaxed and confident working with him, and it was strange to see how their hands seemed to instinctively know where to position themselves as they carried out their work, their fingers occasionally touching. She could tell from the deft handling of the instruments that his skills were no less than her own, and after only a short while, and without having to ask him, his movements began to anticipate hers in such a way that it almost felt as if his hands were controlled by her thoughts. It had felt strangely intimate in a way she had never experienced before. And it wasn't just the fact that their surgical minds seemed so attuned: she had felt respected by him as an individual. Without being obsequious, he had supported her in a quietly assured manner, allowing her to perform at her best. Behind the sharply intelligent eyes she sensed a considerate and warm individual; he had been a real pleasure to be with. She could well understand why Sylvia had taken to him.