Читать книгу Weeding the Flower-Patch - Flora Klickmann - Страница 8

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Miss Smith had been making good progress, after her shattering experience, when part of her hospital was down, and she beneath some of the ruin. Her nerves, which had suffered badly, though she would not admit it, were improving daily—or so I hoped.

When first she reached me, she was a sad wreck. But the rest and quiet and freedom from the perpetual strain under which hospitals worked in war-time, especially in big cities—all this was doing wonders in bringing her back to somewhere within sight of normal. Moreover, she helped herself, which some nerve patients cannot, or will not, do. She knew from her own nursing experience that a large part of the cure, in nerve cases, must be the work of the patient, and no one can do it for them.

In other words, she determined to get better, and allowed no temporary set-back to discourage her. So soon as she heard that no bones were broken, and that there were no apparent internal injuries, she believed that the paralysis from which she appeared to be suffering, making her limbs almost useless, could be conquered if she made an effort and persevered, even when she felt most depressed and hopeless.

It was a great day when her poor legs at last consented to support her body, and to totter along for about a yard, the rest of us holding her arms and buttressing her rear. What a satisfaction and genuine pleasure it is when one realizes that a sick person has, at long last, turned the corner and is heading in the right direction.

Naturally, she could only do a little at a time, and was still weak; but the massage was helping, and other treatment was to follow when she was strong enough.

Then just as everything looked rosy and smiling, she caught a cold. Nothing serious, but accompanied by a slight temperature which soon subsided; and a little trouble in one lung. The doctor attending her was a stranger to me, our own doctor being away. But he was very kind and attentive, though he lived ten miles off. He at once ordered bed for ten days. She must not risk any set-back as she had been doing so well. Everything seemed quite straightforward; no cause for uneasiness. Somewhere between one and two o’clock that night, I awoke with a start, to find a most wild-looking, dishevelled Miss Smith leaning over me, clad only in her thin nightie, and someone else’s outdoor coat which she had found, and turning a torch full on me. She was peering closely at me, and muttering to herself: “This is a man! Who can he be? Have I made a mistake in the room? Where can she be? I must find her.” And off she went.

The dazzle of the torch shining in my eyes had confused me for a moment, but only for a moment. Springing out of bed, I found myself saying, “Jane Eyre! Jane Eyre!” Goodness knows why, for it was many a year since I read the book, and I didn’t care for it when I read it. Moreover my friend bore not the least resemblance to that poor afflicted wife. Why I should have quoted a classic, even briefly, at such a crisis I don’t know. Our brains are unpredictable—at any rate mine is.

Clutching at my dressing-gown, I gave chase, realizing that something was indeed very wrong. I found Miss Smith in her room, getting a treasury-note from her handbag.

“I’ve so enjoyed the concert,” she said, having evidently forgotten that a minute ago I was “missing” and she supposed to be looking for me. “Such a good idea to have it on that lawn. Is the fête for a local charity? I’m going out to give them something.—I’ll go down by your veranda, that will be the quickest way.” Terrified, I rushed back to my room and locked the veranda door. That veranda has a drop of about thirty feet over the side, and no communication with the garden below! As she joined me I told her the people must have gone home, as no one was there now; we could give them the money to-morrow. She agreed cheerfully; then said as it was such a nice day, she would go into the garden and cut off the dead roses.

I said she had better wait till the morning, as it was 2 a.m. and raining hard. And in any case wouldn’t it be more sensible to put on stockings and shoes, as she was barefoot.

She drew herself up reprovingly and replied: “Certainly not! I am most surprised that you, of all people, should have made such a suggestion!” I wondered what was improper.

This was the only verbal difference of opinion we had. For the rest of that long, long night we were perfect ladies, making social contact as complete strangers, on orthodox lines, with variations. I was careful to agree with all her remarks, anxious not to cause any upset.

Only she was constantly running about after some fresh imagination, apparently quite well and strong. An old man was hiding behind an easy chair in the bedroom; she must chase him out; it wasn’t safe for me. Why did I allow these birds to be flying about the room? She would catch them for me. While she was creeping under my bed in order to drive out some little pigs she said were there, I rushed downstairs and locked every door leading outwards, being afraid lest she should get out of doors (which she seemed determined to do) and I should lose sight of her in the dark, and be unable to see whether she was heading up hill or down, or among rocks which might prove dangerous.

On my return, she said she would now have a bath, having forgotten the little pigs. As I began to raise objections, she merely said, “Of course I must have a bath! I hope the time will never come when I shall forget to wash myself! I may be poor, but at least I can be scrupulously clean.”

Having already taken the key out of the door, and fastened the window, I slipped a little wedge under the door to prevent its being shut. She turned on the water, but was so interested in the fact that the door couldn’t be closed, that she thought no more about a bath. As she had not put in the plug, the water merely ran away, till I turned it off, and then followed her downstairs, as she said the band was playing again and she wanted to join in the dancing.

I was beginning to feel that some means must be found to quiet her, though I feared to upset her by crossing her in any way. As I was not alone at the time, I could have called one of the others, had she become unmanageable. But I did not want to disturb them unless actually necessary.

Then an idea came to me. Making a semblance of sinking on the bed, I said, in the far-gone tones of an invalid: “Nurse, I’m feeling so faint. Do stay with me a little while. It would be such a comfort to know you were on the sofa,”—perfectly true.

Immediately she was the professional nurse.

“Of course I will stay with you. I never leave a patient till the night nurse comes on duty. Now shut your eyes and go to sleep” (which was the very last thing I intended to do) “and I’ll rest on the sofa.” I handed her a warm rug, hoping in this way to get her covered up a little. But she merely threw it on to the stove—luckily there was no fire.

The couch was at the foot of the bed. She watched me for a couple of minutes, and then said: “I’m not surprised that you are unwell, after sitting among the geraniums on the window-box outside my bedroom window as you did, making grimaces at me. Anyone might be ill. I was terrified in case you fell off.”

“Oh, but I didn’t mean to make grimaces at you. Perhaps my teeth were chattering with the cold.”

“I didn’t think of that. But tell me, how did you get there? Did you climb down from the roof? Most dangerous and unwise.”

She remained silent for a few more minutes, still studying me intently. Then she started again.

“Do you usually get into bed head-first and sleep with your feet on the pillow? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it done before.”

I explained that my feet were on a rug at the bottom of the bed, and it was my head she saw on the pillow.

“Oh, I see. It’s such a queer head; rather like a sheep’s head, isn’t it?” Silence for another couple of minutes (I was so thankful for even these short respites), and she still studied me very intently. Then she remarked: “Of course, I don’t mind staying with you, as you’re not well, but I don’t know who you are, nor how you come to be here. In any case I feel it my duty to tell you frankly that I don’t like your face, no matter who you are. I don’t like it at all.”

I said I was afraid many other people felt exactly as she did. And I avoided mirrors, as what I saw there pained me so deeply.

Nodding her head in complete agreement, she continued: “And your nose is even worse. Tell me, do you take it off at night and stick it on again in the morning? Or do you wear it always like that?”

“I keep it on all the time, as a rule. It is less trouble than taking it off and putting it on again every twenty-four hours.”

“Yes, I expect it is. And of course it is less likely to shrink, if you don’t take it off to wash it. Though it is very unfortunate for you to have such a face, isn’t it? Yet I ought not to blame you, for I suppose you can’t help it.”

Next moment she was up and trying to catch someone she said was peeping through the door.

In this way, we passed the night. I didn’t phone the doctor till the morning, though he said I should have called him as soon as I realized her mental condition.

But one hates to disturb a doctor at night if it can be avoided. At best he gets so many broken nights. Also, for a doctor who is new to the district, the hillside lanes and innumerable turnings can be bewildering traps in the night.

He responded immediately to my phone message in the morning. The sedative he gave her calmed her and presently she slept, though it was two days before she became normal. Then she woke up one morning perfectly rational and clear in her mind, but as weak as a baby, and with nothing approaching the gay activity she had shown during the night watches, and not the faintest remembrance of her recent merry-go-round.

Evidently she had had a recurrence of the temperature, which had induced delirium.

All the same I prefer that temperatures should be kept discreetly in bed!

One thing surprised me greatly. Miss Smith, though getting better, had been equal only to the minimum of exertion before the cold caught her. Yet, in the delirium she seemed to be perfectly well and strong. The way she ran about the house chasing imaginary birds and animals and old gentlemen tired me out, but did not seem to tire her at all!

And seeing that she had not yet recovered from her cold, I was terribly concerned about her bare feet, yet nothing would induce her to get into stockings or bedroom slippers. She just kicked off my well-meant attempts.

Yet, when she recovered her senses in bed, though she was exhausted, her lungs did not suffer, and her cold soon left her. I could only conclude that as the house is well carpeted, and kept fairly warm on account of the illnesses, this saved her.

Another thing interested me. Though the others in the house were all light sleepers, that particular night they all slept soundly, and were quite overcome next morning when they heard of Miss Smith’s “goings on”. Indeed they looked at her in awe, after I had got her back into bed by telling her the doctor would be displeased if he found her up.

The knowledge that the well-balanced, calm, strong-minded Miss Smith could have such a lapse was distinctly disturbing. I fancy we were all wondering privately which of us would be the next!